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amiableness · 3 months ago

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dad!james not being able to contain himself around reader and just kisses her 24/7 he’s always trying to press a kiss against her lips or cheeks and maybe henry’s picked up on it too so he starts kissing readers cheeks every time he’s close

Dad!James Potter x Bsf!Reader ☼ 817 words

i changed it a tad but hope this still works!

After sleeping with James, a sickening worry had settled in—you feared things might become awkward, or worse, that he’d want to slow things down to avoid confusing Henry. You understood completely, knowing how important it was to keep everything stable for his son. But after wanting James for so long, feeling his hands all over you and the heat of his kisses. The idea of returning to the way things were felt almost unbearable.

“Strawberries or blueberries?” Holding up a container as you say their name, you stand at the table in front of Henry, who looks terribly sleepy but still flickers his eyes back and forth as he weighs his options. His waffles sit before him with a dollop of cream slowly melting from the warmth.

Nerves swirl in your stomach at the thought of seeing James, but you try to push them down. Waking up before him, you decided to make breakfast, hoping the simple task might help dodge any awkward conversations. It’s a desperate attempt to keep things normal, a way to distract yourself from the uncertainty of what might happen once he walks into the kitchen.

“Both.” Henry finally affirms, giving a confident nod that makes his messy curls bounce. All he needs is a pair of glasses, and he'd be a miniature version of James—not that he isn’t already.

You sprinkle both types of berries over Henry’s waffles, his little hands directing you to add just a few more each time you try to pull away. As you remind him to eat what he has first and that he can always have seconds later, you’re so focused on him that you don’t notice James entering the kitchen.

As you turn to place the berries on the counter, you startle at the sight of James standing in front of the coffee maker in nothing but plaid pajama pants. Your gaze instinctively trails down his chest, and when you look up again with a nervous swallow, you find him watching you with a knowing smirk.

“Morning, darling.”

You offer him a soft smile and murmur a quiet “good morning.” To your surprise, he strides directly toward you. When you instinctively take a step back, a puzzled frown crosses his face. Without missing a beat, he wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you in and pressing you against his chest.

You let out a surprised gasp and glance over your shoulder at Henry, who watches the scene intently as he takes a bite of his waffles. A hint of purple stains the corners of his mouth.

“He’s watching us, Jamie.” You whisper, casting a warning glance. James looks between you and his son, his expression one of confusion.

“Is that a problem?” He asks, his voice calm.

“Well, I—” You begin, but the words falter as James presses a slow, tender kiss to your cheek. His lips curl into a teasing smile as he pulls back and watches you struggle to gather your thoughts.

“What, baby?” He teases, his voice a soft murmur against your ear.

“I didn’t think you’d want to act like this in front of him.” You reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Like what?” He asks, his tone curious as he holds you close.

“A couple.” You clarify, feeling the weight of your words.

James raises an eyebrow, a playful glint in his eyes. “Are we not?” He questions, his voice laced with a hint of amusement.

“We didn’t really talk much about that last night.” You admit, your voice faltering slightly as you struggle to find the right words.

“You’re right. We didn’t,” he agrees, his hand gently cupping the side of your cheek. A smug glint dances in his eyes as he leans in, his warm breath mingling with yours before his lips meet yours in a soft, lingering kiss. The touch is tender, as if he can’t get enough, his lips moving slowly against yours, drawing you deeper into his arms. As he pulls away just enough to look at you, a playful, yet affectionate smile tugs at his lips. “I just sort of assumed you were mine after last night.”

You’re flustered, staring up at James with wide eyes. He smiles down at you, brushing his thumb over your cheek as you roll your lips together to hide your smile.

“Why does Daddy get kisses?” Henry squeaks out, his words tumbling over each other. “I want kisses from darling too!”

James laughs, giving you another quick kiss before letting you go and heading towards Henry. He scoops his son up, showering him with kisses all over his face. Henry bursts into laughter, his giggles punctuated by playful sputters as he repeats that he wanted kisses from you. You stand in the kitchen, your fingers lightly tracing your lips as you watch the sweet exchange between them, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

please consider reblogging or leaving a comment! it keeps me motivated to write! 💌

#dad!james and bsf!reader universe #dad!james potter x reader #dad!james potter #james potter fic #james potter oneshot #james potter x reader #james potter baby blurb #james potter blurb #james potter x you #james potter x fem!reader #james potter x y/n #james potter fluff #james potter fanfiction #james potter hc #james potter headcanon

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pellucid-constellations · 10 months ago

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If It All Fell (5)

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: If it all fell apart—if you forgot who you were—would you love him again? Would the bond guide you back? Azriel doesn't know if that uncertainty is one he can bear.

Word count: 3k

Warnings: Angst, PINING, references to nonconsensual situations (very brief, nothing graphic, and not Az)

a/n: Hope this clears some stuff up ;) More to come and especially more Az to come. Thank you forever for reading and sharing your thoughts! This is getting me through the semester <3

Part 1 ♡ Part 2 ☆ Part 3 ✶ Part 4☼ Part 6 ♡

Series Masterlist

Azriel walked you to your room.

He knew exactly where to go, which corners to turn and which to pass, which was very convenient as you still found yourself struggling with the task. The House of Wind, as everyone so lovingly called it, was practically a maze for someone with no memory of its twists and turns. But Azriel had absolutely no trouble getting you to your room.

Once you got to your room, however, he appeared to have many troubles.

“You can come in,” you prompted, looking over your shoulder to find the shadowsinger with his shoes at the threshold. “I promise I just cleaned it. Or, at least I’m pretty sure I cleaned it. It’s hard to know where to put things when I only just started…”

Your voice trailed off. Upon further inspection of the man standing just outside your door, you found that he didn’t simply look hesitant to enter. He had his hands pressed to the doorframe, his head slightly leaned into the room, and his eyes were slowly trailing along your belongings. The expression on his face read as forlorn, but his body read as tense.

He had been here before, obviously. Of course this would be hard for him. You probably had everything in the wrong place and he had just told you about the difficult time he was having—how close the two of you had been before you lost everything.

“Um,” you began, pressing your lips together tightly when his gaze flickered to you. “Maybe you could… or would you mind maybe telling me where my bags are? If you know. Mor gave me a surface-level tour, but she didn’t seem to know everything.”

Azriel looked down to the ground beneath your feet. He blinked back up to meet your eyes. “Of course,” he replied, with so much practiced restraint in his tone you weren’t sure how he gritted out the words.

When he stepped in the room, it felt as if something shifted. He walked between tables and furniture and he fit like a puzzle, his wings never brushing anything, his eyes never casting down to analyze his body in the space. He looked like he belonged—he looked like he completed the space.

Something finally felt right.

Nothing felt right… but this did.

Azriel pushed open the closet doors, rifling through a cabinet you had only glanced at before. After a few silent moments, he walked out with bags in hand. His shadows hadn’t followed him. They drifted towards the bed instead, burrowing into the blankets and pillows until the plush surface became dark.

Azriel zeroed in on them as he placed the bags by your feet, staring off at his shadows as you brought your attention back to him. This close, you were able to catch his scent—the cedar and night-kissed air you’d recognized many times in recent days. But it had been so faint before, like he had been gone for weeks and the scent still lingered, or he had been in the room but only for a brief time. Nothing like now, with his chest only inches from your face.

“They seem to like my bed,” you laughed, just a small, breathy sound. An attempt to diffuse some of the untouched tension in the room.

The side of Azriel’s mouth curled up. You watched it rise, silently relishing in the heat of his body as it radiated into the space between you. “I can see that.”

He wasn’t a man of very many words—that’s something Mor had thankfully shared with you—but you wanted to fight against that. You wanted to hear the soft, low rumble of his voice. You wanted his laugh to spark in the air, to feel his words against your skin as you had just a few moments earlier. Azriel told you he didn’t hate you, that he was close to you, and suddenly the space between you felt impossible.

You just wanted to hear his voice.

“Have I changed things much?” you asked, heart thudding when he brought his gaze down to you. “I don’t know how much time you used to spend in here… or currently spend in here, I suppose—it’s only been a few days—but I’ve moved a few things. If you could tell.”

Azriel took in a long breath. “Actually, you—” he shook his head with an expression you could only decipher as baffled “—you put everything back. Cassian and Feyre, they moved a few things around when you were being brought home. Things that might have… well, we just didn’t want you to be overwhelmed.”

Overwhelmed.

“We should have known that was a ridiculous idea. You’re too brilliant, even without the context.”

Warmth flooded you; one compliment from Azriel and it was as if nothing mattered. You didn’t need your memories, you only needed this.

Azriel’s cheeks colored as if he felt the rush of emotions himself, his eyes bright.

No, that wasn’t right—you needed your memories. You needed to remember each and every time he had looked like this.

“Probably didn’t help that there were a bunch of empty spaces everywhere. If you leave nails on the wall it becomes quite obvious that something belongs there,” you quipped, a small smirk playing at your features.

Azriel laughed. Not a full laugh, but one that you had no idea you were missing before. “I will be sure to pass on the message.”

“Good. Cassian has many messages coming from me, it seems. Conflicting ones as well.”

“Right, of course. I will convey to him that you missed his presence earlier, but also that he is awful at hiding things from an amnesiac.”

“Perfect, thank you, Azriel.”

He gazed upon you, eyes flickering to every corner of your face.

They rested on your lips and then your eyes, trailing up until his hand followed to move the strand of hair that had wisped across your forehead. He brushed it away with delicate fingers, not a touch of hesitancy in them. Like it was natural for him, normal.

And maybe it was.

“I don’t know what to pack,” you whispered, trying to keep some of the lightness in the room. “Can you help? I haven’t a clue where most of my things are and you appear to be much more knowledgeable.”

Azriel drew his hand back, his eyes closing for a few long moments.

You wished you could delve into his mind the way Rhysand could—that you could understand some of the pain written in the tight clench of his eyelids.

“Of course I’ll help you.”

It began with him gathering things from the connected washroom. He entered the tiled room and opened drawers without fault or mistake, collecting perfumes you had been gravitating towards and zipping up products you hadn’t even found yet. He packed your brushes and jewelry as if he’d done this all before, as if your request for help wasn’t really a request, but an expectation.

“Have we traveled together before?” you found yourself asking as you followed behind the shadowsinger, a bag hanging from his arm.

Azriel smiled, turning to you with a glint in his eye. “A few times.”

You were very close friends, then.

Azriel led you back to the closet where he pulled a few articles of clothing from the hangers, holding each out for you to approve before he neatly folded them. You denied nothing, rather surprised by his taste and sense for whatever the weather was like in Day.

He moved further into the closet, half of which was sparsely filled. Maybe you filtered out your clothes with the seasons.

Or maybe something was missing.

Azriel paused.

You watched his scarred fingers brush over the purple dress you had worn on the first day you spoke to him after waking up. He rubbed the material against the pad of his thumb once, and then twice, before closing the closet doors and taking an abrupt step back. You stepped with him.

The shadowsinger said nothing.

“All done?” you asked. “Anything else I would need at Day?”

His shoulders rose and fell. Some of his shadows returned to make revolutions around his body.

“Azriel?”

“I—I’m sorry. Give me a moment.”

The shadowsinger stalked over to the bed, went to sit, but then seemed to think against it and began pacing instead. You tucked your fingers into your palm as you watched him, trying to hide the discomfort you felt as his clear unease.

Had you done something wrong?

Maybe you were being too familiar. This friendship between you was new and comfortable and exciting, but that was for you.

For Azriel, there was a gap, an immense amount of pain and missing connection.

He didn’t hate you, and that was… wonderful news, but this was also uncharted territory.

Maybe you shouldn’t have asked for his help—shouldn’t have invited him in.

“Azriel, I—”

“I need to explain this to you,” Azriel began, running a hand through disheveled locks. “I need you to understand why this is so hard. I don’t want you to assume this is your fault or that this is anything other than what it is.”

You nodded, but he didn’t look up to see your confirmation.

Azriel sighed and his wings flared slightly, returning back to his body in a quivering motion.

“I am terrified, y/n.”

This time, Azriel did look up to catch your gaze.

“I am terrified because this has happened before. It’s like I’m reliving it. Like you’re reliving it but you just don’t remember.”

Your fists unfurled as your brows met a point. “No one’s told me—“

“I know,” he breathed out, defeat the most prominent emotion on his beautiful face. “Last time this happened, the more we told you about the past—about certain aspects of your life—the more it hurt you, y/n. You’d… you’d scream until your lungs gave out every time we tried to share something new. It was like that for weeks.”

The Illyrian forfeited his internal battle with the bed, dropping down into a seat on the foot of it. Unsure of your place within your own room, you simply followed him, standing in front of his bent knees, eyes prompting him to continue.

He watched you as you moved.

“Has anyone told you what you do for this court? Your job?”

You shook your head.

Azriel continued. “You work as an emissary between courts and continents, but that’s more of a cover—a more comprehensible title for those outside of our circle. It’s hard to explain, but that power Rhys mentioned? It’s—it’s as if you have this intuition. For everything. You look at things, at people, and you just… know them. You look past lies and you pick up on things that are seemingly impossible to catch.”

Your head shook as Azriel fumbled over each of his words, confusion swirling in your gut. “That doesn't make any sense. Mor said that Rhys found me working at some boatyard by the Sidra. She said I used to help build vessels—there’s no way I have a power like that.”

“You do,” Azriel affirmed. “Rhys only went to find you because he heard of a girl building boats from memory. You took one look at him and knew what he wanted. Rhys said he barely had to offer you the job.”

It was a struggle not to grind your teeth together in frustration.

You used to know everything.

And now you knew nothing.

Your head began to hurt, or maybe you were just noticing that it had never stopped hurting.

“You said—” you started, tone heavy with vexation. Your eyes couldn’t find a solid place to land “—you said this has happened before. What does that have to do with these powers?”

Sensing the rise in your mood, Azriel seemed to even his own out. A balance between the two of you. You became agitated, he became calm. But you could tell he was struggling.

“Around 270 years ago, after you’d been working for the court for a few decades, Rhys sent you to Day. It was routine. You were going to gather information for a High Lord’s summit meant to take place there, but really, Rhys wanted you to scope out the area. To get insight on any plans, any secret dealings. You were meant to be gone for a few days at the most.”

Azriel’s fists clenched atop his knees. His face remained impassive.

“You were gone for six months. Gone. No one could reach you, Helion had assumed you went home already. It was right after you and I… became friends, so I was worried for you. More than the others, but no one was without worry. We found you eventually, but you—”

Something choked. Azriel choked. His head hung down and you replayed the last few of his words in your mind—the way they tightened and then tapered off.

This was too much.

Conveying comfort in the only way you knew how—in the way this family tended to love—you stepped between Azriel’s legs and brought a hand to his cheek, raising his face until his glassy eyes came into view.

“You don’t have to talk about this,” you whispered. “If it’s too hard, we can stop.”

Azriel’s jaw quivered. His next words seemed to tumble from his mouth without warning.

“Fuck, I miss you.”

It was simple instinct that led to your reply. “I’m right here.”

Something stirred within you, tugging lightly. Your heart, you deduced, beating so fast it was playing tricks on you. The shadowsinger in your hands twisted slightly, just barely so that the corner of his mouth touched your palm. Your heart tugged again.

“You didn’t remember anything, like now,” Azriel revealed, speaking just as you were about to pull away. You stopped yourself, feeling as if your touch was an encouragement to speak. “It was worse though, you were in so much pain. Any time you tried to remember anything, or even just tried to learn, it was like you were being pierced through the skull. You—you screamed so much.

“But it didn’t take us very long to figure it out. My spies in Day found the culprit and it was easy to capture him. He was weak. Strong powers, but weak in every other sense of the word. It was another Daemati—like Rhys. He became infatuated with you during your time in Day. He knocked you out, found a way to use your powers against you, to make them hurt.”

Azriel shuddered. His mouth got closer to your hand like he was leaning into it.

“It took a few weeks to get him to fix it. But those months, y/n—the time you were gone. You don’t remember them. I can only imagine what you went through. And when we brought you home you hurt so badly. So that's why… why us going back there is hard. Because this is all so similar and if it’s happening again I can’t…”

“Azriel,” you softly called, sure that this was the most amount of speaking the shadowsinger had done in a while. Sure that he needed a break. A respite. “It’s not the same, is it? You know that. My head hurts, but not like that. I don’t struggle to be reminded of the past. I learn new things. There is no evil villain waiting to take me away.”

“Y/n—”

“It’s not the same. I might not have access to these all-encompassing powers you speak of, but I can tell you that much. I’m sorry for what you went through before—that you had to watch a member of your family go through that then and then now… but it’s different. It’s different and I’ll be okay.”

His pond water eyes stared back at you as you attempted a reassuring smile. You felt his knees press against your thighs where you stood between them, and the pressure spurred you on. You ran your thumb along the high point of his cheek, relishing in the flutter of his lashes, gravitating towards him to relish in that closeness as well. This moment felt like yours, and something was telling you it was yours. That no one else could have this with him.

But you didn’t have your powers, your fae abilities, so maybe that feeling was nothing but hope.

Your thudding heart lulled you into a long breath.

“Maybe, if it would put you at ease, you could stay with me while we’re in Day? At my side, I mean. You could whisper everyone’s names into my ear so I don’t look like a fool and make sure I don’t get lost—”

“Yes,” Azriel replied, sure and resolute with no traces of the impending tears that had made his hazel eyes a pretty pool just moments before. “I won’t leave your side once. I promise.”

His devotion made you pause, surprise evident in the rapid blinking of your eyes. You wanted to protest, to tell him he didn’t need to promise something so taxing, but determination had set in his brow, and Azriel—your friend—wanted this. Needed this.

“Thank you,” you whispered. “Thank you, Azriel. For telling me all of this even though it was hard. For being here for me even though I know that’s hard, too. You’re a wonderful friend. I can’t wait to continue to find that out. I promise to be just as wonderful.”

“You are already the most wonderful thing in my life.”

Part 6 ♡

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel fanfic #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel spymaster #azriel angst #acotar fanfiction #azriel #if it all fell

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alchomcrax · 2 years ago

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oliver & rolf’s tag dump.

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sonarspace · 2 months ago

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BATTER & BRUISES, BOXER SUGURU (PT.2)

READ PART ONE BEFORE YOU CONTINUE !

SYNOPSIS: their sensual morning spirals into chaos as a call reveals the aftermath of their first night together. CONTENT: nsfw. fingering, oral kinda (fem receiving), nipple teasing?, sex on the counter, missionary?, sideways. WC: 2.8k

☼︎｡𖦹°‧𓂃 𓈒𓏸☼︎｡𖦹°‧𓂃 𓈒𓏸☼︎｡𖦹°‧𓂃 𓈒𓏸☼︎｡𖦹°‧𓂃 𓈒𓏸☼︎｡𖦹°‧𓂃 𓈒𓏸☼︎｡𖦹°‧𓂃 𓈒𓏸☼︎｡𖦹°‧𓂃 𓈒𓏸☼︎｡𖦹°‧𓂃 𓈒𓏸

suguru wakes up just as the sun begins to rise, the soft light filtering through the curtains casting a warm glow over the room. instead of heading out for his usual early morning workout, he decides to make you breakfast.

you stir awake, a small pout forming on your lips when you realize his warm body isn’t beside you. the faint sounds of clattering dishes from the kitchen pull you further from sleep. you grab his discarded shirt from the floor and slip it on, the soft fabric falling just to the top of your thighs, wrapping you in his scent.

as you enter the kitchen, you see him standing there, an apron tied around his waist, his back muscles flexing as he mixes the batter. he’s so focused at the task that he doesn’t notice your presence.

with a soft smile, you walk up behind him, wrapping your arms around his torso. his skin feels warm beneath your touch, and you lean your head against his back, relishing the moment. he pauses, a grin spreading across his face as he leans into you, the warmth of his body enveloping you.

“good morning, sleepyhead,” he murmurs, the sound rumbling deep in his chest.

“thought you’d left me,” you reply softly, pressing a gentle kiss between his shoulder blades. he turns slightly, his hands finding yours, intertwining your fingers as he leans back against you.

“never,” he replies, turning slightly to capture your gaze. his eyes are bright, filled with affection, and he leans down to press a soft kiss to your forehead.

he continues stirring the batter at hand. “want to taste?” he asks, dipping a finger into the mixture and bringing it to your lips. you open your mouth, letting your tongue swirl around his finger, savoring the sweetness.

“sweet,” you comment, a teasing smile playing on your lips. you move from behind him, dipping a finger into the batter yourself. “not sweet,” you pout, glancing up at him.

his smile widens. without hesitation, you grab his finger and dip it into the batter again, bringing it back up to your mouth. “sweet,” you hum, your eyes sparkling as you look up at him.

he chuckles, the sound deep and warm. “you’re insatiable,” he says, amusement lacing his voice. leaning closer, he brushes his thumb over your cheek, a flutter ignites in your stomach.

he brushes his thumb over your cheek before pressing a kiss to your forehead, like it’s second nature—something he just has to do everytime he sees you smile at him.

“how’d you sleep?” he asks, pouring the batter into the muffin tray.

“like a champion,” you reply, and he lets out a hearty laugh that fills the kitchen.

you pull yourself up to sit on the counter, and he slides the tray into the oven before removing his apron and setting it on the counter. he places his hands on your thighs, squeezing gently. his smile is soft as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, and your heart races, feeling like it might burst.

he steps between your legs, pulling them open wider, his fingers trailing dangerously close to your core. one hand grips your inner thigh, the heat of his palm seeping through your skin as the other hand tips your chin up, forcing your gaze to meet his. his eyes—so intense, so hungry, you can’t help but melt under his gaze.

“you’re gonna kill me,” you whisper.

his thumb lazily traces over your lips, eyes flicking to your mouth with a dark, amused smirk. “that’s not the plan.”

he leans in, his breath fanning across your face, fingers slipping higher up your thigh, dangerously close to where you need him most.

“what is the plan then?” you ask, breathless, your lips brushing his as you speak.

he presses his lips to your ear, voice low and dripping with intent. “the plan is to make you feel alive... and to worship you.”

his hand dips between your legs, cupping your heat through the thin fabric of your panties. a moan escapes you before you can stop it. his mouth ghosts over your jaw, trailing kisses down to your neck, each kiss leaving a mark, as if he’s claiming you.

with one smooth motion, he pulls your panties down and off, tossing them aside. his fingers find your wetness, teasing your entrance, circling it. “so wet already,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse, “all for me.”

“suguru,” you gasp, hips bucking into his hand, craving more. he pushes a finger inside you, filling you slowly, his touch sending shocks of pleasure straight to your core. his other hand reaches up, brushing over your shirt, finding your hardened nipple and pinching it lightly. you let out a desperate moan, needing more of him, all of him.

he leans down, mouth closing over your breast through the fabric, his teeth grazing your nipple just enough to make your back arch off the counter. “suguru,” you whimper, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. he switches to the other breast, giving it the same attention, his tongue flicking over the sensitive bud before biting down softly.

his fingers inside you curl, hitting that perfect spot that makes you cry out, your legs trembling around him. he moves them deeper, harder, finding a rhythm that has you seeing stars.

“you're so warm” he growls against your skin, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing in tight, slow circles that make you squirm.

“please,” you whine, craving that release.

“please what?” he teases, his pace unrelenting, keeping you right on the edge. “use your words.”

“i need to cum,” you plead.

“not yet,” he replies, pulling away his fingers just enough to keep you hanging. you whimper in protest, your grip on the counter tightening. “i want you to remember how this feels,” he mumbles, kissing along your collarbone.

"i can't... i need-" you stammer, caught between pleasure and desperation.

he shushes you softly, leaning down to listen between your thighs, his fingers moving in and out of you with a steady rhythm, creating a sultry squelching sound. the bandages wrapped around his knuckles begin to soak, your juices drenching them, a ring of white forming at the base of his fingers.

"listen to that," he whispers, voice thick with desire.

still leaning down, he pokes out his tongue to taste you. the sensation makes you moan softly, your body arching toward him, craving more of his touch. his gaze locks onto yours, dark and intense, the heat between you growing unbearable.

“can feel you tightening around my fingers,” suguru growls, his voice low and hoarse with desire as he grinds against your leg, unable to control himself. his tongue flicks over your clit, teasing you with slow, deliberate strokes, while his fingers pump into you, each movement pushing you closer to the edge.

"put it in," you whimper, pulling off your shirt, voice raw and desperate with need. your body aches for him, every inch of you on fire.

he pauses for just a moment, sliding his fingers out slowly, watching the way your body clenches around nothing. a low, guttural groan escapes him as he hastily shoves his sweatpants down, letting them pool on the floor. his eyes are dark with lust as he positions himself between your thighs, hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave marks. the sight of him, hard and thick, sends another wave of heat pooling in your belly.

"fuck..." he breathes, the word slipping from his lips in a breathless moan as he presses the tip of his cock against your entrance. he pushes in slowly, inch by inch, stretching you with a pressure that has your back arching off the counter. every ridge, every vein drags along your slick walls, filling you completely. the sensation is so overwhelming, the heat of him almost too much to bear, but the pleasure—god, the pleasure—makes your toes curl.

"so tight," he mutters, voice trembling, his lips brushing against your ear. "you feel... incredible."

he sinks deeper, his cock buried to the hilt, and your walls flutter around him, gripping him tightly as if your body refuses to let go. you can feel the pulse of his arousal, throbbing with each slow, deliberate thrust. his hips roll in a languid rhythm, dragging along that sensitive spot inside you with every movement.

"suguru," you gasp, your nails biting into his shoulders as he thrusts deeper. the stretch, the fullness—it sends shockwaves of pleasure through you, lighting up every nerve ending. his pace is slow, torturous, each drag of his cock making your breath catch, a soft whimper escaping your lips.

"you're perfect," he growls, leaning down to capture your lips in a searing kiss, his teeth grazing your bottom lip before sucking it into his mouth. "fuck, i could stay buried inside you forever."

he pulls out, leaving you feeling empty for just a moment before slamming back into you with a force that has you crying out. your legs tremble, and his hips snap harder this time, the force undoing the messy bun holding his dark hair. strands of it fall loose, cascading over his face, obscuring his eyes. he doesn’t even try to fix it—too lost in the heat of the moment, his focus locked on the way your body reacts to him, gripping him tighter with every thrust.

the sight of him—wild, unrestrained, his muscles flexing beneath a sheen of sweat, his hair falling over his face—drives you mad with desire. you reach up, brushing his bangs away, wanting to see him clearly, to watch the intensity in his gaze as he takes you apart. when his dark, half-lidded eyes meet yours, it pulls a moan from deep in your chest.

he leans down, kissing you with desperate urgency, his lips slanting over yours as if he needs you to breathe. his body shudders as your hands slide down his chest, brushing over his perked nipples. the moment your fingers graze them, a soft whine escapes him, muffled against your lips, and his hips stutter in their rhythm, faltering for just a second.

his kiss grows more frantic, deeper, as your fingers continue to tease his nipples, rolling them between your fingertips, dragging your nails lightly over the sensitive skin. every touch, every graze, sends tremors through him, his hips losing rhythm before slamming back into you with a groan. he presses harder, his breathing ragged, his forehead falling to yours as he pants against your mouth.

"fuck," he gasps, his voice trembling with need. "you're driving me insane," he mutters, as he struggles to hold himself together.

you take it as your cue, moving your lips from his, trailing hot kisses down his neck and over his collarbone, tasting the salt of his skin. when your mouth lands over one of his perked nipples, his gasp turns into a needy moan. his entire body twitches inside you, jerking with raw pleasure as you flick your tongue over the sensitive nub. his moan deepens, the sound vibrating through you as you suck gently.

“oh god,” he chokes out, voice hoarse with need. his hips falter, losing control as he presses into you harder, each thrust more erratic than the last. you can feel him throbbing inside you, on the edge, every muscle in his body trembling.

his hands find your hair, fingers tangling in the strands as his chest heaves with every breath. the muscles under your mouth flex, taut with tension as you continue to tease his nipple with slow, deliberate strokes of your tongue. he pulls you away with a firm grip on your hair, his breath ragged, pushing you flat against the counter, his control slipping.

your body, glistening with sweat arches as he growls low, turning you onto your side, making you face the mirror. the reflection before you is intoxicating—a wild picture of sweat and lust, your skin flushed and shimmering in the soft morning light. his broad frame towers over you, moving in you relentlessly. the sight of him—his messy hair clinging to his forehead, muscles flexing with each thrust—makes you dizzy.

he plunges deeper, his rhythm unyielding, and catches your gaze in the mirror—your eyes wide, mouth parted, your body pliant beneath him. "my sweet girl's takin' me so well," each word a rough growl as he glances down to watch himself disappearing inside you.

your breath falters, the pleasure swelling into an unbearable wave, his cockhead pressing right against that perfect spot that makes your whole body tighten and toes curl. your fingers dig into his forearm, nails leaving little crescents in his skin craving more of him, all of him.

his body trembles now, every muscle wound tight with the effort to hold back, his thrusts becoming harder, faster, chasing the climax. without warning, he pulls you upright, one arm wrapping tightly around your waist while the other grips the back of your neck. his lips crash into yours, the kiss messy and urgent, his moans spilling into your mouth as his pace turns desperate.

“i’m so close,” you whisper against his lips, your voice shaky and breathless, completely undone by the intensity of it all.

his breath comes out in ragged pants, a deep guttural sound leaving his throat as his hips slam harder, more frantic. the slap of skin against skin fills the air, and his forehead rests against yours. "me too," he mutters through clenched teeth. "cum with me."

before you can respond, the coil inside you snaps. your orgasm crashes through you, leaving you trembling in his arms. "suguru! nnghh!!" you cry out, his name spilling from your lips as your walls clamp down around him, pulsing wildly.

his growl rumbles deep in his chest, his body going taut as he pulls out at the last second. his release follows, spilling hot and thick liquid across your thighs and lower belly. he slumps against you, pressing his face into the crook of your neck, breath uneven and warm against your damp skin.

the beeping of the oven pulls you both from your haze, soft chuckles escaping your lips as reality creeps back in. he grabs a few paper towels, gently wiping away the remnants from your thighs and abdomen, a playful smile lingering on his face. “i’m gonna have to clean this counter.”

his lips brush against your hair as he steps away, pressing a soft kiss. he pulls his sweatpants back on and moves away to grab a mitt and carefully removes the oven tray, the warm aroma of freshly baked english muffins filling the room, making your stomach rumble in anticipation.

just then, your phone rings, the sound slicing through the cozy atmosphere. you grip his forearms as he helps you stand, your brows knitting together as you see your dad’s name lighting up the screen. a knot of anxiety forms in your stomach. he notices the shift in your demeanor.

you pick up the phone, forcing a calm tone as you say, “hello?”

“you broke up with marcus?” he asks, disbelief lacing his voice.

“yeah, umm, i was going to tell you, but—”

“he’s in the hospital,” your dad interjects sharply. “is this because of that lowlife boxer??”

the words hang heavy in the air, and your heart races as you glance at suguru, who watches you intently, concern etched across his features. you swallow hard, trying to steady your breath. “no, it’s not like that. it’s complicated.”

“complicated?” your dad snaps, frustration palpable. “what’s complicated is marcus’ situation right now. his face is beaten to hell, and his parents are calling me, asking what happened because all he can say is your name and suguru’s.”

guilt tightens in your chest, but you take a steadying breath. "dad, marcus and i… we aren't compatible. i couldn’t stay in that relationship."

“not compatible?” he echoes, his disbelief sharp. “he makes one comment about your outfit, and you just up and leave him? you couldn’t just talk it out like a normal couple?”

“it wasn’t just that, dad! it’s everything about him, i felt trapped!” a knot of emotion tightens in your throat. "i thought you'd understand."

"understand?" he scoffs, his tone sharp. "you expect me to side with you when you dump a good man to be with a boxer? i told you to stay away from that guy."

tears begin to line your eyes, your throat tight as you try to keep your composure. suguru notices immediately, stepping closer. without a word, he takes the phone from your trembling hand and hangs up.

"no, that was my dad—" you protest, your voice wavering, but he pulls you into his chest, wrapping you in a tight embrace.

"i don’t care who it is," he murmurs into your hair, his tone gentle yet firm. "no one makes my girl cry."

you cling to him, his warmth grounding you as the tears fall freely now. your phone vibrates between you both, the screen lighting up with another incoming call. when you don’t move to pick it up, the ringing stops, replaced by the buzz of a text from your dad, asking you to meet him.

A/N: are we liking the series so far?? let me know! and ask me any questions you'd like about boxer sugu :D

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ilguna · 11 months ago

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Hey! I love your work so much. Can you do 4 with four (tobias) from divergent ?

☼ succeed (tobias eaton) ☼

warnings; swearing, fighting, blood mention.

wc; 2.4k

prompt; 4. "Why do you sacrifice so much for me?"

notes; tweaked canon, obviously. not really noticeable unless you’re a huge fan.

Dauntless initiation is—unsurprisingly—far from what you thought it would be. To be fair, you’re not entirely sure what exactly you were expecting in the first place. All you know was that you were going to be in for a ride when they made you jump on and off of a moving train directly after transferring.

This gave you a clue of what was to come, of course, but you took it in a different direction. If they wanted to see how daring you could be by risking your lives, then maybe that meant you’d be doing dangerous tasks throughout the rest of the month.

On the first day, you assumed that you’d be learning how to throw away your inhibitions and solely rely on your instincts. An idea that isn’t incredibly outlandish when it comes to Dauntless. After all, they’re the ones in charge of security and wall perimeter—the jobs that can end up being deadly.

This is why you didn’t have a significant reaction when you were informed by Four that they’d be introducing you to self-defense. They proceeded to hang you a gun, gave you a target, and told you to shoot until your bullets were gone. And after lunch, they brought you to a large room where you were taught how to properly fight an opponent.

This is when reality had begun to set in. They were not teaching you this in case the situation ever arose, but because they wanted you to use it in the coming week. You’re going to be forced to defend yourself, whether you like it or not. They were just being courteous enough to teach you how to, first.

You didn’t figure this out until yesterday when you saw the chalkboard. While it had previously been devoid of writing, it suddenly held a list of names side by side, pairing initiates up together. For the first few minutes, you were under the impression that it was for sparring.

When they sent Al and Will into the center circle together, instructed to fight one another, you looked at Four. You found his eyes already on you, arms crossed over his chest, face hard. In that moment, you remembered all of his warnings for you to pay close attention to the way he’d been throwing his kicks and punches.

It’s not like you were ignoring him, but you did continuously brush him off because he was being overbearing. He must’ve taken this as you just being a know-it-all Erudite, leaving you to figure it out on your own. You’d have to learn one way or another that your logic wouldn’t help.

When really, you hadn’t heard him when he said that you’d be fighting your fellow initiates.

You were a deer in headlights when the rules were explained. In these fights, you are to keep going until one of you is unable to continue. And while you could concede, it won’t be done without going unpunished. In the old rules, a brave man can acknowledge the strength of others. In the new rules, made by the newest Dauntless leader, a brave man never surrenders.

You think Four may have recognized that a mistake was made. He was quick to come up with an escape, albeit at the cost of your pride. He called you out in the middle of Eric’s explanation, telling you not to be sick on the floor unless you wanted to clean it. All you had to say was that breakfast wasn’t settling well, and you were excused to go sit down with a trash can.

With there being ten initiates in your group, there should’ve been five fights. You sat out, making it four, but none of you made it past the second one. Will and Al fought just fine, Al even won. The next fight to happen was Christina and Molly, which was following the same pattern as the first fight, until Christina decided that she wanted to concede.

That’s when you were informed that a punishment would go along with it. Eric was pissed, dragging Christina all the way to the chasm in the Pit that hangs above the river, barking at the rest of you to follow. He then made her climb to the other side of the railing and forced her to hold on to the bridge by her hands until he was satisfied.

When she didn’t fall to her death, you were dismissed for the rest of the day. This destroyed your plan of analyzing the fighting techniques of the others to figure out what you’re supposed to do. To make up for it, you thought you could come practice in the middle of the night, but the doors were locked.

So, to put it lightly, you’re screwed. The only way to learn now is from the fights that will be taking place, and even then you’ll still be at a disadvantage no matter how you approach it.

As soon as you step foot into the training room, your eyes find the chalkboard, curious to who you’ve been paired up with today. Yesterday, it was supposed to be Tris, the Abnegation transfer. She would’ve been a good first fight to figure out how you want to be in the ring, but that opportunity has passed.

Today, you are given more of a challenging opponent—Peter.

“Oh no,” A voice says, you glance over your shoulder to see that Christina is limping her way over to Tris. Her face is fairly bruised from the beating she received from Molly yesterday. “At least you aren’t paired with Peter.”

Both of them look in your direction, and you accidentally lock eyes with Christina for a moment. You press your lips together in disgust and turn away, no longer interested in their conversation. You are not a member of Erudite anymore, but that doesn’t mean they’ll stop seeing you that way. Not until you prove to them that you’re not snot-nosed.

You turn your attention to Peter, who’s got a good few inches on you. Which wouldn’t be an issue, much less have you worried, if he didn’t have the muscle he does. This fight could easily go two ways, but you have a feeling it’s leaning in his favor more than yours.

“Maybe she can just take a few hits and pretend to go unconscious.” Al suggests loud enough for you to hear. “No one would blame her.”

You grit your teeth at the idea of taking the cowards way out, something that you won’t be doing, no matter how tempting it is. Even if it does work out in your favor, there’s no telling what Eric will do to you when he figures out that you’d faked it. While he made Christina hang from the chasm by her hands, he’d tell you to do something much worse. Or kick you out of initiation altogether for not having the Dauntless heart.

Which isn’t true. You belong here.

Fortunately, you and Peter are not the first fight of the day, it’s Edward and Molly. You might as well be, though. The pair of you are listed directly underneath them. You think that you’d even prefer being the first to go. If you could get it out of the way, you would.

As you mindlessly watch Edward and Molly, you try to pick out some of their moves to remember with Peter. Four had taught the group of you the basics to get started, he never said that you couldn’t mix in what you know as well. Which is nothing, because you’ve never got into a fight before. There was never a need to.

The personalization works out in Edward’s favor. The technique that Molly had used yesterday on Christina is fairly predictable. On top of that, she’s not fast enough to keep up with Edward’s pace. It’s only a matter of minutes before she’s beaten near-unconscious. That’s when Drew and Peter work together to peel her off of the wooden floor and to the nearest wall to recover.

In the short time you have, you take a couple of deep breaths, shaking your hands to rid the anxious energy that’s fueling your body. You make eye contact with Four briefly, and in this time, he gives you a solid nod. He’s confident in your abilities, more so than you are. It’s a shame that you’re probably going to let him down.

Still, you walk your way to the white circle, standing at one end of it while you wait for Peter. When he finally turns his attention to you,. There’s a smile spread across his face,

“You okay there, Blowhard?” Peter teases, you can almost feel your eyes bulge out of your head at the nickname. “You look like you’re about to cry. I might go easy on you if you cry.”

“Did you just call me a Blowhard?” You sputter out a laugh. “What does that make you, a Crybaby?”

You look past Peter, at Four, who’s standing side-by-side with Eric. His face is twisted, focused hard on the two of you in the ring. Eric, on the other hand, is tapping his foot quickly, impatience shining through.

Peter raises his hands by his face, elbows and knees bent as he begins to prepare for the fight. “Come on, (Y/n). Just one little tear. Maybe some begging.”

Without warning, you swing your leg at his side, intending to land a kick. He’s prepared for this, grabbing your ankle and yanking you forward, pulling you off balance. You land on your back, but quickly twist to get back to your feet, fists returning, readying yourself.

“Stop playing with her.” Eric suddenly snaps. “I don’t have all day.”

This is enough for Peter, as the amused look on his face disappears. His movement is one giant blur, but the pain in your jaw is sharp, as it continues to spread across your face. For a moment, bright white stars and a black void flow across your vision, taking your balance with it.

You blink rapidly, backing away from Peter as you try to get the room to stop swaying. This lasts for a few seconds at most, because Peter is moving just as quickly as Edward had been. He appears in front of you, foot slamming into your stomach, stealing the air from your lungs.

You clutch your ribs as you fight through the pain in your abdomen. Peter takes this as an invitation to come closer, but you’re expecting this. You catch his fist as you slide your foot between his legs, tripping him. Instead of falling forward, you throw him back, twisting his arm in the process.

You land on your knees hard. The dull pain is at the front of your thoughts for a second before you’ve got your first slamming into Peter’s nose. You get two hits in, then he takes a fistful of hair at the back of your head, yanking. He repays the favor by punching you in the nose.

It doesn’t matter how hard you kick or slap, because he’s got a tight grip. The next hit he lands is to your ribs, in the same place that you’d been holding onto moments prior. You open your mouth, letting out a strangled cry, and a metallic taste spreads over your tongue. One word comes to mind; blood.

He lets go of your hair, shoving you away. You land on your palms, gasping through your lips, eyes blurry with tears as you search the ground for the white paint. You begin to crawl away, wanting to put some distance between the two of you while you take a breath, but he grabs your ankle, dragging you back toward him.

He draws his foot back, and despite knowing what’s coming, you don’t move in time, letting the toe of his shoe sink into your skin. You cough, the next few seconds are agonizing as you forget how to breathe, like a fish out of water.

“That’s enough.” Four’s voice breaks through the silence. “Get her out.”

“She’s still moving.” Eric tells him. “She gets out when she can no longer go on.”

Your eyes roll to the back of your head when you move to roll over. You won’t play pretend, you refuse to take the easy way out. You are not an Erudite anymore, you won’t run. You’re going to fight.

Somehow you manage to get to your feet, fists raised, eyes barely focusing on Peter long enough to keep track of him. You gather the blood in your mouth, spitting it at his feet.

“Come at me, you little bitch.” You murmur.

Peter flies across the circle, fist coming at your face. You manage to catch it with one hand, and with the other, you slap him with an open palm. The sound of skin-on-skin fills the air, there’s a few audible gasps in the room.

It’s over, you think. Just before Peter knocks your lights out.

When you come back to Earth, you’re suspended in the air, swaying from side to side. You’ve never been motion sick before, but the dizziness is so hard to handle that this is enough to send you over the edge.

“‘M gonna be sick.” You mutter.

The world stops moving for a second, and then you’re placed on your feet. Your hands reach for something to hold on to as support. They come into contact with another hand, which you wrap your fingers around tightly as your breakfast comes back up as a liquid.

When you’re done, you turn to face the person who had just been holding you in their arms. You’re met with Four, who has his eyebrows raised, waiting for you to say something.

“Thank you.” You whisper.

“Why are you thanking me?”

“For putting me down.” You breathe, leaning over with your hands on your knees. “And for trying to get me out of there. And for delaying my fight yesterday.”

When you look at him again, there’s a softer look on his face, different from the scowl that you’re used to seeing. He reaches over, rubbing a hand over your back. “It’s okay, (Y/n).”

“You could’ve gotten in trouble with Eric.” You say, shaking your head as you move to stand straighter. “Why do you sacrifice so much for me?”

Four opens his mouth, and then closes it. It’s silent between the two of you for a minute as he decides how he wants to respond. Or maybe he’s thinking that you’ll change the subject. With your persistence, he sighs.

“Because you’re different.”

this was part of my 3k celeberation!!

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violetrainbow412-blog · 1 year ago

Text

Fluff ☼

Angst ►

Smut *

A fair payment ☼

When Wonka asks you for a favor, he repays it with the only thing he has: chocolate

Roses are red... ☼

You and Willy escape one night in search of an ingredient for his chocolates, where you discover how sweet he can be

A little push ☼

You and Willy like each other, but you don't dare to say it. And Noodle can help a little with that task

The Bittersweet Gift of Love ☼ (gn!reader)

Willy knows that you don't like chocolate and wants to make one that is perfect to give you on Christmas Eve, accompanied by a confession that turns out better than he expected

Midnight Encounters ☼

In the middle of the night you dare to ask the boy to sleep in his bed, without believing that he would really agree

Tango in the Sky ☼

You accompany Willy to the zoo in search of some ingredients for his chocolates and you end up embarking on an adventure through the air

#wonka 2023 #willy wonka x reader #wonka x reader #wonka movie #timothee chalamet #timothee chalamet x reader #timothee x reader #willy wonka #roald dahl #wonka fanfic #willy wonka 2023 #wonka fanfiction #wonka x fem reader

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sunsetsimon · 10 months ago

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hiii!! i love your work! i was wondering if you could do either a domestic price drabble or a breeding kink price :)

domestic price is my favorite <3 thanks for sending anon!! - sun

fem!reader x john price

─────── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───────

john finally back home after a few weeks away and he's itching to get things done around the house that have been neglected. he takes pride in his home, wanting it to be clean and taken care of, so he always does his part to help. he has you manage less intense tasks, like unloading the dishwasher, making the grocery list, or wiping down the table after dinner. your job is to look pretty and occasionally check on his progress.

today he has tasked himself with cleaning up the garden, pulling the weeds and trimming the grass. you find him at sunset digging in the flower beds, pulling out the weeds that had grown in over the last month. john looks up at you, grabbing the cool rag you hand him to wipe the sweat off of his forehead. he sighs in relief from the cloth, rubbing his cheeks and neck, "thanks darlin'. what're you up to?"

"had to make sure you weren't overheating out here. when are you coming in?"

"once i finish this last bed. it's been fuckin filthy out 'ere."

his shirt is long gone by now, probably lying in dirt on the other side of the yard. his beautiful tan skin is covered in sunburn, bright red and warm to the touch. john flinches as you place your palm on his shoulder, your hands cold as ice against his skin.

"what'd i tell you about wearing sunscreen, john?" your eyebrows furrow, shooting him a disappointed look that he dodges by getting back to work, acting as if he didn't see it.

"just forgot it today," he grumbles, "wouldn't have done much anyways."

"you say that now! you might get skin cancer though," you laugh, seeing the curl of his top lip that hides his smile, pressing them into a line but his body still shakes from a chuckle. "now you better be inside in 10 minutes, okay? dinner's almost done."

"yes ma'am," he nods, now fully aware of the deep grumble in his stomach. he makes sure he's back in 5 to wash up before dinner!

#.wbm #john price x reader #captain john price x reader #price x reader #cod x reader

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kaciebello · 3 months ago

Text

Few bucks and some ducks.

Masterlist Money mail ☼ Slytherin boys x Hufflepuff!reader (fem) Summary: Posh kids on a farm Warnings: no use of y/n Authors note: Haiya! Can't say I like this one. Oh well. word count: 1k Song: Greek God - Conan Gray

Farms are unknown territory for teens. Well, at least for our group. When you grow up in rich wizarding families, nobody expects you to know how to feed the bigs or that cows have best friends. None of them have ever been on a farm, much less work on it. However, when a post-it was hung in the corner store where Lorenzo works at, saying help on a farm needed willing to pay 10 pounds a day, the teens jumped on to the opportunity like no other. Their goal is always more reachable when actually working. They all showed up at the farmer's door. 7 in the morning sharp. Now, the farmer didn't really know what to do with them first. While he was grateful for the help, how much work can six posh kids really work? He swears one of the kids is wearing an Armani suit.

He made sure to give them easy work. The kind he could do, but was too lazy too. The girl and Lorenzo were sent to paint the fence, from brown colour to, well, different shades of brown. Draco and Blaise were sent to get chicken eggs and the two Theo's were to wash the cows. Have any of the kids done any of these jobs? Absolutely not, but they are wizards, how hard can it be?

It turns out to be very hard when the only job you've ever done was run errands for your papá. Each of them looked like a tornado had passed twice over. The kids sat exhausted around a picnic table. Mrs. Farmer prepared sandwiches and homemade lemonade for them. They were eating in silence, not a peep from them. Draco looked around all of them. He knew someone needed to bring the mood up. Sacrificing his friend was the best way.

“so, Blaise was courted by a chicken,” Draco says not even looking up from his food, almost perfecting the thousand-mile stare. Blaise slams his hand onto the table and turns to his friend.

“I was not!” he argues back, but with the very visible chicken feather in his hair, it was very hard to believe him. Draco just continuously nods.

“Chickens don't even do that!” Blaise tries again but his friends just laugh at him. The girl reaches over to plug the feather. Upon seeing it Blaise franticly brushes over his head. Glaring at Mattheo he decided on his target.

“Why are you laughing, huh? care to tell us why is your shirt all chewed up.” Matteo just glares back, making it into a little staring consent between the two boys. You can hear Theodore's laugh bubble up from his chest and ring all over the patio.

“ A cow chewed on it!” He laughed even more launder living the memory in his own little head.

“Like you aren't all wet because one of the cows grabbed the hose from you!” Mattheo fought back, embarrassing his friend in return. Theo stopped laughing a second later. Looking at all of them, they did not look like they had a great time. The girl and Lorenzo were probably doing the best out of all of them. Although the boys have yet to see Lorenos back and the huge brow print on his white shirt.

The girl giggles as silently as she can, very much amused at her friends' failure. They all turn to look at her studying her without her knowing. Draco glares at her before speaking,

“Is that a brown handprint on your ass?” He asks, efficiently shutting her up. and glare back at him.

“Like that's my fault.” He says in a quiet voice, slightly pointing at Lorenzo whore raises his hands in defence. One of his palms was indeed covered in dried brown paint. being author redheaded, or rather brow-headed, the two stayed quiet.

Silence falls upon the group again. A sigh left the girl. Seems like working on a farm was not something for the 6 of them. The farmer had walked up to the kids, ready to give them new tasks. However seeing them all very much in a ruined state, he decides against it. Instead, he tells them there is a pond at the back of his property and if the kids wish to do so, they can go and take a dip.

Without any word, the teens leaned up their plates and went on their way to the pond. The farmer's wife gave them some stale bread to feed the ducks. The way to the pond is not long, and when they get there they all visibly relax. The boys undress to their underwear and leap for the water. The girl, the only one not totally ruined by the world sits down by the shore and feeds the ducks.

The sun slowly sets, painting the sky nice shades of pink and yellow. The girl kept feeding the little ducks, wishing to bring them home. A thud next to her brings her gaze to her boyfriend. He relaxed his head on her shoulder. water from the hair dripping on her t-shirt. Reaching for her hand and the feed in it, he takes some and offers it to the ducks that have nested around her and throws some to the geese that rested a few meters away from them.

Resting for a while, the kids dried off, dressed themself and packed their stuff. Walking back to the farmhouse, they were given 10 pounds each and sent off with a handful of eggs to go home. Lorenzo and Matteo were asked to come back in two days. The farmer claimed that he did an amazing job with the cows and would like them to help him again. Even offering trippel the reward. They didn't hesitate and agreed.

On their way home, they all agreed to have omelettes for dinner tonight. And maybe the next three nights too.

Previous Chapter ☼ Next Chapter

Taglist @klimovatereza-blog , @lafrone ,@enfppuff , @rafegfs , @frogtape , @lovelyygirl8 , @catiwinky, @leeleecats , @ghostgardn , @reverse-soe , @ultramarinetovelvet @jazz-berry , @justatadbonkers , @partnerincrime0 , @schaebickel , @deluluassapocalypse , @adreamingpendulum, @imobsessedwitholiviarodrigo , @happydragonfrog , @harvey-malfoy , @helendeath , @caffeine-addict-slug , @mrvlfanman , @pink-heartz , @feistyfox47 , @nickspotatoesalad , @elltheawkward , @myunperfektstorys . @mxryxmfooty , @hoeforvinniehackerrr

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amiableness · 4 months ago

Text

Dad!James Potter x Bsf!Reader (mentioned) ☼ 734 words

“I can’t do this, James.” The mother of his child sighs, her arms crossed defensively over her chest as she leans back against the kitchen counter. Her eyes are filled with frustration and weariness.

James looks up from where he’s scrubbing baby bottles at the sink, concern etched across his face. He rinses out the last bottle and places it on the drying rack before turning to face her fully.

“I know. I’m feeling tired too, love.” He says, trying to offer a reassuring smile.

“No.” She huffs, her irritation cutting through the air as she sends him a scathing look. “I can’t do this.” She gestures to the baby items strewn across their flat, her frustration evident. James follows her gaze, taking in the sight of baby toys scattered everywhere. The living room is a chaotic mess, with bottles, blankets, and tiny clothes strewn about. The once tidy space now looks like a whirlwind passed through, and the weight of their new reality settles heavily on his shoulders.

Her words hang heavily between them, the weight of her admission sinking in as James feels his heart drop. It’s silent as she stares at him, waiting for his response.

“Listen, I know it’s been rough with a newborn but-” He starts out, scrambling to think of the right thing to say.

“Rough? That’s what you think it’s been?” James nearly flinches at the sharpness in her voice. “This is not what I wanted my life to be! I had dreams, James. And being a mum was never part of them.”

He considers asking her to lower her voice, worried about waking Henry, but he knows that would only escalate the situation.

"Becoming a father at 20 wasn't part of my plan either, but I'm making the best of it. I think that if we—"

She cuts him off, "James, stop."

“Darling—”

“I don’t want to hear how you never planned on becoming a father but now love it, or how Henry is the light of your life and should be mine too. I don’t want to hear any of it.”

“But I don’t understand what’s happening.”

She straightens, her tone final. "I’m leaving. He’s your responsibility now. I don’t want to be a mum."

His voice trembles with uncertainty, and his eyes blink slowly as he tries to absorb her words, "My responsibility?"

“I’m giving up my rights as his mother.” She replies firmly.

James stares at her, his stomach sinking as her words register. Her expression was resolute, leaving no room for doubt. He wasn't truly upset about his girlfriend leaving; their relationship had been strained for a while. His real concern was the daunting prospect of being a father on his own. The weight of responsibility pressed heavily on him, and he wondered how he would manage sleepless nights, endless feedings, and the overwhelming task of raising a child without support.

"I can’t—fuck, I can’t do this alone,” James collapses into a nearby chair, his hands running through his hair and disheveling his curls in frustration. “What is it they say? That it takes a whole damn town? How am I supposed to do this alone?" His voice cracks with desperation, and he can’t help but feel that she’s likely seeing him as weak and pathetic. She never liked when he cried.

She huffs, “That’s what you’re worried about? Not the fact your girlfriend is leaving you? Honestly James, you should’ve seen this coming sooner.”

James glances up as he hears the sound of her footsteps retreating. He watches in disbelief as she retrieves her luggage from the hall closet, a suitcase and a duffel bag emerging from behind the coat hangers.

"When did you—"

"I’ve been packing slowly for weeks." She interrupts, her voice steady as she continues to methodically zip up the bags. The realization hits him with a pang; this wasn’t a sudden decision but a carefully planned departure.

He really was going to be doing this alone.

“Oh.” The word feels clumsy and inadequate as it escapes his lips. He doesn’t even bother to stand, just staring at her with a sense of helplessness as she stands by the door, sending him a blank look.

“Call Y/N and tell her you need her. You’ve never had a problem doing that before.” With that, she grabs her bag and slams the door behind her.

Henry starts crying immediately.

please reblog or comment with your thoughts! they are very appreciated and keep me motivated to keep writing! 🤍

Dad!James and Bsf!Reader Masterlist

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