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elliesmainhoe · 6 months ago

Note

need ellie to take care of me drunk desperately

i love your writing 😭

Rescue Remedy

e.williams x fem!reader

summary: you call Ellie to come and rescue you from a bar after having a few too many drinks

warnings: alcohol, cigarettes, mentions of hangovers, slurred speech, drunk crying, fluff.

just realized this is basically a self insert vent post of a very similar situation I've been in LMAO

WC 1K

DAY 4 OF SAPPHIC SUMMER

you were relieved when the familiar beaten up Ford focus pulled up beside you. you'd been sitting on the curb for almost 15 minutes- tear stained cheeks, smudged glitter and mascara as your body shook and jittered from both the cold Seattle night and the mixture of cigarette smoke and alcohol causing the most humbling case of hiccups you think you've ever had.

"Ells!" you whined, a new flood of tears streaming from your eyes at the sight of your night in shining armour- your girlfriend.

"c'mon sweet girl" she huffed, hair thrown up messily in the usual half up, half down style, clad in red and black checkered pyjama pants, black hoodie that was splattered with paint topped off with the obnoxious lime green crocks you'd gotten her for her one Christmas, of course decked out in charms shed collected over the past few months.

before you could even process it you were sitting in the passenger seat, leather seats sticking to your sweat glazed skin, and sobs turning to hiccups.

this had been the worst night out you'd had since your 21st. and as soon as the car revved and moved down the road, Ellie's hand pressed firmly on your bare thigh, the fabric of your dress not long enough to cover the majority of your thigh.

"what happened sweet girl?" oh and by that one question, it's like Ellie had opened a flood gate.

firstly, you got to the club of choice after having to walk almost a mile from where your designated driver had parked, accompanied by a couple of friends. after queuing on the curb for almost thirty minutes, you reached the front of the queue and then promptly realized you had left you purse. with your id. in the car. a mile away.

so after you'd trekked all the way to the car, retrieving your purse and id, getting back to the club, queuing for another 30 minutes, on your own this time- as your friends who had not forgotten their id decided to go in and leave you to sort your shit out.

let's just say you were already a little pissed off.

secondly, you got in the club and it stunk. not just of sweat and booze, but piss. fucking piss. and to top that all off you couldn't find your friends so- you did what any other sane person would do and ordered shots.

shots that were actually doubles, but of course you hadnt realized that until way too late.

which leads into the final stage of the night, your head being deep in a grimy toilet bowl, knees bruised from having to kneel on tiles that were not grouted properly and pieces of them shot out and cut at your skin.

and by that point you had gotten out your phone, which was now on 7% charge because you had offers to use your GPS and it drained all your battery, and was a blubbering mess on call with your girlfriend.

you would later have to retell the story again, as apparently according to Ellie- she couldn't understand a word you were saying, just nodding along in a desperate attempt to keep you awake long enough to get a glass of water and a slice of toast down you.

it must have been during your tangent when you'd gotten home, as when you finally finished your incoherent mumbling you were sitting on the beat up leather couch of yours and Ellie's apartment, a couch you'd hated as soon as you moved in, but Ellie had a weird attachment to so it stayed in it's place, the first thing you saw when you entered the home.

Ellie was kneeling in front of you, sitting between your thighs and facing you, holding up a large glass of water,

"sip baby" she spoke softly, to which you groaned.

"do- do- I haveeeeeee to?" you whined, batting your eyelashes in an attempt to distract your girlfriend "jus' wan' sleep"

"you can sleep after you drink that." after another groan you took a sip of the glass of water- admittedly, it was refreshing, however you still gagged to prove a point.

"good girl" she purred, standing up and kissing your forehead, moving over to the cabinet to grab a packet of pills.

"fuck off"

she laughs, moving back with a small white pill in the palm of her hand, to which you begrudgingly take after Ellie promises to take you to get ice cream the day after.

you felt your eyelids droop once more, you couldn't tell if it was sleep, or just your false eyelashes becoming suddenly very heavy, you whine "'m tired ells..."

"alright I hear you, c'mon baby" she sighs, leaving a half eaten piece of toast on the coffee table, one arm supporting your back and the other under your knees as she made her way to your bedroom, plopping you on the mattress and you sigh, already drifting to sleep before you screech at the feeling of something wet in your face.

"hey- hey" Ellie laughs, "I'm just taking off your makeup baby, just taking off your makeup", she smiles, dragging a cotton pad across your skin, taking off the creams and powders you had applied previously, smudged mascara coming off with it.

Ellie was thankful you'd taken off your clothes as soon as you stepped foot into the apartment saying something which she thinks was "dresses like these are modern day torture devices"- but with the way you slur your words when drunk she could never be sure, leaving you just in your underwear, making her job a whole lot easier.

trying to maneuver you, who had now dropped on the mattress like a deadweight, would've been a too strenuous task for 3am.

after discarding the used wipes and pulling your hair back into a very messy ponytail, Ellie scooted in beside you, the mattress sinking as you unconsciously snuggle in closer, head nuzzling into the girls neck, her hand going around to caress your back, soothing you into an easy sleep.

the hangover tomorrow was going to be horrible.

••••••••••••••

The third time I've tried to write this, I almost gave up 🥰

#lesbian #ellie williams #the last of us #wlw #ellie williams fic #ellie williams x reader #lesbian fic #ellie williams headcanons #ellie x fem reader #the last of us fic #ellie the last of us #ellie tlou #ellie williams imagine #ellie x reader #the last of us part 2 #tlou 2 #tlou fic #sapphic summer

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wandamaximoffsbadgirl · 9 months ago

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Hiii

Can I request top!Agatha Harkness x bottom!reader? And Agatha overstimulates reader with her fingers and magic. maybe you could add breeding kink

PLEASE 🥺

Under Her Spell

Top!Agatha Harkness x bottom!Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, top!Mommy!Agatha, subby!reader, overstimulation (R), use of vibrator (R), Agatha uses magic to restrain R, A uses magic strap on R, breeding kink, magic strap does have cum

Word Count: 1,151

A/N: I had a fun time exploring this first time really writing Agatha, so I did go a little overboard from my usual requests. Hope you enjoy anon!

The rays of the setting sun flooded through the double floor to ceiling picture windows leading into the living room of your shared space. You had fallen asleep for a nap earlier in the afternoon only to be woken up by the rays on your face.

The timing seemed to be perfect though as you heard the familiar sound of the front door unlocking and opening. Shoes being taken off and set on the rack by the door. Keys dropped in the bowl.

“I'm home, angel!” you hear your girlfriend call out, making you smile as you get up from your spot on the comfy sectional. You kept your blanket wrapped around you, not willing to give up its warmth just yet.

You shuffled your way over. A smile on your face as well as hers as her deep blue eyes settle on you.

You bound up to her, blanket falling and forgotten about as the warmth of her embrace takes over.

“Welcome home!” You say, burying your face in her chest.

“Did you miss me dear?” You look up at her nodding “We're you a good girl while I was out?”

“Of course! I was the best!” Agatha already knew that, of course she did. She always had eyes and ears around the house to keep an eye while she was away.

“Well good girls deserve rewards, don't they?” She pulled you up and into a kiss, slowly moving the two of you to the bedroom. “Strip down sweetie. I'm going to get some toys to play with.” You undressed quickly, not wanting to upset Agatha and got yourself on the bed as she came back with only a magic wand making you tilt your head in confusion.

Before you can verbally question anything Agatha waves her hand, purple swirls of magic tug on your wrist until they're above your head. Your legs being tugged in opposite directions being held firmly in place by her magic. You couldn't move even if you wanted to.

The wand is being held in place over your clit Agatha turning it on its highest setting.

“Ahhhh…Agatha��” she smirked down at you.

“Stay right there pet. I'm going to go take a shower.” You whine and try to squirm, but no matter how you moved the vibrator was in just the right spot. “Cum as much as you like pet. I want the bed soaked by the time I'm back.” That was how Agatha left you as she closed the on-suite bathroom door.

≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈

“Are you still with me sweetie?” Your eyes glazed over as your head lulled towards her,

“Mama…” your brain was entirely fuzzy. Words are difficult for you right now. You lost count after five, but you knew from the look on Agatha's face she was happy.

Your eyes trailed over her still wet and naked body before your eyes landed on the magic strap between her legs and you knew this wasn't over. Agatha took the vibrator away from your now extremely overstimulated clit. You shudder in relief though you could still feel phantom vibrations from it being there for an hour.

“Are you ready dear?” Agatha asked, already knowing the answer. You dumbly nodded your head. “Such a good girl doing exactly as I had asked. Now it's time for your reward.” Agatha moved herself between your legs, lining herself up with you. She knew you were more than wet enough. She let your legs go in favor of holding them as she pushed into you. Making you moan out and pull against your restraints.

“Mommy! Touch! Pease!” Your last word slurring slightly as she hits your spot.

“Shhh soon baby, let Mommy enjoy you for a bit.” Agatha cooed into your ear in such a way that made you shiver and fall deeper into that fuzzy head space only being able to moan. Words are becoming too much for your brain to handle currently.

Agatha let her mouth wander, biting and sucking wherever she could, she loved marking you and since she had started you always had various states of hickies littering your body from fresh purple to healing yellows. A beautiful collage that Agatha had made across the canvas of your body.

You came back from your thoughts when Agatha added her fingers back into the mix on your clit.

“C-cummin’ Ma…” you somehow managed out.

“Go on, baby girl. Cum for Mommy.” Agatha husked, breathy in your ear. As the coil inside you snapped once more and she finally let your arms go as she continued to pump inside you.

“Mama…too mush…” you gripped her, scratching down her back.

“One more angel. I want you to cum with me. You can do that, right? You're such a good girl for me.” You nodded though everything felt like it was on fire in both the best and worst way.

The build up was quick for both of you as Agatha gripped you tightly, looking down into your Y/E/C orbs.

“I'm gonna cum baby. Gonna cum all inside you and fill up that pretty tummy until you're perfectly full and breed with my babies.” You moansled at her words, you hips moving with her own as, making her strap hit your deepest parts and as soon as she started to spurt inside of you, you snapped and joined her in the bliss of yet another orgasam as you gripped and clawed at Agatha only able to repeat, “Breed me Mommy…please…please breed me…” your brain on autopilot.

Agatha had trained you so well over your time together as her movement slowed down. Slowly pulling out making you groan and clench around nothing as she shushed and cooed at you.

“It's okay sweetie. I'm right here. I'm gonna grab you water and a towel.” With a flicker of Agatha's wrist the room was cleaned. No more of your mess on the bed and it even felt warm as you started drifting off until you felt the cold cloth against you as you instinctively tried to pull back, but her strong hands held you there. “It's okay baby I need to clean you. I know I overstimulated you didn't I?” she cooed, your hazy eyes looking at her.

“Yes.”

“You loved it though, didn't you?” she asked with a smile as she helped you sit up to drink some water.

“Yes.”

Agatha got the two of you in your pajamas with a snap of her fingers, letting you curl up against her body. You start falling asleep comfortably against your dominant and your girlfriend in your fuzzy little headspace.

“I love you Y/N you did so well for me tonight.” She whispered as she rubs your back and runs her fingers through your hair as you smile and press yourself further into her.

“I love you too, Aggie.” That night you fell asleep with a smile on your face.

#ley speaks #ley writes #ley requests #agatha harkness #agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness x female reader #dom!agatha harkness #top!agatha harkness #mommy!agatha harkness #sub!reader #subby!reader #bottom!reader

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year ago

Note

can you do a ghost version of the Memories of Youth fic you did for price please?

Harvest Storms

PAIRING: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Daughter!Reader

SYNOPSIS: In the process of trying to keep you happy and separate from him, he was leading you down the exact path he had tried to steer you from.

WORD COUNT: 4.8k

WARNINGS: Angst, emotionally distant father/Simon, injuries, arguments, mentions of Simon's past, hurt/comfort, fluff near the end, etc.

A/N: I know this might be controversial but I really don't see Simon wanting kids so I tried to keep this realistic but also cute, lmao. Enjoy!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

Simon admitted that having a kid was never on his to-do list, and it wasn’t only his job that caused that. In fact, at any point in his life, the thought alone terrified him.

His icy eyes spaced out as the man unstrapped his combat vest in the on-base armory, hucking it over his head with a tiny grunt. Muscles ached; wounds burned.

He’d known having that one-night stand wasn’t right—he should have just stuck to his perfected solitude of dark rooms and middle-of-the-night workouts. But there was only so much you could do before instinct overcame any sort of common sense; add a few drinks into the mix and the concoction had glazed over his mind like a honey-laced dream.

And then nine months later a single text. A photo attachment.

“She’s yours.” His child. His daughter. Simon had a daughter.

It had taken weeks of self-isolation to figure out what to do. There were moments of very real panic—bone-deep worry and hatred. He couldn’t be a father and still be the Ghost that he was now, but there wasn’t a way to reverse his already damaged psyche. Home in Manchester didn’t feel like a real place anymore; home was a gun in his hands and his mask over his face. Slumping bodies and adrenaline-blown pupils. The high he got out of killing could never be topped by the joys of having a family he didn’t want.

But then he remembered his own father and the guilt that had struck him at that moment left Simon physically sick. Head pounding and bile lacing his tongue as he retched over a toilet. It would have been easier to just promise money, and give over some of what he earned to give you a future. He could distance himself but still be a shadow on the wall if it all went south.

Yes, it could have been easy.

Until your mother up and disappeared; leaving you all alone. There was no way in hell he could leave you in foster care. The stories he’d heard…

Simon’s gloved hands flex, joints cracking, before he checks the watch on his wrist with slow-blinking eyes. He needed to be home in two hours.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell.” A groan escapes, rolling his shoulders twice before grasping at his thigh holster—slipping out the X12 to place it down with a small thump of black metal.

These movements were entirely routine and soon there was a neat line of multiple knives, the pistol, an automatic rifle, frag grenades, med pack, rope, and anything else that Ghost could have even the slightest possibility of needing in a tight spot. Through it all, the mask stayed; icy eyes behind the spread of black face paint numb.

It’s one hour later that he’s done cleaning and putting everything away with tired fingers. Feet shuffle before he’s exiting the armory all together, snatching the large duffle bag near the double doors; a small grunt plays out of his chest. The strap is dragged over his head when Soap passes him in the base’s hallway.

All Simon could do is hold back a groan as a headache already begins to form.

“Lt.” The Scot calls, smile pulling his lips up, “off to go hide in back-alleys, then?”

“Jesus, Johnny, shut the fuck up already.” Ghost grumbles out, hands slipping into his pockets as he continues off down the hallway. Behind him, the mohawked Sergeant belts out a laugh before disappearing into the armory Simon had just vacated.

“Copy and check, Sir!” Sarcasm bleeds out and makes icy eyes fall half-closed with subdued annoyance.

The large phantom continues on until he exits the base and digs his keys out of his pockets—finding his car in the underground parking garage exactly where he had left it two months prior. As if on autopilot, he shuffles open the door and tosses his bag in the back before sitting in the front seat and twisting the ignition.

Reaching into the glove compartment, Simon pulls out a clean balaclava and holds it loosely—his opposite hand slipping up to the skeletal mask of his head and feeling the fibers on his fingertips. Replacing it swiftly, the clean fabric slips over his face with a stiff movement of his arm. Seconds later, his foot presses into the gas.

There are no words spoken, no comments under breath, just a silence that seems to stem from some underlying anxiety completely foreign to Simon on the field. Going home always made him nervous. A soul-digging kind of hesitation.

It takes him the rest of that last hour to drive home—a tiny little country house far removed from Manchester though still leaving it well guarded by local law-enforcement patrols. A perfect mix of safety and distance that had been the driving force in Simon’s initial purchase of it. But it wasn’t his only properly, not by a long shot.

Like a rat, the holes of his paranoia ran deep into the earth.

He pulls the car into the dirt driveway and kills the vehicle. Outside in the darkening sky, his eyes slide to watch over the top of the garden wall; seeing tree branches sway in a subdued breeze. Sitting there for a few moments, the man just ends up shaking his head and shoving open the door with his shoulder.

Veins tighten under his flesh.

“Kid!” Simon raps on the front door with his knuckles when his boots take him over and up the steps, voice gravelly. A house key slips into the lock, turning over before the barrier opens. Ghost stomps in and immediately knows the entire home is completely empty.

He blinks in confusion, looking over the still air and dull noises. The AC unit whirls; the fridge shakes. No feet on the floor—no groan or sly comment.

You were a teenager now, but the absence of your aura was harsh to him. You were supposed to be here. The Manchester man’s lips thin.

“Christ, don’t go and tell me she’s fuckin’ gone again…” Simon kicks the door shut and lets his bag fall from his fingers, feeling his chest tighten slowly. He beelines to the kitchen where, sure enough, a note from the far-off neighbor who keeps an eye on you when he’s gone was sitting with its delicate font.

Fast fingers snatch it like a snake, jaw clenched and tight grip creasing the paper. He reads with a growing disappointment.

“She got into a fight out of school again—black eye and bruised knuckles. I’m sorry, Mr. Riley, but I couldn’t get a hold of you to tell you about it. I know you said your job is important but I think your daughter needs her father. When you read this, I’ll have tried to make her come back inside but I was unsuccessful. I left supper at the base of the hill and a blanket. I’m sorry. I’ll be at my home if you need me.”

Simon places the note down and runs a hand up and down his face, a deep sigh exiting his lips as his fingers cover his jaw and chin. Like the definition of fatigue, his body lightly bows forward. Slouched shoulders.

This would make the fifth fight this year.

I know you said your job is important but I think your daughter needs her father.

After a minute of mute irritation, the man drops his hands and goes to the freezer, taking out an ice pack with a small glint of further emotion stinted in his gaze. There are so many things that Simon feels for you—some of which he would never be able to properly express.

He’s not a good man. Not someone to look up to or place on a pedestal. He’s in the 141 because he can do a job; a job that not many others can do simply for the fact that something in him was broken. Shattered beyond repair.

Simon was never meant for this.

The blond placed the ice pack into a rag from the drawer and exited through the back door of the house. Grunt stuck in his throat at the thought of the delinquent activities you seemed to always get up to when he was gone which, admittingly, was more often than not.

I know you said your job is important but I think your daughter needs her father.

But wasn’t he doing a good thing by staying away? He took you in—provided food, water, shelter, and anything else you could need. What was he doing wrong?

Simon’s brows tighten as the chilled air hits him as a winder wind would. By now the sun had fully set and the darkness was becoming more black than blue by the second; dim twinklings from stars dancing in the pupils of his eyes. His feet take him off the back porch and easily finds a small trail that leads through the barren garden all the way to a hill in the distance.

Icy blue easily finds the tiny hunched being at the very top. His hand tightens over the ice pack.

Ghost was unable to understand, of course, he hadn’t had the kind of childhood people would want—was never around kids in general. No friends with little brats running around, obviously. Was this a normal kind of thing kids did? Start fights?

He’d heard some things about teenagers.

Closing his tired eyes for a moment, Simon silently walks past the plate of food at the foot of the hill but snatches the fluffy blanket that had been beside it. If you don’t want to eat he won't force you, but it was getting cold out quickly.

Simon wasn’t letting you catch a bug.

He huffs as he ascends the slope, all the aches and pains finally making themself more known in his thighs and abdomen.

You hear him coming when he’s three-fourths of the way there.

Your red eyes widen in shock, hands that had been trapping your legs to your chest rising to wipe the tears on your cheeks away aggressively; frantic. Three seconds later a heavy fabric hits your head and you tense, widely looking up into the dead eyes of your father.

The blanket thumps to the ground beside you in a heap.

“Put it on,” he grunts from behind his balaclava and your surprised expression slowly sours.

You turn away with a growl. “Don’t want to.”

“Bloody ‘ell, just put it on,” there’s no acidity behind the words, but the annoyance is clear. “Asking to get fuckin’ sick at this rate, are you? I’m not cleanin’ up your vomit from the floor when you're hunched over like a mutt on drugs.”

Not a stranger to his humor, but with a venom-laced look, you grab the blanket as Simon sits next to you and end up throwing it over your shoulders. Your face hurt too much to talk for long periods—right eye swollen and radiating heat; hands weren't that much better, the knuckles puffy and blood-flooded under the skin. It made you flinch when you had to clench your fingers.

You’re acutely aware of your father’s presence. How he sits with his spine bent with one hand behind him; legs laying out flat. You should be happy he’s back safe in one piece, but in reality, there would be little change if he never showed back up at all.

The house was always silent anyways. Dead. Simon was as much a stranger to you as he was to everyone else.

“What did I tell you when I went away, eh?” The man asks you lowly when you’ve settled, and you grit your teeth and look out over the landscape, long grass swaying in the wind. “Kid.”

“Don’t get into any more fights.” Words are stiff, reflective of both of your muscles and hearts.

“Affirmative. You want to explain to me what you did?”

“Got into another fight.” An icepack is tossed near you, bouncing in the grass. You scoff but take it, softly applying it to your face with a concealed flinch. Shame permeates in your ribs, a desperate need to prove yourself. “I didn’t mean to—”

“That’s not an excuse.” Simon glares at you from the side of his eye, utterly serious. “When I tell you something, you listen, yeah?”

“...Yeah,” you grit your teeth and clench your hands, a bitter huff leaving your lips. “Sure.”

A tense silence keeps you in its clutches, the kind of silence that stems from two people who really have no idea how to speak or understand one another.

“No more fighting,” Simon grits out, “now show me.”

“It’s not that bad—”

“Show me it.” Your face burns as you slip the ice pack away and turn your face his way, meeting your father’s gaze head-on and seeing his lids slightly pull back. You spy his hand clenching in the grass, ripping strands out like hair from a head.

“Happy?” You sarcastically ask, turning back forward and putting the ice pack back into your socket.

It’s a long while before he speaks to you again, and you can feel his gaze burning into the side of your face when he does. Your heart rampages at the deathly slow and tiny voice.

“Why?” The question makes your body flair with anger and you grip the pack tighter, feeling the ice shift in your grip as you clench it violently. You feel your fingers twitch when you answer, unconsciously closing into fists.

“Why?” You glare at him, “Why the hell do you care?”

Simon’s eyes go blank, brows going up his head. Gazes lock and you’re suddenly standing to your feet, chucking the ice pack right into his chest. It only makes you madder when he catches it easily, glancing down at the object before slowly shifting his numb eyes back to you.

“You’re never fucking here, what’s the point in telling you anything about me?” Your father’s face is covered, but the mask is more than just physical—it’s a part of him in every sense. You don’t know what he is, but you see his lungs going still in his ribs. You splay your hands around you as the blanket hits the ground at your feet. “It wouldn’t even make a difference if you never came back! Even when you’re here it barely even matters beyond who’s dishes are in the sink.”

Bitter tears spring to your eyes but you refuse to let them fall, a tight itch in your skin. Slight guilt hits you when you shove out such harsh words, but you don’t care enough right now to think about what you’re saying. Everything just hits a breaking point. Shaking your head you scoff again, weaker this time. “You don’t even know the first things about me and you want me to try and explain why I do the things I do?”

Simon watches and listens, stone still. It’s as if he doesn’t even breathe; his pulse doesn’t move, doesn’t blink. If you would have been able to see it, you’d have noticed the way the large man’s lips were slightly parted.

He wasn’t averse to arguments, he yelled on Ops and cursed aggressively on duty, but he had made a stark promise to himself to never yell at you. If there was one thing that reminded him of his father—it was that. Explosive fights that only ended one way.

What you were saying was everything he knew to be true. This came to him in a slow and silent realization of growing pain. Simon didn’t know your favorite color or what food you loved. Your interests or your goals.

He knew how much you spent on snacks at the store, but didn’t know what you bought.

Ghost clenches his jaw and watches your resolve deteriorate with a heavy heart. What was he supposed to do? He was your father, sure, but…he didn’t know the first things that went with anything beyond giving you items and objects.

I know you said your job is important but I think your daughter needs her father.

How could he be a father to you?

Simon clears his throat, for once in his life completely unable to pull on any sort of skill to rectify this situation. You take his silence as blatant disregard.

With a burning face, you sniffle and twist on your heel, speed-walking down the hill back into the house. Your brain is pounding in your head, just as fast as your heart when you finally stomp through the garden and shove open the back door.

Simon doesn’t tell you to stop.

Left on that hill, he watches your back disappear into the house and gets a rabid pain in his stone heart. You were his daughter. You were hurt; neglected. He’d never felt like this before.

Simon had failed the only job that he knew was far more important than any other. Blue darkens into a color reminiscent of storm clouds.

“Fuckin’ Christ.” Standing, he snatches at the ice pack and the blanket, lightly jogging down the mound of earth. In no time he’s standing in the house again, having completely forgotten about the plate of food outside. It’s the tense set of his shoulders that really give away how unprepared he feels. How out of his expertise.

Give Simon a gun and he’d be able to take it apart and reassemble it in one minute; a knife and he’d have it sharp in seconds.

Simon Riley has no idea how to be a good father and he’s suddenly very aware of how fast the window is closing to try. You were his blood and his responsibility. He can’t end up like his own father.

The thought almost makes him sick again, stomach rolling with anxiety.

Inside the house, he tosses the items in his grip onto the couch and whispers past into the hallway to your room. Fingers twitching, he grabs at his balaclava before ripping it from his head; stuffing it into his pants pocket. Stopping in front of your room, Simon raises a hand.

Just as he’s about to shove open the door, he instantaneously stops himself with a sharp thought.

Daughter, not soldier. Home, not barracks.

Hand lowering, he takes a long and deep breath and waits a moment; gathering himself. He still didn’t know what to say…but…

God, your words hurt, but he needed to hear them because they were true.

Simon’s knuckles rasp on the wood, a series of three dull thumps that echo over the stale air. There’s a shuffling of sheets and a dull, “God, just go away!”

Cursing quietly under his breath, Simon runs his fingers through his hair tense-like; pushing back blond strands.

“Open up for me, yeah?” He tries, awkward as his hips shift weight. “Need ‘ta talk to you.”

A cruel laugh exits from under the bottom of the door. “You? Talk?”

Simon keeps his mouth shut and closes his eyes, pulling from the deep pit of patience he holds for on-duty missions and not mastered yet for disagreements and verbal talks. He calms down and rolls his shoulders slightly.

“Please.” A pin could drop.

It’s a long, hot-air moment before there's the padding of feet over the floor and the slight shift of the door handle. The metal jiggles before it’s twisted back with a firm hand.

Your face comes into view through the tiny crack of the door, injured eye on full display in all its swollen glory. A young face is laced with surprise at seeing your father’s bare visage—only the black face paint stuck to his skin—but even more so at his plea. There were only a few times you’d actually seen him and even fewer when you’d hear something like that. Simon stops himself from getting angry at the sight of your wound, staring down at you as his gaze softens just a fraction of a sliver.

He recalls the moment he had first held your form when he had picked you up at hospital years ago. You were so small, squirming in his foreign grip. The nurse had to tell him how to hold you properly—what to do and what not to do.

It had been the first time that Simon could really say he’d been terrified down to his marrow; sweating and lips pulled tight. This being so small it couldn’t do anything by itself had rendered him frozen with unease like he had been stabbed in the heart. Your eyes had looked up at him with trust and love. You hadn’t cried or screamed at his hidden face, even if he thought you should have…you’d done something worse.

You had reached up to his face and placed your little fingers on his brow, slapping his flesh with no strength or hatred. Simon’s gaze never left you for hours after you’d done that, uncharacteristically warm and rendered mute to all else.

Tiny. Weak. Innocent.

How could anybody ever leave you? Hurt you? But the man had been petrified; utterly fearful to the point he would begin shaking when you’d begin crying for a bottle.

In the process of trying to keep you happy and separate from him, he was leading you down the exact path he had tried to steer you from.

“What?” Your crestfallen voice brings him back and he blinks, expression going blank once more. But he tries.

“Can I come in?”

“I don’t know—are you going to give a lecture?” You ask, eyes red and other hand still holding the door handle. Simon breathes out a grunted sigh.

“Negative, Moppet, no lecture.” He relaxes his posture, eye bags plainly visible. He was so tired his fingers had gone numb. “Jus’ need ‘ta…” Words fail him. What did he need to do?

Simon clears his throat, looking off down the hallway before his eyes drift back to you.

“You land a hit, then?” You blink in silent shock at the graveled question, a hitch in your lungs giving way to confusion.

“I…” your feet shuffle, face burning, “what?”

One of your father’s large hands goes up to rub the back of his neck, fingers creating red lines across his flesh as his chest rises and falls. You could immediately tell he had no idea what he was doing.

But…he was trying.

“A hit,” he vaguely gestures to your eye, staring intensely. “Did you get ‘em back?”

It’s a vague few moments before you respond, oddly touched by the question. Your door opens the slightest bit wider.

“More than one person,” you admit hesitantly. Your father’s gaze darkens but you quickly continue. “T-they look worse than me right now.”

Simon nods stiffly, hands going to slide into his pockets. “That’ll do,” a pause, “...‘cause I can’t beat up teenagers without getting into a fuckin’ heap ‘o shit.”

Your heart lurches with amusement and a small smile grows on your face. You stare, still just a tiny bit confused at the sudden shift, but unable to stop the chuckle you let out. He doesn’t know how to describe the feeling in his chest when his ears twitch at the sound of your humor, yet Simon pulls a smirk to his lips. It made him…content, you could say.

“Who said they were teenagers?” you smirk, tinting your head, and your father immediately frowns, unamused. Brows pull in.

“That’s not funny.”

“It’s a little funny.”

“No, it isn’t. Shut your bloody trap.” The air lightens to a degree you hadn’t experienced before. A silence settles before you break it, vision darting down to spy on the dog tags Simon wears.

“...How long are you staying?” The man hums, licking his lips.

I know you said your job is important but I think your daughter needs her father.

“I’m off as long as it takes to get you to stop picking fights, yeah?” Your fingers flinch and you stare into eyes that are always like ice, except now try to melt themselves into a chilled puddle.

“Change of heart?” You ask, voice subdued. A bitter hope builds in your veins.

Simon motions with his chin for you to open the door to your room and you do, elbowing it to the side before backing up—letting your father’s large frame enter.

He looks around for a moment at the posters and the bits of personality, glaring internally at himself because he didn’t know what you liked at all. He seems disappointed with his own negligence.

He’d really fucked up.

“C’mere,” Simon goes and snatches your desk chair before he whirls it around, “lemme take a proper look at it.” His hand pats the top of the wood and you listen, going to it and sitting down softly.

Your father kneels in front of you, bones cracking, and he delicately grabs hold of your chin to tilt your head to the side with practiced ease. You avoid his eyes, hands in your lap held tight together in this silence that brews from shared thorns.

Simon has to take a deep breath to get his head out of his rage at the sight of your damaged skin; instinctual reaction to guard you rearing its head even more so now that he can see the injury in the dim light of your desk lamp. His thumb caresses the side of the swelling with intense care.

“Won’t die,” is all he can say, voice hard and strained. “Lucky you, eh?” You scoff and his hands leave—there wasn’t much he could do. “Moppet.”

Eyes slide up to his and his grip finds your bicep, squeezing once. You’re momentarily locked at the sight of real concern in his glinting orbs; a once in a blue moon occurrence.

“Give me your word.” Simon levels firmly, feet shifting. “No more of this. You’re gonna end up gettin’ hurt—badly—you got that?”

“They were calling soldiers cannon fodder.” You glare at your hands in your lap, mumbling out the truth with a burning face mixed with shame and honesty. Your father goes silent. “That they weren’t even good enough for bullets.”

Jaw clenching, you rotate your wrist and feel the flare of pain from the joints. A deep sigh exits from Simon and with a hesitant clench of his jaw, his hand travels to the back of your head. He presses firmly, and your face finds the junction of his neck and shoulder with little fight. Tense in the beginning, you slowly breathe in sweat and tarmac with a gradual loosening feeling in your muscles.

Eyes wide, you slowly begin to return the strange embrace. Your father flinches lightly when your fingers slip along his waist, hands grabbing into his shirt. But like you, time makes him calm—the side of his face connects with the side of your scalp, lashes fluttering closed tightly.

It was you. His daughter. Innocent.

The emotions are so foreign to you that it brings a burning behind your eyes as the minutes lengthen.

Simon can’t even begin to process it, it just felt natural to do such things for you. If there was one thing he did know—it was that he didn’t want to see you in pain or suffering; hurt or eyes filled with pain. His hands slip to bring you up into his arms like you were a baby again, carrying you easily as your nose sniffles with restrained tears. You’re placed in your bed with a delicate plop, icy eyes darting over you until it seems a decision is made with a quick nod.

You watch him leave and return seconds later with a pile of manilla folders in his hands. Your father grunts softly, “Go to sleep. It’s late out,” and drops the items to your desk, sitting down with a huff and a squeal from your chair. The air is warm and you sit in it a moment longer.

Eyes blink at the silhouette before a small smile builds on your lips—genuine and warm like a weighted blanket.

“How long are you gonna be there?” You ask your father, grasping the covers and slipping under as your head hits the pillow; making sure to stay on the uninjured side.

He doesn’t turn around.

“All night. Need ‘ta get this shite done for my boss.” You don’t know why, but you feel like he’s lying. Simon looks over his shoulder with a tone dipping to a whisper. “Sleep, Kid. We’ll get those knuckles sorted in the morning.”

Of course, he’d noticed that, too.

“Dad?” You ask and his spine straightens instantly at the title. It’s a long time before he answers and when he does his emotion is the softest you’ve ever heard him; gravel so deep you almost miss the words entirely.

“What is it?”

“Goodnight.” Simon’s hands shake as they open the first folder in the small stack, small tremors that are both horrible and endearing. He doesn’t say anything until you’re fast asleep behind him—when he stands up and walks over, pressing a kiss to your forehead and pulling the covers farther up to your chin.

Into your skin, he whispers, “...Goodnight, my little Moppet.”

Simon wonders if his daughter likes eggs for breakfast as his pen slides over the first report, one eye forever staying on your slumbering body to watch the rise and fall of your lungs.

TAGS:

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sleep-0-deprived · 1 year ago

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if your requests are open i was wondering if I could get the doa trio x bottom male reader? (like a foursome with them, just the brainrot is so unreal rn)

DOA nsfw head cannons with a sub bottom male reader

Ok so I am having some severe writers block so I’m sorry in advance for it being shitty and also sorry for taking so long to get to your request but I hope you do enjoy ;]

Female aligned dni 18+ only below this point

Things in your relationship was a bit more on the complex Side that still applies in the bed room too they are all different Fyodor is a strict dom who loves to over simulate you, dazai is a serving dom that loves giving praises and pleasing you, and Nikolai is a rough dom that gives harsh punishments

A common thing in the four of yours sex life is bdsm and sub/dom dynamic all of you have a few kinks like Nikolai like taking a knife and tracing it all over your body while dazai sucks you off and Fyodor fucks you and they each take turns over and over with you until all four of you are over stimulated. Fyodor has a choking kink and a collar kink, he loves seeing your throat littered with bruises and bite marks from him, Dazai has a breeding kink and likes to see your eyes glazed over with fresh tears from being fucked silly.

They never get jealous because they all understand that you are theirs and they are yours but they do get possessive in bed about who can please you more

Toys and cuffs are a must, Fyodor will play will put vibrators up against your nipples and blow you while grabbing your thighs, Nikolai likes to insert a vibrator against your prostate and Fuck you from behind with his hands around your waist leaving bruises, Dazai likes to make you ride him until your legs give out and he starts fucking you roughly while praising you and stoking your dick.

Now you’ve heard of double penetration but with them it will be triple penetration with them and they get rough with you but they give a lot of praise, and the aftercare is amazing they will take a shower hand help clean you and that sometimes leads to more sex, afterward all of you cuddle with you in the middle.

#x male reader #sub male reader #x male reader smut #bottom male reader #bsd x male reader #bsd x reader #fyodor x male reader #nikolai x reader #dazai x male reader #sigma x reader #smut #mlm ns/fw

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angelwings-crossbowstrings · 1 year ago

Text

Whumptober 2023

No. 25 “They’re not breathing!”

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Setting: Whisperers Era

Warnings: Description of injuries, mouth to mouth resuscitation

“Y/N. Hey, hey. M’righ’ here.” Daryl sat on his knees beside you, leaning over you. “Can ya open yer eyes?”

“D-Daryl?” You obliged him but found it hard to keep your eyes open, let alone keep his face in focus. “It’s o…okay. It doesn’t…hurt.”

The archer looked at the wound in your side, still steadily oozing blood. He placed a hand over it, his expression sympathetic and guilty when you winced.

“Okay…I… I take it…back. That…fucking sucks.”

Daryl snorted, but he couldn’t hold on to the humor. Crimson seeped from between his fingers, warm and sticky. “Jus’ hang on, y’hear me? Siddiq’s on ‘is way.”

“Tired.” You whispered, your eyes glazing over. “D…Daryl? Daryl?” There was an urgency in your tone that filled the bowman with panic. He leaned in above you with a loud plea for you to keep looking at him, but your eyes slipped shut.

“Y/N?”

Carol sprinted over, doubling over with her hands on her knees in an attempt to catch her breath. “She okay?”

“Y/N?! Fuck!” He clumsily shook your shoulder, keeping his other hand over the wound. “She ain’t breathin’!”

“Shit.” Carol whispered, lowering to her knees opposite of Daryl to place two fingers to your carotid artery. “There’s still a pulse.” She didn’t hesitate to pinch your nose and place her mouth over yours to offer much needed oxygen to starving lungs.

Daryl watched with grief and horror, desperate to hear you take in a breath. “C’mon.”

Carol glanced up at her best friend. “Daryl—”

“Nah. No. Don’ ya stop.” He was shaking his head adamantly, eyes fierce and nostrils flaring. He didn’t give Carol a chance to continue, taking his hand from the wound to proceed with breathing for you. Carol scrambled to put pressure back on the wound. “Ain’t losin’ ‘er.”

Carol watched, lip quivering and eyes leaking. She pressed her fingers to your neck again. Your heart was still beating but slowing with each passing moment. Daryl continued forcing air into your lungs, begging you to respond. Carol turned when she heard Siddiq calling your name.

“Over here!”

“C’mon, Y/N. Please.” Another breath, but this time, when he slanted his mouth over yours, you dragged in a harsh gulp of air. “Tha’s it. Good girl.” You remained unresponsive but you were breathing, sparking a flame of hope within Daryl’s chest. “Stay with me.” He could hear Siddiq right beside him now, but The archer’s eyes remained on your face.

Carol and Siddiq scrambled to stabilize you, leaving Daryl to tether you. The wound was deep with the threat of internal injury as well. Still, Siddiq was hopeful.

“I’ll get Aaron to help us move her. We have to get her back to the infirmary.”

Carol nodded and watched him go, her hand instinctively reaching out to squeeze Daryl’s shoulder. “She’ll be okay.”

Daryl nodded, stroking your bloody cheek with the back of his knuckles. “I know.” He brushed your damp hair off of your forehead before pressing his lips there. “Y’ain’t goin’ anywhere, Sunshine. Yer too damn stubborn fer that shit.”

Somehow, in the darkness, you could hear Daryl’s voice, leading you back to him.

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shaisuki · 7 months ago

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So..

I read this writing once where Sukuna and Yuji (twin, like Sukuna isn't in Yuji's body) using the aphrodisiac to the reader and manhandling her. I forgot how the story goes but it's basically how they both were away from the reader for a mission and missing her so much but neither of them wanting to reach out to her because they had an argument before(forgot what they were fighting about 💀). Somehow they both went feral for missing her touch, voice, etc and that leads to using the aphrodisiac on her because she's stubborn and trying to deny the tension when they both seeing her to make up for their mistake.

I've forgotten about this but i try my best to remember.

I don't know how to type and describe shit and there might be spelling errors cuz English ain't my first and i hope you can understand it. AND PLEASE, i love your writing so much like I'll be barking and all.😭

𝗔𝗣𝗢𝗟𝗢𝗚𝗬 𝗔𝗖𝗖𝗘𝗣𝗧𝗘𝗗

FT. TWIN! ITADORI YUUJI AND SUKUNA RYOUMEN

content warnings: twin brothers! yuuji and sukuna, dubcon, aphrodisiacs , biting, double penetration, anal, fingering, bite marks, blood, fondling, bits of manhandling, usage of nicknames, sukuna is sukuna.

notes. i apologize it took so long. i hope this one did justice to your request. thank you again for the support!

synopsis: an argument took place before they are sent for a mission and now, they are back. working for the forgiveness of their beloved girlfriend they only know how to please.

“don't be so stubborn, princess.”

a scoff and you turning your back from them is the only response they received from you. from yuuji's view he can see the pout visible in your face and he sighs. the younger twin shoots a "it's-your-fault" look at his older twin and he retaliates with an annoyed glare.

he was adding gasoline to the fire from an argument far long gone forgotten after the mission they were sent and you were still troubled from it.

the silence are killing them and everytime when they come back from a mission you always greet them with a smile and shower them with kisses. telling them how much you've missed them and they were pampered by you. the hottest of make out sessions and them fondling your soft body while engaged in some grinding that left you breathless and it's not like they are going to be rewarded for now.

the tension heavy in the air and the drawing of breaths can be heard. an exasperated sighs from yuuji and the clicking of tongue coming from sukuna in annoyance and that whine leave from your mouth. no one wants to address the elephant in the room and you were just equally stubborn as them. this won't end well.

the younger pink-haired sorcerer cracks first. shuffling in the room and getting seated in front of you where you sat in the side of the bed. he tentatively touches your cheeks and when you didn't flinch only avoiding his gaze. yuuji's gaze softens. finding you so adorable and he would be lying if he didn't like you all this pouty at him.

“talk to us please.” raising your head to look in his eyes but you remained to be stubborn. oh no. yuuji knows how difficult it is when you're sulking and in desperate need of attention. he eyes the bags of souvenirs laid in the floor. the contents are chosen according to what you may like and to their tastes. always been effective to win you affection but now, it is not.

he glances at his twin with a annoyed expression in his tattooed face and is clearly impatient in coaxing you to open up with them. he looks back at you and his gaze lowering below to your face. itadori gulps. a thin sheet of sweat glazing in his skin from the mere sight of your clothed body in front of him. it's been a week since he got a taste of you and he's been dying to get a taste.

the swell of your chest in your shirt and the pudge of your stomach straining your shirt and your creamy thighs peeking in that short, he don't think he's going to last. depraved of what he's been desiring for days. his cock straining uncomfortably in his pants.

desperate times calls for desperate measures. you leave him with no choice if you're not going to talk it out with him.

your hand are curled in his uniform while your other hand is being held by him. kissing your cheek until it descends to your neck and finding the pulse in your neck. “no...�� you softly whined and it makes his cock throb more. normally, yuuji would apologize but not this time. biting your neck gently but enough to draw blood and he began to inject you with small amounts of aphrodisiacs. unbeknownst to you mistaking it only as nipping on your skin. it is but it's different.

he hears you gasp, “what are you doing, yuuji?” you asked him and weakly pushing him away. the younger twin only kisses the bite mark. murmuring, “apologizing.” kissing the skin under your jaw and nibbling on the skin there. “i won't accept it.” he hums and you feel another pair of hands snaking around you.

a deep growl coming from behind you. “then accept it, brat.” sukuna takes out on you. frustrated and annoyed with this little charade you are on. you can't even read the room of how they both longed for you after a week of being in a mission and only you for act this way. depraved of what they sought and he's far from nice to deal with this unlike his twin who has done all to get to your good graces.

“—kuna!” you yelp, almost jumping if not for the older twin's vice grip on you. two of his sharp canines pricking at your delicate soft skin. blood making way to outside as exchange for the small lethal doses of liquid aphrodisiac he secretes from his fangs. it mixes in your blood and he sucks on the blood trickling in your neck. he might done it hard but he wasn't the one to worry about it knowing you can take it.

“it hurts.” you complained. squirming away from him but sukuna only holds your arms down. “oh it won't, got you in me and it will feel good, princess.” biting your neck again and he smirk in triumphant as he watches you unconsciously rub your creamy thighs together. squishing and doubling in size. “quit watchin’ brat or i'll have her myself.” threatening his younger twin whose dead staring at you. sukuna rolls his eyes. thinking he could have a cuck for a younger brother.

wiping the drool from the corner of his mouth. the bed dips from his added weight. “you'll feel good okay.” holding your round cheeks before kissing you.

yuuji was always a messy kisser. sloppy and wet and kind of lewd that leaves you wanting for more. lips locking and licking each other's tongue was his favorite. “hmm—more, yuuji....kiss me more.” you say in between kisses. catching his tongue and sucking the pink muscle in your own. a slight blush coating his cheeks. eyes half lidded from how good you kisses when you're turned on and being needy. the aphrodisiac taking effect and turning your thoughts into a mush.

while you and yuuji sucks each other's faces. sukuna busies himself by ripping your shorts along with your panties. grabbing your thighs and prying it open to accommodate his hands. fingers spreading apart your chubby pussy lips and rubbing your slit eliciting a moan from you. “you like your pussy being played, hah — brat?” sukuna mocks. you nodded while still kissing his twin. annoyed from your brief response, he slaps your pussy making you jolt. effectively disconnecting your lips with yuuji. “yes, suku! love when you play my pussy.” you moaned out. sukuna grabs your jaw moving it to the side to meet his lips. swallowing your moans whole and without missing a beat. two of his thick fingers plunged inside your dripping hole. simultaneously pumping inside and out and his thumb circling your clit.

“you're going to cum, aren't you. nasty brat.” sukuna tuts. your pussy squelches with your juices dripping from how fast he was pumping his thick fingers inside you. his lips finding the juncture of your neck. your skin is trapped between his teeth and your body tenses, shaking when he plunges his fingers deep. “s-suku!” you scream. gripping his arm when he bit you and the orgasm you're currently recovering from.

he pulls his thick digits out from you. drenched in your juices. “suck.” he orders you and you opened your mouth obediently. sucking his digits and swirling your tongue around them. moaning at your taste from his fingers.

itadori removes his clothing one by one until he's only clad in his boxer. his bulge pressing uncomfortably and aching for it to be taken care of. nerves tingling from anticipation and he can barely wait to sink his teeth to you.

you smell heavenly.

both of your bodies glistening in sweat while you sweetly moan above him. his cock deep inside your asshole after stretching and prepping you to accommodate his girthy length. the soft rolls of your back, a contrast to his hard muscles while his hips moves upward rutting deep inside your asshole. his hands holding both your creamy thighs open wide to welcome his older twin's cock inside your pussy.

“does it feel good?” yuuji whispers to you, licking the shell of your ear. “why are you asking her, you fool.” sukuna interrupts him. a cocky smirk in his lips. watching as your face turns into a cock drunk whore. “of course, it feels good. see how our stubborn princess turns obedient once she gets our cocks.” his gaze locked at you. noting of the tears rolling down from the corners of your eyes from how they were fucking you.

grunts can be heard from the younger twin and his older twin continues to pound the tight hole of your cunt. large palms closing in a tight grip to the softness of your waist.

your vision is blurry from the tears pooling in your lids. you're glad that you can still even produce a sound from how many times they fucked your holes. your body is sore and yet it continues to burn for more. putting you in many different positions where your back is forced to arch more while you suck the other twin off, taking a pounding from behind but you can never get enough of the feeling of their cocks drilling your insides. letting them stuff you with their seeds full until it drips and makes a mess out of you.

“please, please, please—g-going to cum again” you helplessly warned them of your upcoming orgasm. the tightness in your stomach beginning to come undone. “cum on my cock, you nasty brat. want me to praise you for that?” sukuna chuckles. roughly thrusting inside of you and yuuji follows the same rhythm of his twin's movements inside you.

it's so good. their cocks rubbing inside you. never felt so full in your life and you're going to be bred again and again. the vein running in sukuna's cock hitting your clit over and over again. adding to that pleasure that you don't want to end.

you cum screaming for both of their name. the same time they roughly shoved their cocks inside you to fill you to the brim of their thick cum.

you lay there panting. both of the twins pulling their still semi-hard cock. sukuna admires the cum flowing both out of your used holes. scooping them using his fingers and pushing them back. “how much can you take, huh.” sukuna commented, nose flaring a bit and he caught the scent of your body still wanting to get stuffed both of them. he gave his younger twin a knowing look. yuuji who was peppering kisses all over your skin.

it looks like they're not going to stop until the aphrodisiac wears off and until you accepted their apology.

#♱ ⋮ shai's works⸝⸝#chubby reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x chubby reader #itadori yuuji x reader #itadori x reader #ryoumen sukuna #sukuna x reader #jjk smut #itadori x reader x sukuna #itadori yuuji #jujutsu itadori #yuji itadori #sukuna ryoumen smut #sukuna #jjk #jujutsu kaisen smut

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sensei-venus · 2 years ago

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gosh darn it tumblr. 😭 my original ask had a request for daniel x female reader where they're at daniel's place doing homework & the reader gets distracted by how attractive he is (aka horny) and one thing leads to another and they end up fucking and that homework gets shoved off the bed so fast

(Unedited)

“Uhhhh I hate this! How are you so good at this stuff when I just straight up suck at it!”

“It’s because I actually pay attention and take notes, not sleep all class. Like someone in this room.”

Reader huffed as she rolled onto her side on Daniel's bed. She fanned out on his bed and groaned into the mattress in annoyance. Her brain hurt just from the thought of another math problem. Daniel was way better at this stuff then she was and she wished he would suck it up and let her copy off of him.

But no he had to “help her” by trying to tutor her. It did little to help her at this point.

Daniel just smirked and rolled his eyes at her before looking back at the worksheet. His eyes scanning over his own work, not even bothering to look at the mess of Reader’s. It looked like it could rip at any minute from how much she had erased over the thin paper. He almost grimced at it.

Reader turned back over and looked at him. Her hand resting under her head as she laid on her side and just studied him.

She had only known the boy for a year and only dated him a few months now.

Up close she could see why some of the girls at school thought he was so attractive. She felt a pang in her heart, feeling like she was lucky to have caught his eye. For him to dating her. But that was nothing in her mind.

Daniel was attractive by all things holy. He might be slightly smaller and more scrawny then most boys, he wasn't beefy or have washboard abs. But it was attractive none the least. His face was a big winner for most girls including herself.

Big brown eyes that always had a glint of mischief in them. Tan skin that was only darkening the longer he stayed in the california sun. The almost invisible dust of freckles on the bridge of his nose. Not to mention his cute nose that fit his other features perfectly.

Kissable plump lips that he was always darting his tongue out to wet.

Reader couldn’t help rubbing her thighs together to try and get some friction. Her pussy was already starting to get damp just from just thinking about him. Her eyes glazed over just a little as she watched him work on his own homework. The way his jaw locked a little when he was thinking or the way he chewed on the inside of his cheek. He was already starting to get annoyed with his own work and he watched as his jaw started to lock up.

She slowly moved a hand over his bed sheets, her fingers ran up is arm and finally over his cheeks. He didn’t seem to interested or he just didn’t notice.

That was until her fingers ran though his thick hair and her hand grabbed a big chuck, giving it a hard tug at the roots. He grunted and his eyes sprang up to look her way. He puffed out a cheek before huffing, she just gave him a innocent smile.

“Soooo you said your mom was going to be working late today? Taking a double shift?”

He raised a brow before slowly nodding. A smirk coming over his lips as he started to get what she was hinting at.

Not even five minutes later the two where naked on his bed.

Reader giggled as she pushed him down and straddled his waist. She grinned as she started to stroke his already hard dick. He hissed as she played with him, her fingers playing along his shaft and her finger tip running over his slit.

She let go of him only to run herself against him. She was already slick as she rubbed her folds over him. His dick pushing though her soft spongy folds. They both moaned out at the feeling, the tip of his dick digging into her clit with every movement.

“Babe shit, if you keep doing that I’m going to cum.”

“We don’t want that do we, not till your inside me that is.”

She laughed as she lifted herself up a little bit. Her had reached around to stroke him once more before helping to line him up with her pussy. His tip brushed her entrance before pushing fully into her wet heat. Slowly she let herself slid down his dick until he bottomed out. His bass pressed against her ass just right. They both moaned and groaned at the new feeling.

Reader panted as she let him settle inside her tight cunt. She felt so full with him inside of her, and he was so deep. Her head was in the clouds as she started to move on top of him.

Daniel grunted as she moved on top of him, her hands on his chest as she used him for leverage to move herself up and down on him. She was bouncing on his dick like not other and all he could do was try to help push and pull her down. He moaned out as he buried his face into her fat tits. Almost smothering himself in her soft tits as she moved around, her hips circling on top of him. He could feel how wet she was as she spilled all over him.

His eyes rolled back for a split second pushed himself deeper into her breasts. All he could hear was her heavy breathing and moans. The way her voice rumbled in her chest. He could hear the way her heart pounded. He groaned as she felt himself slowly start to let go. The coil in his belly was tight and about to snap, his dick felt like it was going to break off at this rate. The way she moved made his head spin.

His fingers dig into the rolls of his belly as he try’s to find some kind of purchase of leverage. Her bouncing only growing more violent by the minute. He could feel his balls throb. He was so close just a little more and he would be over the edge.

He felt her grind down and her pussy clench around him. Her tight channel fluttered and she squealed out before jerking around. It took him a moment to realize what even happened.

She just squirted on his dick.

That was all it took for him to go over the edge cum. His ball drew up as he unloaded a fat load of hot cum into her tight cunt. It quickly spilled out along his shaft with her fluid’s. Her own juices painted his thighs and pelvis. It was wet and sticky as they both lay together. Her weight was like a heavy blanket on top of him and he couldn’t help but snuggle more into her. His head resting against her pillow like tits. He sighed.

She panted over him before setting back into a normal rhythm. She hummed as her gummy walls flutter around him once again. His dick slowly softened but twitched inside her.

“Remind me to take these sheets down to the laundry later, at least before my mom gets home.”

“Ummm will do baby will do….”

#cobra kai #cobra kai blog #cobra kai ask blog #daniel larusso x reader #cobra kai daniel larusso #daniel larusso x chubby reader #daniel larusso smut #karate kid #karate kid fanfiction #karate kid imagine #the karate kid series #karate kid blog #cobra kai smut #karate kid smut #cobra kai smut thought #cobra kai x chubby reader #chubby reader

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lovings4turn · 10 months ago

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୭ 🗝️ ✧ ˚. 🪩 rum and revelations . . . (l.s.)

— after one too many drinks at a party, logan forgets how to keep his own secrets. but drunk words are sober thoughts, right? (1k words)

+ inspired by this ask from my lovely dolly — i know this was a sugar n spice saturday ask but it just made my mind go BRRR so i had to write a full fic!

+ contains fluff, drinking and drunk behaviour, mentions of vomiting but no one is actually sick. divider from cafekitsune

“woah, sorry!”

before you can react, logan is slumped against your side, essentially placing his full body weight onto you. high-pitched laughter escapes his lips as he attempts to steady himself, placing a hand onto the wall you’re both leaning against as he regains his balance.

there’s no mistaking it. he’s drunk. absolutely shit-faced, to be more precise.

but you can’t really blame him. all of his hard work and determination had finally paid off, and just a few hours earlier he’d earned his first points of the formula one season. what kind of friend would you be to deny him the chance to celebrate? especially when such a large party had been thrown, a friend of one of logan’s friends offering up their house to host.

“feeling okay?” you ask, an amused smile tugging at your lips as he lifts his head.

“never better,” he responds.

even his voice suggests he’s a little worse for wear. his accent has somehow grown thicker, and his words are a little sluggish, slurred together in a blur of vowels and consonants with a meaning wrapped up somewhere in the middle. a couple of glasses of champagne paired with tequila shots and rum and cokes will do that to a person, you suppose.

any conversation dies on your tongue as logan slumps forward once more, warm forehead resting against your shoulder as he emits a low groan. if it weren’t for his shoulders shaking with laughter, you would have been concerned.

“this is what you call ‘never better’?” you tease.

without thinking, you lift your hand to his hair, carding your fingers through the blonde strands in a motion that you hope is soothing. logan’s response comes in the form of an incomprehensible groan, and you can’t help but laugh yourself.

“i think it’s starting to hit me,” he admits, removing his head from your shoulder.

his eyes are a little glazed over, and though he’s smiling, there’s a far away look on his face that indicates the copious amounts of alcohol is starting to catch up with him.

“alright, let’s get you some water,” you say, the smile audible in your voice.

you and logan are no strangers to taking care of one another. you had been best friends for the past five years or so, so you’d had your fair share of looking after the other when they got a little too carried away at a party. still, you don’t think you’ve ever seen logan this bad.

you take his hand in yours, lifting his arm until it’s draped around your shoulder in an effort to support his weight. he stumbles alongside you, mumbling inaudible comments to himself and bursting into gratuitous laughter as he trips over his own feet.

some divine force must be on your side, as you’re able to find an empty room without trouble. god knows how you would have reacted if you’d… interrupted something between two other partygoers.

you lead logan over to the queen sized bed, sitting him down despite his protests that he’s perfectly capable of doing it on his own. luck was certainly with you, as the room you’d selected bore an ensuite bathroom.

“wait here,” you instruct, striding over to the bathroom and filling a glass with cold water.

as the crisp water fills the glass, you check yourself over in the mirror. when you think about it, you’re not sure why. sure, you don’t want to be walking around with smudged makeup, or your hair a mess, but it’s also just logan. he’s seen you at your very worst sober, so why should it matter how he sees you now, when his vision is likely double?

you thrust the glass into his hand, cupped palm coming to sit under his chin as he greedily downs the liquid. a few droplets hit your hand, and you hold back a shiver at the cold temperature.

“y’okay?”

“i’m not gonna vomit, if that’s what you mean.” he jokes, and you smile back.

it’s quiet for a moment, until logan speaks again.

“thanks, y/n. i’m sorry, you should be enjoying yourself. yet you’re here taking care of me.”

logan exhales, throwing himself backwards until his back hits the mattress.

“don’t apologise, logan. if there’s any night for you to get shitfaced, it’s tonight,” you reason, giving him a smile. “anyways, ‘m happy to do it. long as i know you’re okay.”

“you’re too nice,” logan mumbles, his tone once again far away, as though his mind is somewhere else entirely. “y’know, this is why i like you so much. you’re always so nice to me.”

suddenly, your heart is in your throat.

“what?” you ask, forcing out a laugh.

he’s drunk. you reason. he has no clue what he’s saying.

“i mean, y’always there for me. at every grand prix, even when i’ve fucked a race, you’re in the garage for me. you always answer my calls, and you’re just really nice. and really pretty. my god, you’re so pretty,” logan mumbles.

his eyes are closed, and it’s apparent to you that he has no idea what he’s saying.

“oscar’s tired of me talking about you, actually. though he promises it’s not your fault. it’s mine, for talking about you so much. oscar thinks you’re great.”

you’re glad he’s out of it, because it would be impossible to hide your flushed cheeks and dropped jaw.

“of course,” you respond, begging your tone to stay even. “we’re best friends. and i’m fucking amazing.”

logan scoffs a laugh.

“yeah, ‘best friends’. not like i’ve been in love with you since we met or anything.”

it’s clear his tone is begging to be joking, but the alcohol prohibits him from being convincing. your heart is in your throat, and you swallow it down, praying it doesn’t try to crawl back out. instinctively, your hand finds itself in logan’s hair once more and you sigh, biting back a smile.

“we’ll talk when you’re sober, yeah? i think you’ll be quite pleased with how the conversation turns out.”

logan nods at this, leaning further into your touch. when he finally responds, his voice is thick with sleep.

"mm, sounds good. love you."

your heart skips a beat as you smile.

"yeah. love you too."

🏷️ tags : @faerieroyal @starriesworlds @itscrzy

#.° ༘🗝️⋆₊ becca’s drabbles #logan sargeant #logan sargeant x reader #logan sargeant fluff #logan sargeant x you #logan sargeant blurb #logan sargeant drabble #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 fluff

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leighsartworks216 · 1 year ago

Note

This request is actually inspired by my fic I'm writing and I wanted to see your interpretation of the scene.

Tav is the daughter of a well known pirate, basically the black beard of Baldur's Gate, but after an attack that lead to her father and alot of the crews death she roamed Baldur's Gate until the mindflayer thing happened.

Currently, she and everyone are at a tavern, celebrating another successful quest and honestly still being alive when she hears a familiar song and she sees four old crew members (family) she thought was gone. What is your interpretation of the scene, how would Astarion would react to the news, and seeing her reuinte with her family?

I did not expect this to turn out as long as it did lmao

Astarion x fem!Tav/Reader (can be read as gn)

Warnings: fear of abandonment, alcohol/drinking, swearing

Word Count: 2,123

Main Masterlist

Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

The tavern was lively and bustling on the evening you and your companions squeezed in, the sun beginning to paint the sky in dramatic colors as it sets. Almost instantly, your party's spirits are lifted - yours included.

Finding a table for 7 people is no easy feat, but you manage to snag one in the corner. Drinks were served around, jokes about the battle you’d just endured and old stories of lives before the Illithid threat fill the air with an easy camaraderie. It reminds you of your father's ship, of the crew that raised you. Thinking about them again left a bitter taste in your mouth. Astarion must have noticed the distant look in your eye. He reached under the table for your hand, interlacing your fingers easily, and trying to catch your eye.

You smile at him, but your eyes are still glazed over. “I’m just thinking about my family, is all,” you tell him, as though it’s as mundane as thinking of what one needs to get from the market to make dinner. You’d told him of your father, his crew, the ship - and what happened to it. It’s been months, but it’s still too fresh. You still wake up in the dead of night from visions of colossal waves that pull your head under, and screams cut short with the slice of a cutlass. “This… reminds me of them.”

He offers a concerned smile, though it comes out as more of a grimace. “I’m flattered we remind you of drunken sailors,” he drawled sarcastically. It worked to get a laugh out of you, if nothing else.

“Drunken pirates,” you correct. He watches the smile slip, your eyes become distant once more, water pricking at the corners.

Astarion had a… complicated relationship with family. He couldn’t remember his parents, and the “family” Cazador provided were less-than-welcoming at best. As such, he never really knew how to comfort you in times like these. Not that he knew how to comfort anyone, really, but he wanted to try, at least.

“Gods,” you sigh, choked with emotion, “I miss those daft fools.” You lean your head against his shoulder. He maneuvers to wrap his arm around your middle, holding you close, and takes your hand again. “We used to celebrate like this,” you mumbled. His elven ears picked it up easily. “We’d drown the night in ale and groan about it in the morning. Played knife-throwing games as our visions start to spin and double. Sing songs at the top of our lungs, like screaming it would scare away any monster at sea.”

You sigh again. Though he can’t see your face, he can see when you use your free hand to wipe your eyes. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be burdening you with this.”

“Darling,” he hums, squeezing your hand, “we are technically in this together. Your burdens are mine and all that. In any case, you’ve carried all of our burdens, even when you didn’t have to. I’m only returning the favor.”

“Thank you.” You lift your head from his shoulder to kiss his cheek. He grins, all too pleased with the simple affection you lavish on him. “Now, enough wallowing.” You clear your throat and grab your tankard. “This is a celebration. And I intend to be too drunk to walk before the night is out.”

He sighed dramatically, lifting his goblet of wine. “And I suppose I’ll be the one to carry you back to camp?”

You smirk up at him, a glint in your eye. Like this, he can imagine you as the pirate you are. Swashbuckling and taking down other ships, climbing up ropes to the top of the sails, peering out from the crow’s nest for any sign of adventure. Dry land did not suit you, he thought.

But then came the thoughts that always followed. If you did return to the sea, to your old life with a new crew, after these tadpoles are removed, he couldn’t follow. The only reason he’s safe from the sun and the burn of running water was because of the damned, wriggly things. He couldn’t follow you onto a ship to be locked away in confined cabins until night, or help if the waters chose to fold over the deck in great big waves, threatening to take down the vessel. He couldn’t have that life. Not with you.

Your head was thrown back, neck bobbing with each gulp of shitty ale. You did not see the pain on his features those thoughts brought him. He tossed back the last of his wine.

You stand and gather the empty mugs of your companions, bright-eyed and ready for round after round (Karlach only encourages this.), when something sounds across the tavern. It’s a rather large establishment, and the bustle of other patrons covers up everything. But it’s there. Loud and boisterous and-

You rush to step over the bench and find the source of the noise. Astarion frowns and chases after. He’s right on your tail as you push through drunkards with half-formed “Excuse me”s and “Coming through”s. As you get closer and closer, the sound becomes clearer. It’s not just noise - it’s singing. A cacophony of voices all singing together.

You squeeze past a barmaid, nearly knocking the drinks from her hands, but the apology is lost when you see a table full of drunken pirates. One starts to take a swig mid-song, when his eyes land on you. He’s on his feet - Is that a peg leg? - in an instant, dropping the tankard carelessly to the table.

“Tav?” he gasps. The rest fall silent, turning around to see what the man was gawking at. They thought he was imagining it, as he’d done time and again since the attack. They all leapt up and rushed forward when you were more than a figment of their alcohol-addled minds.

Astarion was pushed aside as a horde of pirates surrounded you, hugging you and ruffling your hair and all speaking hurriedly with worry and joy. He can’t ignore the pain in his chest, as though someone had driven a stake through his heart. You hugged each one, misty eyed. Questions fell ceaselessly from your lips as you asked how they survived, what happened, what they’d been doing all this time. And he knew. He knew without a shadow of a doubt. He could not hope to be more important than your family. He couldn’t be the one you chose - not when you’d recounted your friends with tales of the open ocean and your father’s crew for hours.

He quietly backed away. The others ask why you rushed off and what was happening when he returned to grab the bottle of wine. He wasn’t too sure what he said. He’d like to think it was some sort of “They found their family” said with a charming grin, and a simple, but believable, excuse to go back to camp not like a dog with its tail tucked between its legs, but like a vampire with things that need doing back at camp. Alone. With a bottle of wine.

Your eyes are red and your smile is about to burst off your face when you drag your pirate family over to meet your companions. You’re bouncing on your feet with energy, introducing everyone and nearly crying again when the pirates embrace everyone like family. Your heart is soaring when you look around for Astarion, searching around the table, the bar, the crowd. And it starts falling when you don’t see him anywhere.

“Hey, have any of you seen Astarion?”

Gale groaned as he was released from a bone-crushing hug. He winced as he held his shoulder. “He said he was heading back to camp.”

Your heart crashed firmly against hard cement, leaving cracks in the foundation. “Back to- Why? Did he say why?”

“No,” Shadowheart answered this time, trying not to get caught admiring the intricate braid of another crewmate. “He just took the wine and ran.”

The warm environment suddenly felt cold and unwelcoming. Was he uncomfortable with your family? They were known to be rather callous and loud - maybe they’d scared him off? Was the idea of confronting their family just too stressful for him? Did it bring up unwanted memories? Why… Why did he run off?

You touch an older pirate’s arm, letting them know you’ll be right back. They smile and nod and pull you in for one last hug. It feels bittersweet. You dash off from the tavern back to camp.

When you arrive, he’s uncorking a second bottle of stolen alcohol, frowning and grumbling and pacing. He’s so deep in his thoughts, he doesn’t notice you’re there until you say his name. He frowns deeply at you. “Shouldn’t you be catching up with your family?” he asks, but it’s bitter and cold.

You frown. “I wanted you to meet them. Why’d you leave?”

He looks away, focusing instead on taking a long drink from the bottle. It’s had no time to air out; he almost grimaces at the flavor. He pretends to read the label. “It was getting a little crowded in there,” he dismisses.

“So you leave without saying anything?”

“Well,” he begins, drawn-out and sarcastic, creating a barrier between you and his emotions, “you were busy. I’d hate to get in the way.”

You huff. “Astarion, please, just tell me what’s wrong!”

“Nothing.” He scowls. He begins pacing again. “Nothing’s wrong! You’ve found your family again! I’m so happy for you.” He spits the word like it burns him to say it.

“Is that what this is about? My family?”

“No.”

“Then what is it?” you plead. “What’s wrong?”

“YOU’RE GOING TO LEAVE!” He sighs at his outburst, glaring at the ground. His feet are locked to ground, refusing to move closer or further away - because he can’t decide which would be better. “Once this is over, once we figure out how to remove these tadpoles, you’re going to run back to the sea. To a ship, with your family. And I can’t follow.” He scowls at himself. He hates laying out his thoughts, his feelings. It feels too vulnerable. He feels exposed. “You won’t stay on land.”

You won’t stay with me.

A silent war wages on in your head and in your heart. You’re torn in two directions - forced to choose between the people who raised you, the last fragments of your father and his ship, or Astarion, your vampiric lover. It’s painful.

You step forward slowly, like he’s going to startle and run away like a frightened rabbit. He doesn’t move. And he doesn’t look at you. The bottle in his hand feels too heavy.

“I love my family,” you start. You can see in an instant as his walls come back up. His face, still upset and angry, becomes stoic and defensive. “And I love the sea.” You stop in front of him. “And I love you.”

He closes his eyes, prepared for the rejection.

“I… I had a whole life on the ocean.” Your fingers brush his hand. It twitches involuntarily, wishing to hold you, for just one last moment. When he doesn’t pull away, you tangle your fingers with his. “I want to see what a future on land would be like.”

He swallows. He opens his eyes, but he can’t look at you. He looks instead at your hand in his. “And when you decide a life on a ship is better than hiding in the shadows with me?”

You pull his hand to your lips, kissing his knuckles. He watches longingly.

“If I decide to sail again,” you accentuate your words with a kiss to the meat of his thumb, “I’ll come back. Over and over again. I’ll sail for a week and stay with you for a month. I’ll sail a month and stay with you a year. I love you, Astarion. And I will always choose you. And when we find a cure for vampirism, you can come with me.”

He huffs a laugh. “I’d be a poor excuse for a pirate.”

“You can scrub the deck.”

He finally meets your eyes with a playful scowl. It softens into something quiet and sad. “I don’t want to tear you from your family.”

You shake your head, stepping even closer. “You’re not, I promise. Now that I know they’re alive, I’ll be damned if I don’t keep in touch. But all they know is the sea. They have no reason to stay ashore - they’re heading out with a new captain next week.” You cup his cheek with your free hand. He sighs and leans into the touch. “I want to stay on land for a while longer.”

---

Tag List:

@satelliteapotheosis @hypopxia @flsalazar @beverlybeav @angelofthorr @emiemiemiii @marina-and-the-memes @lynnloveslokiredacted @aurasyn @furblrwurblr @cappsikle @mjmygd @thegirlsadventuresinwonderland @mheerdraws @kindadolly @bloopthebat @chesb0red @black-star1472 @sessils @olitheghostboy-blog @puppyg1rl666 @maruichio @cyber-dump-171 @cherifrog

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good-chimes · 2 years ago

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In honor of Life series four, Life Series Bake Off AU

NEW SERIES LAUNCHES:

Nation charmed by fresh crop of 12 amateur bakers including intensely competitive student GRIAN, ambitious cake artists BDUBS and SCAR, scientific bread experts TANGO and IMPULSE, and ETHO who has no discernible social media presence and, rumor has it, doesn’t officially exist. Married couple JOEL and LIZZIE raise eyebrows—will they be able to compete against each other?—but this is settled when Lizzie immediately announces she would murder Joel in real life to win and has bought the kitchen knife set for it, and Joel lovingly declares he keeps an axe under his pillow in case this happens.

The judges as usual are renowned cake chef PEARL, bread expert MUMBO, and our two inimitable presenters: BIGB, beloved by the nation for his gentle reassurances of weeping contestants, and MARTYN whose main contribution is his trademark eyebrow waggles as we find out from the judges who’s in trouble this week.

TART WEEK (1)

Tart week gets off to a strong start, with contestant REN charming both the judges and Martyn with his exquisite tarte au citron and his total inability to let a double-entendre go to waste (‘I’m just a tart triumph all over’ he proclaims, to Martyn’s immediate delighted riposte ‘Mm, but what do you do on the weekends?’). Law student JIMMY is not so lucky when a misreading of the recipe leads to ten times the correct amount of butter and a catastrophic oven meltdown. Star baker goes to early favorite BDUBS for an exquisite three-tier tart showstopper.

Week one elimination is, of course, the hapless Jimmy, and the recaps are united on two fronts: it's always nice to see someone on the show who reminds you of your own midnight experiments, but holy shit Jimmy, did it not give you a clue when the melted butter started pouring out of the oven like you’d stabbed the spirit of margarine to death in there. Jimmy's butter meltdown becomes a meme and he sells T-shirts; Joel immediately posts a picture wearing one.

CAKE WEEK (2)

Week two brings cake week and an impressive performance from SCAR, who embarks on a showstopper Baked Alaska in the shape of a snow-covered mountain. Tranquil in the face of GRIAN’S constant disparaging comments about his whisking technique and browned meringue, Scar perseveres and is crowned star baker for the week, while Twitter immediately declares Grian the villain of the season. A contingent of viewers theorising ‘could this be flirting’ are swiftly shouted down on social media and retreat to a dedicated subthread on a cookery forum.

Last week’s star baker BDUBS seems distracted by his new-found friendships with the quiet ETHO, who spends hours on the surprisingly unambitious Victoria Sponge. A conspiracy theory emerges that Etho invented the Victoria Sponge, refuted by weak counterarguments like “cannot possibly be true” and “he would have to be several hundred years old.” Meanwhile the nation is won over by JOEL and LIZZIE’S chemistry as they trade quips and spatulas, unfortunately Joel is eliminated after a jam mishap, at which he declares “at least I went out after Jimmy.”

TEA-TIME WEEK (3)

Tea-time week brings florentines and shortbread, but it’s a sad week for love as REN is out after his overambitious scones fail to impress. “I’m heartbroken,” Martyn announces, and cannot be consoled even by Scott’s superb showstopper petite-fours. Ren was a good sport to the end, everyone agrees. Ren spotted at a Covent Garden coffee shop with Martyn three weeks later.

HALLOWEEN WEEK (4)

The mood is jovial for Halloween week, with judge MUMBO in fake vampire fangs while ETHO bakes cookies in the form of anatomically correct skulls. LIZZIE starts off with adorable witch-hat cupcakes in little witch hats, then spends the rest of the episode precisely and effortlessly crafting a blood red mirror glazed sachertorte which the presenters refuse to look at because it “makes them uncomfortable”, and is subsequently awarded star baker for the most genuine aura of threat ever achieved by a cake.

Meanwhile GRIAN and SCAR continue to genially snipe at each other throughout. TANGO asks BDUBS to turn his oven off at a crucial moment; unfortunately Bdubs forgets and then blames Tango for relying on him, leading to the charred mess of Tango’s showstopper and a social media uproar dubbed “OvenGate”. Bdubs alternately sorrowful and dramatically dismissive. This cruel betrayal knocks Tango out of the tent; a public petition is started for his reinstatement.

WEDDING WEEK (5)

Puppet theater designer CLEO has her star turn in wedding week with ranks of beautiful marzipan figurines on all her bakes. An intense rivalry develops between her and wedding-enthusiast BDUBS, who declares his magnificent fondant confection a dry run for his impending marriage to ETHO, a stranger he met ten days ago. When asked by presenters how much of this is a joke, Etho laughs and says “I guess?”, which leaves the nation none the wiser. Unfortunately IMPULSE’S canapes are considered uninspired and he is uninvited from both the wedding reception and the series.

BREAD WEEK (6)

The feared bread week comes around and all the artistic cake-makers wobble badly. SCAR and GRIAN just scrape through, but CLEO’S triumph last week turns to tragedy despite the trouble she has gone to to model a realistic centaur out of sourdough. Bdubs makes an impromptu speech to camera about how she was robbed but he intends to triumph in her honor.

MEDIEVAL WEEK (7)

The experimental medieval week takes the bakers on an outdoor camping trip where they will attempt to build their own stoves and use them to replicate historical bread techniques. BDUBS’S enthusiasm for this and his drive to impress ETHO turn out to be his downfall as, distracted, he builds a stove that bleeds heat and fails to brown his bread. Etho meanwhile excels at both the survival and breadmaking aspects, leading to a divide on Twitter on whether this level of competence is hot or just very concerning, potentially the cake equivalent of a serial killer. The Victoria Sponge theory is raised again. Etho alleviates some concerns by getting lost three times in an open field over the course of the episode, which loses him enough baking time that dark horse SCOTT pips him to the post of star baker.

WINTER WARMTH WEEK (8)

Week eight arrives and five bakers remain: LIZZIE and SCOTT are known to be good all-rounders, ETHO is the reigning technical expert, SCAR remains the favorite on the cakes side, and GRIAN is mainly known for his habit of constantly sneaking spoonfuls of Scar’s cake mix so he can mock the taste. Social media opinion is divided into “Grian is a good baker actually”, “Grian is only still in because of executive meddling”, and the small but determined contingent of “no guys we really think they’re flirting??” who have emerged from their cookery subthread unbowed and with compilations of video evidence.

The set gets cozy with winter warmth week. Brandy-based showstoppers are the order of the day, and LIZZIE wins the episode by crafting a biscuit unicorn with a mane you can set on fire. ETHO invents an intricate brandy plumbing system to shoot flaming alcohol above his plum pudding—this attempt is in fact a good deal too successful and instead sets MARTYN’S hair on fire. GRIAN comes to his aid but ends up adding more brandy. Judge PEARL extinguishes the flames with a bowl of cinnamon milk. The judges are clearly not feeling merciful when it comes to the scores and Etho’s run comes to a premature end.

DOUBLES WEEK (9)

Some old favorites return for doubles week, where each of the remaining four bakers is helped out by an eliminated contestant on the other end of the phone. GRIAN for once assesses the limits of his own talents and asks to pair up with ETHO, a plan that immediately pays off when the contestants are challenged with a tricky technical that sees them baking the perfect pumpernickel bread. SCAR, having asked to pair up with BDUBS, is quickly underwater as neither of them understand yeast.

Scar’s floundering proves too much for Grian, who belligerently passes along his pumpernickel tips from Etho, saving Scar’s technical enough for him to scrape through. When challenged by Martyn, Grian grudgingly admits, “I just want Scar to stay in, okay?” Some recaps clear him of his villain status; others are still convinced it’s a fluke.

Meanwhile SCOTT turns in an efficient technical with help from CLEO and also JIMMY, who is apparently sitting in Cleo’s living room just to heckle Scott. LIZZIE calls on husband JOEL, but a combination of overconfidence and flirting distracts them both, leading to a burnt crust and Lizzie’s elimination from the final four.

MERINGUE WEEK (Final Episode)

In the finale, SCOTT, SCAR, and GRIAN face off over a series of escalating meringue-based challenges. Whatever alliance sprung up between Grian and Scar in the last episode is clearly water under the bridge as the two of them obsessively steal each other’s ingredients and annoy each other into trivial mistakes. This escalates into a noisy quarrel over the main challenge of the week: an edible diorama of a cactus ring. Scar’s attempts to ‘aesthetically correct’ Grian’s mountain diorama leads to Grian melting his sugar-spun cacti with a crème brulée torch.

The two are no longer speaking by the showstopper, where Grian embarks on a desperate attempt to make up points with an ambitious trifle in a castle-shaped wall of macarons while Scar builds his own grand macaron diorama. The clock ticks down. Scott is creating an impeccable strawberry pavlova. The trifle is going badly. Grian is covered in sugar and regret. BigB pats him reassuringly on the shoulder.

At the last moment, Scar sacrifices half his perfect macarons to donate to Grian’s diorama. Grian, for once lost for words, grabs his apron and kisses him right in front of Martyn’s swiftly-derailed countdown. “Grian had a beautiful artistic vision,” Scar says sentimentally afterwards. “You have to respect the craft!” They snog behind the tasting table. Mumbo gamely attempts to award points. Pearl in a laughing fit behind the cameras. Martyn and BigB solemnly wrap up the shot with Martyn’s best cake-based innuendoes. Grian and Scar do not notice.

Scott wins the series. He got so many more points on the cactus ring technical.

#ethubs #treebark #scarian #zombiecleo #jimmy solidarity #i'm scared to use scott's tag he's on here #for blocking ->#traffic shipping

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bromfieldhall · 1 month ago

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A Family of Their Own

Set a few weeks after the Butterfly Ball, Penelope and Colin discover they are going to be parents.

Rating: Teens and over - a little bit smutty but no overly so.

Part 1 of Love and Life Collection - little oneshots that I'll post as and when

A FAMILY OF THEIR OWN

“It is quite warm, is it not?”

Colin glanced over at his wife then did a double take, a concerned frown creasing his brow. Her cheeks were very flushed and her light blue eyes had a decided glazed appearance. A slight tremor run through her petite frame and his arm tightened around her waist.

“Are you well, Pen?” he asked in a low voice, not wanting to draw attention to her.

Penelope stared up at him blankly, almost as if she hadn’t understood a word he’d said.

Becoming even more worried, Colin smoothly manoeuvred her unresisting body towards a chair at the edge of the room.

It had been almost five weeks since the Butterfly Ball and the Cowper’s had put on a lavish event in order to try and win back some favour from the Ton after Cressida had all but ruined their name.

Penelope had been reluctant to attend but Colin had persuaded her otherwise. Whilst there was certainly no love lost between their families, society dictated that they should make an appearance and he hadn’t had the inclination to fuel the dislike he knew Lady Cowper already held for his new bride. Maybe he should have listened to his wife, however, he decided as she stumbled slightly.

His grip tightened on her waist even more but, instinctively, he knew that they wouldn’t make it to the seat in time.

As if on cue, Penelope suddenly gasped out his name just before her eyes closed and her legs buckled.

Deftly, Colin swept her up into his arms before she hit the ground. Ignoring the startled looks and murmurings of several couples nearby, he strode straight past the intended chair and out of the ballroom.

“Quickly! Have you a quiet room?” he asked a nearby footman urgently.

The young man’s eyes widened momentarily then he nodded abruptly.

“Just down here, Sir,” he replied, leading him to a door on the left.

He opened it up and stepped aside to allow them to enter.

The room was large and looked to be some kind of study. There were only two candles burning so the footman hurriedly grabbed one and lit a few more as Colin spied a settee and hastened over. He gently laid his wife down on it then dropped to one knee and took hold of her hand.

“Pen?” he urged worriedly, tenderly brushing some of her auburn curls back from her slightly damp brow.

Her face now seemed to have lost all colour and he felt a rising panic start in the pit of his stomach and make its way up to settle uncomfortably in his chest like a heavy weight.

“What has happened, Colin? Is Penelope ill?” came Violet’s concerned voice suddenly from behind him.

He glanced up at his mother and saw her walking swiftly towards them with Lord Anderson in tow. They had been in the middle of a dance when she’d seen her son carry his wife out of the ball and had hurried to find them.

“I do not know,” he replied with a shake of his head, unease lending his tone a slight edge, “it was all rather sudden.”

Violet nodded and rested a comforting hand on his shoulder. Feeling the tension there, she looked back at the footman who was still hovering at the door and asked that he fetch some water and a shot of brandy.

The young man gave a nod and left, narrowly avoiding Lady Cowper who unexpectedly swept into the room and cast a disapproving eye over the scene before her.

“Is all well here?” she enquired. Her role of hostess had compelled her to do her duty once she’d been made aware of the new Mrs Bridgerton’s collapse. That did not stop her, however, from adding a touch disdainfully, “Not had too much wine, I hope?”

Colin bristled at her tone and dragged his gaze away from his wife long enough to shoot the woman an angry glare.

“Penelope has not touched a drop all evening,” he bit out icily.

“But thank you for your concern,” Violet interjected smoothly. Pasting a polite smile on her face, she continued, “We shall look after her and although I am certain it is nothing serious, perhaps you could arrange for their carriage to be brought around?”

Lady Cowper smiled thinly back then closed her fan with a snap and gave a nod of her head before sauntering out of the room.

“Beastly woman,” Colin muttered harshly as he watched her leave.

His mother gave him a mildly reproachful look but said nothing. How could she when she felt the same?

A faint groan had them all turn to stare at Penelope and Colin was relieved to see that she was starting to stir. He immediately clutched her hand a little tighter and leaned nearer as her eyes fluttered open.

“How are you feeling, my love?” he asked tenderly.

She took a few seconds to become fully awake and a few more to process her husband’s softly spoken words. She had no time to reply, however, as the footman returned with the water and brandy that Lady Bridgerton had requested. Colin took the former with a nod of gratitude and refused the latter.

“That will be all, thank you,” he said, dismissing the footman before turning back to his wife and asking warmly, “Here, do you think you are able to sit up and drink this?”

Penelope glanced at the drink, then at the three people staring expectantly at her and nodded. Pushing herself up, she took the proffered glass and sipped on the water.

“Better?” he queried after a moment.

“Yes. Thank you,” she answered with a quick, but slightly self-conscious smile. “Much better. My apologies, I do not know what came over me.”

“As long as you are well now, that is all that matters,” Colin assured her as he ran his still worried gaze over her features. “Although, you do look a little pale.”

He placed the back of his hand gently against her forehead and frowned.

“I promise you I am fine, Colin,” Penelope insisted not quite able to look him in the eyes, “though I do think I should like to go home now please.”

“Of course,” he instantly agreed, then glanced towards the door and added sardonically, “Lady Cowper is supposed to be seeing to it, but I do not hold out much hope.”

“Perhaps it would be a good idea if you go and see about the carriage, Colin, while I sit with Penelope,” Violet decided, taking a seat next to her daughter-in-law. He looked about to refuse but his mother continued firmly, “Do not worry, I will take care of her.”

She gave him a reassuring smile and Colin knew well enough that she was going to brook no argument. Giving Penelope’s hand a quick squeeze he stood up to leave.

“I shall go with you and call for our carriage too,” Lord Anderson offered, earning a grateful smile from Violet.

The men gave the women a small bow before taking their leave and once they’d gone Violet immediately turned to Penelope.

“Now my dear, how long have you been feeling out of sorts?”

Penelope stared at her mother-in-law’s kindly face and sighed.

“A few days now,” she admitted quietly, taking another sip of water.

“And are you fatigued? Nauseous?”

Penelope nodded, feeling heat start to warm her cheeks.

Violet nodded and smiled.

“When I was first expecting with Anthony, I swooned too,” she began happily, then frowned slightly before musing aloud, “Although I do not remember it being quite so early on. It is, after all, barely six weeks since…” she trailed off and her eyes widened as she stared at Penelope’s horrified, ever reddening face. “Oh!”

Now it was Violet’s turn to turn a shade of colour that matched her daughter-in-law’s.

Penelope looked away in mortification and gulped down the rest of the water. Surely there must be a large hole somewhere that she could crawl into? It was bad enough that Violet was confirming her own suspicions, let alone her working out when said ‘suspicions’ had been created. She put her glass down on a nearby table with a thud and felt Violet grasp her hand. Steeling herself for a disapproving look, she turned her head and was surprised to see the older woman gazing at her with an understanding smile.

“I am so pleased for you both and I look forward to hearing your announcement,” Violet told her warmly, then leaned forward to add conspiratorially, “when you are ready, of course.”

Penelope had to smile at that and felt relief wash through her. She really didn’t want to be the source of any more gossip surrounding their family. She’d contributed plenty as it was being Lady Whistledown and she couldn’t bear the thought that some might believe that Colin had been forced to marry out of duty rather than the love match that they were.

“Thank you, Lady Bridgerton, although I fear that once I tell Colin, he will want to share the news with the rest of the family as soon as possible, no matter what time of day it is.”

“Then perhaps tell him after breakfast so we may all get some sleep first,” her mother-in-law suggested causing both ladies to laugh. “And please, how many times must I say, Penelope? Call me Violet.”

The redhead nodded. She still found it hard to use her mother-in-law’s first name after all the years of calling her Lady Bridgerton.

“Now,” she continued briskly, “some words of advice if I may? Dry crackers and plain biscuits will be your friends in the coming weeks. Make sure that cook has plenty in.”

“I will…Violet,” Penelope replied dutifully.

Her mother-in-law beamed in delight and patted her hand.

“That’s better.”

Penelope smiled back and the two women fell into an easy conversation about other pregnancy symptoms and a funny story or two of the Bridgerton children when they were babies.

It was after one of those stories that Colin returned to find his two favourite women laughing at something and felt the pressure suddenly dissipate from his chest. He shared a relieved smile with Marcus, who stood beside him, then let out a sigh. It had frightened him to see her faint again. He knew it was the fear of discovery that had led to her first swoon.

This evening, however…was she ill and not telling him?

He’d noticed that she had looked pale at times the last few days but now, at least, she appeared well…glowing even.

Penelope turned her gaze to him and smiled. His breath caught. Lord, he would never tire of her eyes, of her…everything, of that he was certain.

“Our carriage is waiting,” he announced and held out his hand.

“We should take our leave of Lord and Lady Cowper,” Penelope reminded him as she lightly grasped his proffered hand and stood up.

Colin grimaced slightly at the thought of speaking to Lady Cowper again. Sometimes he hated the societal rules that meant he had to be good mannered when he sorely did not want to be. The woman irked him; even more so since her daughter had tried to claim Whistledown for herself. He also strongly suspected that it had been her rather than Cressida who had written that despicable sheet about their family before Penelope’s had usurped it.

“Do not worry, we shall offer regards on your behalf,” Violet assured them. “Take Penelope home and let her rest.”

Colin gave his mother a grateful smile and, with a quick nod of acknowledgement in Marcus’ direction, led his wife away. He did not need telling twice.

Holding hands, they headed out of the building and into the cool evening air. Once ensconced in their carriage, he put his arm around Penelope and allowed himself to relax. Having her near always seemed to have that effect.

“How are you feeling now?” he enquired, gazing intently at the face.

“Tired,” she responded and leaned her head upon his shoulder with a contented sigh.

He pulled her a little closer and absently stroked her waist as they took the relatively short journey home in easy silence. When they arrived, Penelope headed up to their rooms to get ready for bed while Colin went to the kitchen to prepare some warm drinks. It was something that their staff had quickly learned that he liked to do himself and readily left him to it. They thought it sweet that he looked after her so. He added a plate of biscuits to the tray and went upstairs to join his wife.

Penelope had just slipped on her mint green, silken robe when Colin entered their bedchamber carrying the treats. Placing the tray down, he handed her one of the steaming cups and took the other for himself.

“Hot cocoa to help you sleep.”

He smiled at her and took a sip of his own drink, his gaze admiring as he slowly took in the exquisite picture she made standing in front of him. With her curly hair loose about her shoulders, stunning face and delectable figure, he knew he was the luckiest man on earth.

Penelope stared back at him and was suddenly overcome by an unexpected wave of emotion.

There was a point only a few weeks ago that she had firmly believed they would be at odds forever. Thankfully, she had married a truly special man who had more forgiveness and goodness in his little finger than someone like Lady Cowper had in her entire being. She had been in love with him for so long that she hardly remembered a time when she wasn’t…and now she was expecting his child.

Did life really get any better than this?

She was so caught up in her own musings that she failed to notice that Colin was staring at her in concern until he put his drink down with a startlingly loud thump. Cocoa splashed over the sides of the cup and dripped onto the table but he paid it no mind. His sole focus was on his wife.

“Pen, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

“Am I?” she asked, quickly using her fingers to dash away the tears she hadn’t realised were falling.

He nodded abruptly then took her drink from her and placed it next to his before reaching up to gently cup her cheek. Leaning down a little, he looked into her eyes. “Did Lady Cowper say something to you while I went for the carriage?” he asked his low voice carrying a hint of anger.

“No!” Penelope denied quickly, “No, these are happy tears, I assure you.”

He looked confused, but then his expression turned to one of wonder as she took his hand from her cheek and drew it down until it rested lightly against her stomach.

“We are going to have a baby, Colin.”

“A baby?” he echoed faintly and then, without warning, he let out a joyous shout of laughter, grabbed her about the waist and lifted her off her feet. He whirled her around. Twice. Then he placed her back on the ground and kissed her soundly on the lips.

Penelope laughed as she caught her breath and put a hand to her head which was spinning a little.

Immediately Colin grew concerned and guided her over to the bed where he promptly picked her up, for the second time that evening, and laid her down upon it.

“Forgive me, I don’t want you swooning again,” he told her apologetically.

“I am fine, it was just a little giddiness,” she told him dismissively.

“What can I get you? What do you need?” he queried, still clearly troubled.

She grabbed his hand and gave it a firm tug.

“Just you, in bed, with me,” she answered with saucy grin.

“Is that wise?” he began dubiously with a slight frown.

Penelope stared at him in mild exasperation and had a sudden realisation of what the next few months were going to be like now that she was pregnant. He was going to be insufferable if she allowed it. She should’ve known. His kindness and thoughtfulness were two of the things that she loved most about him…but not if it meant she would be sleeping alone!

“Yes, very wise,” she retorted.

Edging over to make room for him to lay beside her, she patted the bed and smiled invitingly at him.

“But…” He paused and swallowed hard as Penelope sat up then shrugged the robe from her shoulders and off, exposing a decent amount of her creamy skin to his avid gaze. Her matching chemise left little to the imagination, his imagination anyway. After only being together a matter of weeks, he already knew his wife’s body better than his own. “Um...” For the life of him he couldn’t remember any of the objections he’d been about to make nor, indeed, why he would even want to. “Perhaps you are right,” he finally acquiesced and joined her quickly on the bed.

“I am,” she stated agreeably and started unbuttoning his waistcoat before he even had a chance to lie down.

“And, of course, it is best that I am close in case you need me,” he pointed out reasonably as he propped himself up on his side and watched her deft fingers move onto his shirt.

“It is,” she concurred brightly, unfastening the last button and pushing the fine fabric apart with a happy sigh. She ran her hand over his hair roughened chest and raked her nails lightly down, drawing a soft gasp from her husband as she grazed over one of his nipples.

Colin felt his body harden in response and when she leaned in for a kiss, he met her halfway. It was brief and Penelope moaned in protest when he broke away, but he had decided that he was going to take his wife slow.

Rolling her onto her back, he placed another chaste kiss on her lips then pulled slightly away and stared adoringly into her eyes. Reaching up, he skimmed his fingertips lightly down her cheek. Her eyes closed at his touch and his gaze followed his hand as it continued downwards along her neck then further still over the soft mounds of her perfect bosom. Her breath hitched at the contact, back arching slightly to force a firmer touch, but he didn’t stop until his hand came to a rest and flatten down on her stomach. He glanced back at her face and saw that she was now watching him. They shared a smile, then she covered his hand with hers and Colin moved so that their fingers intertwined over their growing child.

They were going to have a baby.

Their own family.

“I love you,” he told her, emotion making his voice husky.

“I love you,” Penelope whispered back.

And then he kissed her. Slowly. Deeply. Putting every ounce of feeling he could into it until the need to breathe forced them apart. Penelope let out a small whimper, but he was already peppering kisses along her neck and across her chest before capturing her lips once more in another drugging kiss.

Again, he broke away only when they had to, then, with a soft smile, he got off the bed and quickly removed his clothing. Penelope went to sit up as he returned to her, but he gently laid a hand on her shoulder and shook his head.

Tonight, it was all about her.

Penelope lay back down and gave herself over to a world of sensation. She felt as though she was being worshipped as Colin took his time savouring every single inch of her body. He had always been an attentive lover, but this was something else as he bought her to the edge again and again with hand and mouth until she thought she might actually go up in flames if she didn’t find her release soon.

Sensing her need, he finally moved up her body and gave her lingering kiss. Tasting herself on his lips only seemed to heighten her desire to the point where she was almost squirming by the time he settled between her legs with a satisfied sigh.

When had he taken off her chemise, she wondered briefly, before he entered her in one quick, smooth movement. Penelope drew in a sharp breath as her body started to orgasm almost immediately.

Colin gritted his teeth and held still, watching her release play out on her beautiful face as her body clenched tightly around him. He allowed the waves of her pleasure to ebb a little until he couldn’t hold himself back any longer and started to move, stoking the flames once more.

Penelope’s eyes widened as she stared at him in disbelief that her body could respond again so quickly. It was almost too much.

“Colin,” she gasped as he moved with increasing urgency, hitting just the right spot before she fell for a second time, her back arching off the bed with the force of her completion.

Penelope’s release triggered his and Colin groaned out her name as he climaxed hard. Breathing heavily, he desperately tried to stop himself from collapsing on top of her, but his arms couldn’t hold out. He was utterly spent.

“Forgive me,” he muttered into her neck as he attempted to catch his breath.

“For what?” Penelope wondered in confusion, her voice sounding just as breathy as his did. “That was wonderful.”

“I crushed you,” he explained, trying to find the energy to move even though laying in his wife’s arms was exactly where he wanted to stay.

But…the baby…

That thought roused him just enough to ease himself off of her, despite her protestations, and roll onto his back, pulling her with him.

Cradled against his side, Penelope laid her arm on his chest and rested her chin on her hand so that she could look at him.

Bodies now pleasantly lethargic, they shared a smile and Colin absently started playing with her hair, letting the soft curls run through his fingers.

“We shall have to tell the rest of the family our good news in the morning,” he commented quietly.

“Your mama has already guessed,” Penelope admitted a little guiltily.

Colin merely chuckled and placed a kiss on the tip of her nose.

“I am not surprised. She seems to know everything,” he replied with affection.

“She also said that we could…,” she hesitated a moment, then continued, “we could make the announcement when we are ready.”

“Ready?” He stared at her quizzically. “Well, why would we want to wait?” The sudden reddening of Penelope’s cheeks was all the answer he needed as it suddenly dawned on him exactly why. “Oh!…So…”

Penelope nodded.

“The afternoon you showed me this house.”

He smiled at the memory.

“Our first time,” he murmured with a hint of pride.

“Or our second,” she contradicted ruefully.

There was a little pause as they stared at one another before adding in unison, “Or our third.”

They both started laughing and seeing him look so happy, Penelope found herself blinking back sudden tears. This was something she knew she was going to have to get used to in her condition as one tear escaped and rolled down her cheek.

“Sorry,” she muttered self-consciously. “I’m only a few weeks along and already my emotions seem to be getting the better of me.”

“Do not apologise,” he said with an understanding smile and gently brushed the drop away with his thumb. “Come, let us get some sleep, it has been a long evening and you must exhausted.”

Penelope nodded and he gathered her into his warm embrace, her arm naturally sliding across his waist as she settled her head down on his chest.

“And, just so we are clear, Mrs Bridgerton, I shall be here for every single one of your emotions no matter what they are,” Colin declared emphatically, hugging her a little closer to him.

She lifted her head and looked up at him with narrowed gaze.

“That maybe so, but what if I am sick at all times of day like my sisters?” she challenged.

“Then I shall hold your hair back from your beautiful face and ensure that you have a cool towel for when you are finished,” he vowed, smiling slightly as he gave one of her curls a gentle tug.

Her mouth quirked upwards at his words before she ventured mischievously, “And what if I should have a craving for, say…biscuits?”

Colin’s eyes widened in mock horror.

“Ah, well then, my dear, I fear it’s every Bridgerton for themself,” he teased with a chuckle.

His reward was a delighted laugh and a quick kiss on the lips before Penelope and snuggled into him again. He went back to stroking her hair and was pleased when her breathing soon evened out. Moments later, she was asleep.

Moving carefully so as not to wake her, he deftly arranged the quilt more snugly around them then settled back and closed his eyes.

And as he drifted off to join his wife in slumber, his last jumbled thoughts were of a bonny baby with the bluest eyes and reddest hair, of wondering which room would best suit a nursery and, rather oddly, that when Anthony finally found out about the babe, he really hoped that he wouldn’t challenge him to a duel after all!

THE END

#polin #polin fanfiction #bridgerton season 3 #bridgerton #colin bridgerton #penelope featherington #penelope bridgerton #colin x penelope #fluff #romance

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