#i won't argue with you i'll just block you | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

barefoothighlander · 2 years ago

Note

Protective Ghost perhaps ?

Love me a protective hulk of a man and clapping my cheeks like a mad man 🫣

scary boyfriend privileges for real

warnings: mdni (18+), unwanted male attention, insinuation of assault, smut, unprotected pinv, est relationship, masturbation (fem), fingering, creampie, rough sex, dirty talk, slight breeding kink, lil bit of choking, possessive!ghost, rank kink if u squint

"Hey, where are you?"

"Just at the house, Is everything alright love?" He can sense the panic in your voice through the phone,

"Everything's fine just, do you think you'd be able to pick me up?"

"Be there in 10"

He ends the call, leaving you to listen to the echoes of strangers in the streets, standing alone outside your office building, you didn't intend on working late but something had come up and you told Simon that you'd just walk home after work, it was only a few blocks to your shared flat.

At first, he blatantly refused the idea, arguing that he'd just pick you up even if it meant waiting around for a few hours when he already had plans, you argued back stating that it wouldn't be dark considering the sun wouldn't set till later, and the walk was short. Eventually, he gave in, agreeing to your terms of having your location on during your walk and keeping a finger on the pepper spray he had placed in your purse.

Everything was going fine until you actually stepped out of the office, ignorant to the fact that there was a football match that night, and the pubs would be littered with drunk patrons, shouting from every street corner. The echoes of their voices made you nervous, the fact that you didn't have your scary boyfriend to protect you made it worse, a small panic setting into your nerves as you picked at your nails.

You move to the curb to watch for his truck, eyes glazing over every pair of headlights that made their way down the street, tapping your foot in an effort to ease yourself.

"OI"

You turn your attention to the shout,

"Yea you, whatcha doin all alone out here love?" A man standing a few feet away begins walking towards you, even from the distance you can smell the alcohol on him, turning away to ignore him.

"Ah c'mon then, just tryna have a chat"

"M'not interested, sorry"

"Inna chat? Don't worry I won't bite"

You take a few steps back as the man gets closer, invading your space as he continues to speak,

"Don't have to be a priss, just wondering why a pretty lil thing like you s'all alone"

"I'm waiting for someone" You nervously dart your eyes around, willing Simon to appear,

He stumbles closer "You gotta boyfriend?"

"Yep" You cross your arms over your chest, walking backwards as the man continues to get closer

"Bet I'd treat ya better, wouldn't let you walk around all alone" He drags out the last word, staring directly at you,

"You know, I'm just gonna walk, have a good night" You turn to walk down the street, moving at a rushed pace,

"I'll walk you home" He moves in tandem with you

"No that's alright, I'll manage"

Your body freezes as his hand makes contact with your arm, tugging you back a step as he grips the skin, "Why've you got to be such a bitch?"

You try to pull your arm from his hold, "Excuse me?"

"Just tryna be nice"

"You're hurting me" Your body is in full panic, your mind racing as the man's stare pins you down, his grip firing you backwards until your back collides with the wall.

"You know it'd be a lot easier if you played along"

His words make your chest feel hollow, your eyes moving to avoid his gaze before they land on a pair of headlights in front of you, the slam of a car door breaking your focus as you let out a sigh at the sight of your boyfriend moving towards you.

In a flash the man is off you, Simon's grip around his collar as he pins him to the wall, the back of his head hitting against the stone as you gasp.

"Si-"

"Get the fuck out of here"

The stranger's eyes widen at the sight of the masked man, Simon's large form dwarfing his as his arm holds his shirt tight around his neck, Simon releases him, the man gasping for air, sparing you a final look before rushing down the street.

"I'm sorry I-"

He cuts you off, "Get in the car"

You spend the short ride home in silence, not even bothering to turn the radio on, the tension in the air palpable as you let yourself out of the truck, following behind Simon as he makes his way into the house.

You flinch as he slams the door behind him,

"M'not mad at you" His voice comes from behind you

"I know"

You watch as he storms toward the bedroom in a fury, his fists clenched as he breezes by you. following him through the room. Your eyes are glued to him as he sits in a chair, alone in the corner facing the bed, his legs spread as his hands settle on the arms of the seat.

"Take your clothes off"

You do as he says, nervous fingers working to remove your shirt before reaching for the belt on your pants, tugging them down your legs,

"All your clothes"

You stand naked before him, his eyes roaming over your form, his stare making goosebumps rise on your skin,

"Get on the bed"

You sit on the edge of the mattress, shuffling your body backwards as you rest against your arms,

"I want you to touch yourself, and keep your eyes on me"

Your throat dries at his words, your eyes looking for some sign of sympathy but there's nothing behind the mask, doing as you're told you snake a hand down your torso, settling your fingers against your clit, cursing yourself at how wet you already were.

You work your fingers around the bud, keeping your gaze locked on him as pleasure blossoms in your chest, your heels digging into the sheets as you find a rhythm.

He doesn't say anything but you can see the strain on his knuckles as he grips the armrests of the chair, his pants growing tighter with every moan that falls from your lips. You're teetering on the edge but it's not enough,

"Simon, please,"

"Your fingers not enough?"

You shake your head, "Need you"

"Need me to what?"

"Need you to fuck me, please"

He wastes no time in standing from the chair, practically tearing his pants down before his hands grip your waist, flipping you with ease so that your chest presses against the mattress, your cheek digging into the sheets as he presses his length against you.

He groans at the feeling of your weeping pussy against his length, his palms spreading you so he can get a better view,

“So fucking perfect, you gonna be good for me?”

You wriggle your hips for him, “Yes, all for you”

“Good girl” He drags his palm along the length of your spine, settling his fingers around the nape of your neck as he lines himself up, teasing his head through your folds, collecting your slick before inserting himself.

He bottoms out with a grunt, his pubic bone pressing against your ass as he leans over your form, caging you and forcing you to take every inch of him. You whimper below him, begging him to move as he holds himself still inside you.

He pulls himself nearly all the way out before thrusting back in, forcing a yelp from you as he begins pumping into your pussy, your slick gathering around his shaft as his cock splits you open.

“So fuckin tight love”

His fingers dig into your waist with a bruising grip, holding you still as he thrusts into you, you can feel the coil inside you still burning but it’s still not enough,

“Si, please, need more”

His hand reaches around your neck, pulling you from the bed so your back is flush with his chest, his fingers teasing on your pulse point. He snakes his other hand around to toy with your clit, you clench down on him as he makes contact, his rough fingers circling the bud.

“Can’t cum unless it’s me huh?”

You shake your head, your eyes squeezed shut,

“Tell me, who does this pussy belong to?”

“You Si, fuck”

“Not good enough” His hand constricts around your throat

You struggle to find your words, his cock driving into you from below, “It’s yours Lieutenant, only yours”

“Much better” His hand releases your throat allowing you to gasp for air in between your moans, your orgasm threatening to erupt from inside you.

His hands knead at your breasts, teasing and pinching the raised buds as his fingers work in tandem with his strokes, you reach behind you to touch him, to grab anything to ground yourself , your fingers settling on the hem of his mask.

“That’s it love, soak my cock, show me how good I make you feel”

Your skin feels like it’s on fire as all your muscles tense, Ghosts moans fill your ears as your pussy clenches down on him, his hips stuttering for a moment as he fucks you through your high.

When he feels you come down he pulls himself out, groaning at the loss of contact as his hands find their way back to your waist, flipping you onto your back and slotting himself between your legs.

You wrap your limbs around him, holding him to you as he pushes deep inside you, his face is inches from yours, his eyes glued to where you meet.

“Gonna fill this fucking pussy, maybe i’ll fuck a baby into you, s’that what you want? Want everyone to see your stomach grow with my fuckin seed? Let them know who you belong to?”

His gaze turns to you, his dark eyes staring back at you, you struggle to form a response, your hand moving to tug at the hem of his mask as your hooded eyes watch him. Like he’s reading your mind he tears the mask off in seconds, revealing his face to you, his rosy cheeks and plump lips, the way his jaw clenches with every thrust.

“I’m yours, only yours”

His lips crash into yours, swallowing your moans as he kisses you, rough and messy as your arms snake around his neck, holding him to you.

He pulls back, his forehead resting on yours, “Fuck, squeezing me so tight beautiful”

“Cum in me Si, need to feel you”

He watches your eyes fill with lust, your soaking pussy swallowing him as he bottoms out, your heels dig into his back as he spills his seed into you, coating your walls.

“Fuckin hell” He holds himself inside you as he finishes, his softening cock holding his cum deep in your pussy as he leans in for another kiss, it’s more tender this time.

He pulls out of you slowly, pushing up the bed and lying back as his arms tug you to him, your legs tangling with him as your hands find their spot on his chest.

“M’sorry”

His fingers thread through your hair, “S’not your fault love”

“I know I just feel stupid”

“You’re not stupid, you shouldn’t have to deal with shit like that”

You give a small hun in response,

“I would’ve killed him”

“I know”

“Like terrible, awful, excruciating pain kinda murder”

You huff a small laugh in response, knowing that he was deadly serious as you push yourself from his side, your palms nudging him over,

“C’mon go get dressed for bed”

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l0vergirlsw0rld · 3 months ago

Text

ravish part 3

hitchhiker!readerxperv!loganhowlett

a/n: this is the final part of the ravish series! hope you guys enjoyed it <3 T

wc: 6k

NSFW

18+ MDNI | age gap,oral sex, p in v intercourse, and sexual themes

summary: Y/N goes to Logan's cabin in Canada while she waits for him to return from Mexico. during her stay, she finds some personal mementos that give her a deeper understanding of who he really is.

"...I ain't gonna tell you again, kid, it's too dangerous." He grunted, smoothing down his beard with a hand in frustration. The roughness in his voice matched the irritation in his eyes.

You stood in front of the doorway, blocking him.

"Why are you going if you're so concerned about safety? What if something happens to you?" you shot back, crossing your arms defiantly.

You weren’t just challenging him; you were demanding an explanation, the truth, something he couldn’t dodge with huffs and empty commands.

At the crack of dawn, you had ambushed Logan, catching him off guard before he could slip away into the shadows.

The plan was simple.

Today, you weren’t separating paths; You had decided, and you weren’t about to let him just walk out without a fight.

But Logan, true to his protective nature, instantly shot down your idea, brushing it off. And now the two of you were standing there, bickering by the front door, each trying to make the other see their perspective.

"Because I can take it. You? Not so much. Now move, I gotta be somewhere." His voice was low and raspy, carrying a weight that was hard to argue with.

He took a heavy step forward making the boards creak underneath him. He meant business, and you could tell he wasn’t in the mood to play games.

But you weren’t about to back down.

"Then when am I going to see you again? If I can't go with you, how do I get in touch with you? You don't have a cell phone. Is there an address I can write to you?" The words tumbled out before you could stop them.

You reached out, gently touching his chest, feeling the heavy beat of his heart beneath your fingertips. It was a small gesture, but it was enough to stop him in his tracks.

He exhaled sharply through his nose, the sound almost a sigh of resignation. For a moment, the harsh lines of his face softened, and he looked at you with hurt as if he heard you for the first time this morning.

You both shared a look of longing before you cut the silence.

"I'm not being this adamant because I want to meet up again to fuck... I told you I liked you, Logan. If you leave for Mexico and we never see each other again, we won't get to explore this. I know you like me too." You slid your hand up to rest where his neck and shoulder meet.

"You're right sweetheart, I do....a lot... It's just, I don't know when I'll be back," he said, his voice low and careful as if trying to choose the right words. "This type of thing... it can take a while." He looked down at you through his dark lashes.

He was leaving, without you.

The pressure in your chest subsided, and from the hand he placed on your waist you knew he was also upset.

"Do you want to see me again?" You mumbled softly.

"Of course I do." His hands came up on your shoulders, his touch warm and reassuring. Logan pulled you in and pressed a long kiss on the top of your head. The warmth of his lips calmed every nerve in your body.

He pulled away, steady, as always, but there was something in his eyes that told you this was just as hard for him as it was for you.

"But I'm sorry, you can't come. I'd never forgive myself if something would happen to you."

"Then I'll wait for you," you said, your voice calmer.

"...Just give me a place to meet you. I don't care how long it'll take...I'll get by... I always do." You looked into his eyes, searching for some sign that he believed you, that he understood just how serious you were.

"You'll wait f'me?" His voice was softer now, almost uncertain as if he couldn't quite believe what you were saying. The gears in Logan turned as he thought of something.

"Yes, anywhere, I'll wait," you answered without hesitation.

He paused, considering your words, then nodded slowly.

"How about Canada?"

Two weeks of walking, drives, train rides and taxis. That's what it took you to get to Logan's place in Deer Lake, Alberta.

The journey up north was a first for you, an adventure into a new landscape that felt almost picturesque.

The countryside was a living canvas; Gorgeous snow-tipped mountains towered In the distance, tucked behind miles and miles of lush trees and massive lakes that shimmered reflections of a deep sapphire blue.

Logan's home—a cabin—was located deep within an untamed forest. The remoteness of the location was astonishing, so far away from any civilization, you wondered how he survived the winters alone; the taxi driver had only been able to take you so far before the road disappeared into the wild grass, leaving nothing but a rough trail that was impassable for a vehicle.

From there, it was up to you to make the final trek on foot.

As you walked, the gravel crunched beneath you, the sound was oddly comforting in the quiet of the forest. The air was crisp and clean, breathing had suddenly become easier in the forest. The scent of pine and cedar filled your nostrils, clearing your sinuses from any blockage they might've had.

Approaching the cabin, you noticed scattered logs and woodworking tools lying around the property. You pieced together that Logan had built this place with his own bare hands. The mess in the yard was evidence of the hard work that had gone into building this place. Each log and nail was a hommage to his skill and stubbornness.

Of course, Logan built his own house, you mumbled.

Your mouth fell open in awe as you took in the sight of the cabin. It was more than just a structure—it was the product of Logan's blood, sweat, and tears.

There was something deeply personal about it, something that made you feel honoured to be allowed into this part of his life. This wasn’t just a cabin, it was his getaway from all the bad things in his life.

The cabin, his home, was a mirror image of him—rugged, enduring, and built to withstand the harshest elements.

Stepping onto the front porch, your hand grazed over the smooth wooden railings of the stairs. His craftsmanship was impeccable, each detail was carefully considered, and each board was perfectly placed. Logan had picked the perfect area to carve out for himself in this remote corner of the world.

You inserted the key he had given you before he left into the doorknob and twisted. After hearing the faint clicking noise, you pushed it open to reveal the inside.

His home was open-concept, the entrance positioned right between the kitchen and the living room. To your left, a maroon leather loveseat sat next to a matching recliner, both perfectly aligned to face a stone-built fireplace that reached up to the ceiling.

The walls were decorated with Indigenous paintings, each one a cultural tapestry of the land. The artwork depicted vibrant scenes of nature and various animal spirits.

To your right was a modest kitchenette, equipped with all the essentials for a life lived simply but comfortably. The centrepiece was the sturdy table and chair set that appeared to be handmade, most likely by Logan himself.

As you ventured deeper into the space, you spun slowly in a circle, trying to take it all in, it was gorgeous. You could feel him within these walls.

The air carried a faint, lingering scent of his cigars, a comforting reminder of him. You wondered how long it had been since he was last here, sitting by the fire, drink in hand, perhaps lost in thought.

You entered his bedroom with a gentle push of the door, revealing a space that mirrored the simple functionality of the rest of the cabin. Like the other rooms, it was decked out with only the essentials for comfort. A large bed, a handmade dresser that stood against the wall, its wood polished smooth from years of use. There was a spacious closet, probably filled with his few belongings, and a small nightstand with a simple lamp casting a soft, warm glow.

On the nightstand, you noticed an ashtray filled with grey dust.

I wonder how many lonely nights he spent in here, you thought.

Exhausted from the long journey, you decided to call it a night. You plopped down onto Logan’s bed, the mattress was firm but welcoming and pulled the blankets around you.

The scent of the cabin wrapped around you like a comforting embrace. As your head sank into the pillow, you found yourself drifting off almost immediately, surrounded by the quiet peace of Logan’s space.

Miss you, You mumbled before closing your eyes for the night.

Two weeks since your arrival:

Days at the cabin seemed to blend together, slipping by with an ease that was both comfortable and foreign.

You’d been on the road for most of your short life, always on the go, always searching for the next big thing.

But here, in this secluded corner of the world, you found yourself settling into a routine—something you hadn’t realized you craved. The mundane act of daily chores became almost therapeutic.

You had begun exploring around the cabin, finding hidden trails that led you all over the place. One path led you to a nearby town, a small, quaint place where life moved at a slower pace. The townspeople were friendly, their lives seemingly untouched by the chaos of the world.

You frequented the local general store for groceries, picking up a few items and some clothes to better suit this colder climate. The change in scenery was drastic for you, but you found yourself adapting, maybe even enjoying the peace that came with it.

As the days passed, the cabin began to feel like your own. The once unfamiliar space became a place of comfort, each creak of the floorboards and crackle of the fire made you unwind.

You decided to take on some of the household chores—tasks that probably didn’t come naturally to Logan.

Spring cleaning became your mission, tackling the tedious details he might overlook. You wiped down the insides of kitchen drawers, scrubbed the fridge, and tossed out any expired food. It felt good to take care of these small things, you were kind of being a little housewife, preparing the home for Logan's arrival.

One afternoon, while organizing the kitchen, your fingers brushed against something tucked away in the back of a drawer.

You decided to pull it out and realized it was an old map, the paper worn and creased from what seemed years of use.

As you unfolded it, you noticed several locations marked in red ink. The meaning of these places was a mystery, and despite studying the map for a long while, you couldn’t decipher their significance.

Japan, Madripoor, Northern Canada, Mexico,

Puzzled, you left the map on the table. The idea was that maybe if you came back to it later, you'd see something you hadn't noticed in the first place.

The thought occurred to you to ask Logan about it when he returned. Would he have a simple explanation or go back to shooting it down?

Over the following days, you found yourself returning to it, your fingers tracing the lines and paths, your mind wandering to what expeditions or memories these marks represented.

In these moments, you couldn't help but think,

He’s no handyman, that’s for sure.

Three Weeks since your arrival:

As you prepared for bed one night, the soft glow of the lamp illuminated the room in a gentle, amber light. During your bedtime routine, something caught your eye—a glint of metal in the corner of the room, just beside the dresser on the floor.

Curious, you approached and discovered a set of dog tags lying on the floor, half-hidden beneath a loose floorboard.

The realization struck you like a bolt of lightning.

Logan had been in the military.

It was a part of his past you had no clue about, a fragment of his story that added depth to the riddle that was him. You had sensed that one night there was a darkness within him, but now, seeing these tags, you began to understand the source of that shadow—his time as a soldier, the battles fought, and the scars born.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you gently traced your thumb over the engravings on the tags. Each mark and number seemed to hold trauma, something that represented his time, far away from the peace of the cabin. You tried to imagine the weight of these tags around his neck during those times of darkness, and it filled you with sadness.

With a shaky breath, you wiped the tears from your cheeks. In this moment you were feeling an inexplicable connection to him through this small, metallic relic. A part of you wanted to honour his remarkable selflessness. You slipped the chain over your head and let the tags rest against your chest, giving them a gentle squeeze, a small gesture of comfort as you tried to steady the storm of emotions inside you.

The thought of Logan facing any dangers far away in Mexico seemed almost unbearable. The weight of the dog tags felt like a physical reminder of the challenges he faced, the unknown threats he confronted, and the loneliness that came with his life of constant danger.

He survived in the past, he'll survive again. You told yourself.

You longed to have him next to you in bed, to offer him a comforting hug, but the miles that separated you felt like an eternity away.

Four Weeks since your arrival:

After a successful day of fishing at the lake, you returned home, enthusiastic and sopping wet from an unexpected stumble into the water. Your clothing clung to you and the chilly evening air covered your body in goosebumps. You hurried inside, eager to change into some dry clothes.

Logan’s wardrobe provided a relief. You rummaged through his drawers, searching for something comfortable to wear—a t-shirt, a pair of pyjama pants, and socks. The familiar feel of his clothes was oddly comforting, a small link to him while he was so far away. After all he did only own multiples of the same clothing articles.

As you dug deeper into the drawer, your fingers brushed against something unexpected. You pulled out a Polaroid photo, slightly crumpled and tucked away behind other items. Intrigued, you examined it more closely.

The image was of a dark-haired woman with hazel eyes, seductively bound with ropes, completely nude and captured in a moment of intimacy. The rawness and vulnerability of the photo struck a jealous chord, and for a moment, you were taken aback. The woman’s identity didn't make sense to you at all, you knew Logan was single, and there was nothing left of a female in the cabin. Even though it might've been an old girlfriend, the discovery stirred a mix of emotions—curiosity, surprise, and discomfort.

You couldn’t help but wonder about the context of the photo.

Was this someone important to him?

Did he hold onto the photo for special meaning or as a memory for him?

Your mind raced with questions, each one feeling deeper and more personal. The photograph was intimate and private. It felt like a glimpse into a side of Logan you hadn’t seen before—one that was carefree, open and playful.

Feeling a surge of conflicting emotions, you gently set the photo back to where it belonged, buried under piles of socks. The photo had given you a lot to think about, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that it was just one more piece of Logan’s past that you were uncovering from spending time in his home.

As you slipped into the dry clothes, the warmth of the t-shirt and pyjama pants was comforting, but the image lingered in your thoughts, leaving you with more questions than answers about the man whose home you now shared.

Six Weeks since your arrival:

You were determined to light a fire inside the cabin tonight. But first thing first, you now needed to chop firewood since you had used up all of Logan's. You enjoyed the luxury of a nice warm fireplace every night and that wasn't going to end anytime soon.

The task was tougher than you anticipated. You huffed as you dragged some of the smaller logs onto the chopping block. You hoisted it up on it with all your might, wincing as you felt the rough bark scrape against your palms. The pain was sharp but didn't last long as you wiped the blood on your clothes, focusing on the task at hand. You had become a woman of the forest.

You picked up the axe, its weight heavy in your hands. Hoisting it above your head, you struggled to keep it steady. With a deep breath, you brought it down with all your might. The axe’s iron head split through the wood with a satisfying thunk, sending the splintered halves flying, making a metallic clang echo beneath one of the pieces as it hit the ground.

Curious, you crouched down and peered underneath. To your astonishment, you discovered a hidden hatch covered by dirt and twigs. Your heart raced with excitement and curiosity. Dust clouded the air as you tugged the hatch open, revealing a narrow space underground.

You dropped to all fours and stuck your head down into the hatch, your breath mingling with the musty scent of hidden secrets. The space below was dimly lit by daylight filtering through the hatch, but even in the low light, you could make out the outline of a well-organized stash.

Inside, you found a collection of weapons—various blades and firearms neatly arranged and meticulously maintained. There were combat knives with polished handles, tactical pistols, and rifles of different calibres. Given Logan’s past military service, it made sense that he would keep a well-stocked arsenal on his property, even if it was hidden away for safety. Though it didn't seem completely out of the realm of expectations, the amount of weapons did make you question why he felt he needed that many.

Had he needed to use them recently?

Was he supplying a team or working alone?

Even though you knew Logan was involved in violent organizations now, you still could not bring yourself to fear him. Your gut just kept on assuring you that he was a good guy and meant no harm to you. You also trusted his judgement, he had a kind heart and you were positive that if he were to hurt someone it would be for their good.

With a final look at the hidden stash, you turned back to your woodpile, the task at hand feeling somehow more significant now. As you continued to chop the wood, your mind replayed the countless questions you now had for Logan upon his arrival.

Eight Weeks since your arrival:

You were rummaging through the cabin, searching for batteries for Logan's radio. The radio had become a comforting presence during your stay, its music, a soothing aid against the isolation and the creeping paranoia that sometimes cropped on you. The constant thought of being alone in the vast wilderness, with the constant worry of a wild animal breaking through the door, made the staticky tunes a necessity for your sanity.

After scouring every possible location, you were down to your last hope—the top shelf of Logan’s closet. Balancing on your tiptoes, you stretched your arm up, hoping to feel the familiar shape of a battery package. Instead, your hand brushed against something sharp. You pulled your hand back quickly, wincing as you noticed a shard of glass embedded in your fingertip.

Curiosity got the better of you.

Determined, you grabbed a kitchen chair and carefully positioned it beneath the closet shelf. You climbed onto the chair and reached up again, this time with more caution, and found the source of the sharp sensation—a broken picture frame.

Carefully, you lifted the frame and inspected it, noticing the fragments of glass that had scattered around. You set the frame gently on the floor, making sure not to cut yourself further, and turned it over to reveal the photograph behind the glass.

The picture was old and slightly faded, but it was clear enough to see the faces of those it depicted. Logan was in the center, surrounded by X-Men members you recognized: Jean Grey, with her vibrant red hair; Cyclops, his visor unmistakable even in this casual setting; and Storm, her white hair flowing with almost ethereal grace. They were all posed together, their faces lit with genuine smiles and laughter, capturing a good, warm moment.

As you examined the photo, a wave of realization washed over you. You had heard of the X-Men in stories and legends, but you had never imagined Logan was connected to them, let alone be one of them. The presence of these iconic figures, the heroes you had only known through tales and news reports, was a clear indication that Logan was once part of something extraordinary.

This photograph was more than just a snapshot; it was a revelation of his identity. Logan was not just a lonely man with a mysterious past—he was a mutant, a member of the X-Men, a hero with a legacy that spanned beyond what you had ever understood. The contrast between the vibrant camaraderie of the photo and the isolated, battle-worn figure you knew was striking.

What in the world had led him to such loneliness and solitude?

Why was the picture broken, had he done that to it?

As you held the frame, you felt sympathy and awe. This discovery added a new layer of complexity to your understanding of him. These were the people who had shaped him, and it deepened your appreciation for them.

You were fast asleep until the bedroom door creaked open, and your eyelids flew open in response.

Logan.

You turned over to turn on the lamp.

His complexion had deepened from the sun in Mexico, and his hair had grown out a bit, curling slightly at the nape of his neck. He looked down at you with tired eyes and a soft, relieved smile. You had fulfilled your promise and waited for him.

"Logan," you rasped, your voice thick with sleep. You had been waiting for this moment for weeks.

"Hi, baby. Sorry I woke you," he whispered, approaching you and kneeling beside the bed. His hand reached out to brush some stray hairs away from your face, a tender gesture that made your heart swell.

You didn’t care about being woken up. Without hesitation, you threw your arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace. He returned it with equal strength, his strong arms wrapping around you, holding you as if he might never let go.

You inhaled deeply, taking in his scent—different, altered by time and distance, yet still undeniably him. His hand slid behind your head, fingers tangling in your hair as he cradled you against him.

"I missed you so much," you mumbled into his shirt, your voice muffled by the fabric but laced with raw emotion. You couldn’t bring yourself to loosen your grip on him.

"So did I, princess," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. He gently nudged you back, signalling for you to look at him.

You met his hazel eyes with your own, now glistening with tears. He used his thumb to gently wipe away a tear that had escaped down your cheek before pulling you into a passionate kiss, one filled with longing and love.

His lips claimed yours hungrily, his hands cupping your face, holding you in place as if to make up for all the lost time. You melted into him, surrendering to the moment, to the feel of his lips on yours, the taste of him, the warmth of his touch.

For the past two months, he had thought of you every single day, the memory of you his constant companion amid chaos. There were moments when he had considered abandoning everything just to return to you, but he knew the importance of his mission. He had told himself that if he could endure the pain, and the heartache of being away, he would be rewarded with the sweetest reunion.

His lips left yours and began to trail down your jaw, planting soft kisses along the way. He found the sensitive spot on your neck, and you couldn’t suppress the moan that escaped your lips. Your fingers instinctively gripped the back of his neck, holding him closer, wanting more. The sensation of his touch after so long sent chills down your spine, a reminder of the connection you shared. You tilted your head back, giving him full access, and his mouth left warm, wet trails on your skin as he explored further.

But then, without warning, he suddenly pulled away. You let out a small whine at the loss of his warmth, your eyes searching for his.

His gaze had dropped to your chest, his brows furrowed in concentration.

"Lo?" you asked softly, following his gaze. Then you saw it—the dog tags.

His fingers traced the ball chain with a calloused touch, the metal cool against your skin as he followed its curve. You felt a shiver run through you, not just from the contact but from the significance of the moment.

"I found them," you said quietly, placing your hand over his, pressing it to your chest, where your heartbeat had begun to race. "I had no clue that you had served... You know, I learned a lot about you while you were gone."

He didn’t respond immediately, just kept his eyes down, focused on your hands entwined over the dog tags.

"What did you learn?" he finally asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I know who you are, Logan... I know what you are, and I'm not scared," you said, your voice trembling with sincerity.

"I have an idea of what you were doing down in Mexico, and I know you have the best intentions at heart. I trust you and your judgment. So, if you had to... hurt people... there, I know it’s because they deserved it. I'm not going anywhere, Logan. I'm just happy you're back and safe."

He looked up at you, his eyes searching yours. "You sure?" he asked, his voice filled with a vulnerability that took you by surprise.

You nodded, your eyes locking onto his with unwavering determination.

"I'm sure. You're home now, and that's all that matters to me. I'm all yours," You pulled him in for another kiss.

Logan's fire lit within him: you were all his.

He matched your energy once more, feeding the primal hunger that had been eating at him all this time. Your lips locked and tongues trailed on top of each other in ecstasy. You sucked his bottom lip between your teeth before biting down on it gently as he had taught you. He groaned in your mouth, gripping your hips tightly, his nails dug into your sides.

"Lay down baby," He mumbled against your lips. You obliged, letting your back fall on the mattress, Logan hovered over you, taking in the sight of your body. His eyes trailed up and down, savouring every inch of your body for his memory.

"You're so fucking pretty," He cooed resuming his place on your neck. You flinched from the sudden stimulation, a surprised moan escaping your lips.

He licked his way down to the neckline of your shirt, you gripped the sheets behind you as the excitement built in your lower abdomen.

With a swift, almost imperceptible movement, Logan extended his arm, and you heard a metallic *snikt* as his claws slid out from between his knuckles. The room, which had been filled with the warmth of your reunion, now hummed with a different kind of energy—something raw and vulnerable.

You stared, wide-eyed, as the three gleaming metal blades emerged from his hand, each one impossibly sharp and perfectly aligned. They reflected the dim light in the room, casting slender, shimmering lines across the walls.

For a moment, you could do nothing but observe them in stunned amazement. This was the ability, the weapon that had been a part of him for so long, and he was sharing it with you; how special.

You reached out, almost instinctively, your fingers trembling as they hovered near the metal. Logan's eyes met yours, searching for any sign of fear or hesitation. But you felt none. Instead, there was a deep curiosity, a need to understand this part of him.

Gently, you let your fingers brush against the surface of one of the blades. The metal was cold and smooth, the edges impossibly sharp. You marvelled at how something so deadly could be a part of the man you loved. It was hard to wrap your mind around it—how could flesh and bone give rise to something so unnatural, so extraordinary?

"They're beautiful," You hummed in delight, looking up at him with the warmest smile.

"You're something else, aren't you?" He sighed relieved.

With a swift movement, he cut your shirt down the middle, your breasts falling out.

"Logan-" You gasped in surprise, his smile turned dark as he retracted the claws back inside.

"Was in my way," He smirked, dropping his face to your chest and sucking one of your nipples in his mouth. His free hand immediately finds your other one, palming your flesh, toying with your sensitive nipples with his fingers. You moan loudly, arching your back into his skilled maneuvers. It felt amazing but you needed more. More touch. More friction. More Logan.

With a distinctive pop, he releases your nipple from his grasp.

"Please," You breathed needily. You were feeling yourself getting wetter by the moment.

He admired you from below; how your hand was gripped in the sheets over your head, how your eyelids were just barely open with lust. He kissed his way down from your breasts to your stomach, leaving a few of his marks on your body. Gentle ones of course.

“I'm going to make you feel good, okay sweetheart?” Logan soothes, pulling down the pyjama pants down your legs with ease. You helped him remove them frantically, knowing what was about to happen next.

“Okay, Lo-” He tosses the bottoms to the other side of the room and spreads your legs wide open for him.

“Fuck baby," He groaned as he admired your perfectly shaped core, already dripping and aching for him.

He brought his hands to your folds, spreading them open with his thumbs. You twitched underneath his touch eager to feel some release.

"Been thinking about doing this for a long time," He mumbled before diving face-first into you. His tongue made contact with your sensitive bud sending your back into an aggressive arch. He started slowly, licking long fat lines. You twitched at every flick of his tongue on your clit.

He slid both of his hands to grip your thighs roughly, pushing them further open for him. He picks up his pace, moving his jaw faster against you. Your wetness drenched his face, dripping from his chin as he lapped rhythmically with his skilled tongue, applying just the right amount of pressure to inch you closer to your breaking point.

"You taste just as good as the first time," He praised between breaths before sucking your clit into his mouth. His warm soft lips wrapped around it tightly as he pushed against it causing the most delicious friction. Your eyes roll into the back of your head at the sensation.

You were already close, you hadn't touched yourself during his absence and even the slightest touch was sending you near the edge.

Logan was growing painfully hard against his jeans, every whimper and moan that escaped your lips made the pressure increase. How he adored having you in his mouth, seeing you up close like this, tasting your sweet honey on his tongue while your intoxicating smell filled his senses.

He gave a slite bite on your clit as he recalled you enjoyed that last time. With a fuck, your hands snapped to his hair, grabbing fistfuls. He grinned against you doing it again, as he pressed a finger against your entrance, slowly pushing his fingers inside. You gasped as he stretched you out. While keeping up his momentum with his tongue he began to pump his fingers with it. Both points of friction accelerated your rise to your orgasm.

You’re a whimpering mess underneath him, you try to mask the noise by biting down on the pillow.

“Don't hold back, I want to hear those pretty noises you're making darlin', ” Logan praises, thrusting deeper inside, all the way to his knuckles. You release the material from your teeth, letting out a 'gonna cum logan,'

"Cum for me princess," He moans, high off of the pleasure of eating you out. He’s devouring you, his face buried between your thighs, his tongue circling your clit. He bites down again, pulling back his fingers outside of you, you moan at the sensation. He pulls his face away from your swollen clit and slaps his hand down on your core.

Your hips buck in surprise and the slight sharpness of the pain tips you over the edge, before you know it you're rolling your eyes in the back of your head. Logan rubs his rough palm on your clit, helping you ride out your orgasm, he pulls you closer by your neck and kisses you aggressively. You wrap your arms around his back, pulling his body down so that his chest is flush with yours. “Need you inside,” you beg, lips against his. “Need you inside.”

Logan gets up and pulls his shirt over his shoulders, discarding it in some corner of the room. He drinks in the sight of your post-orgasm frame, trying to catch your breath as he fiddles with his belt. With a few clinking noises and a zip, he pushed his jeans down, his cock springing out aggressively.

He returns to his position on the bed, between your legs. His lips come crashing down on yours as he strokes it a few times to ease the tension. "Are you sure, baby? It might be a little much for you, I'm more than happy with just eating you out." He locks eyes with you, looking for your approval.

You grin. "I'm yours, Logan, I'm sure." You pull him in for another kiss as he pushes the tip of his cock past your entrance. Your body jolts in surprise by the sheer size of it, but with every inch he goes deeper, the more you get used to him. You moan into his mouth as he works his way into you.

His lips are on yours, he’s plunging into you slowly, down to the hilt. “Fuck,” he groans, his cock throbbing inside you. “You're so fucking tight,” he murmurs, buried deep inside of you. “I might not last long,” He lets out a dry laugh before thrusting in and out.

Your hands find themselves gripping Logan's back muscles, grazing your nails across his skin. He groaned as the stinging sensation began to tingle.

“Taking me so well,” Logan praises, ducking into your neck and sucking on it. He pumps along your walls, his hips snapping against yours. His pace picks up, thrusts becoming faster. Your entrance squeezed around his girth as he pounded deep inside you.

"Fuck," He grunts between breaths.

He rams into you. Over and over, his sensitive tip enveloped you, warm and wet.

“I'm so happy I'm yours,” you moan. " Always gonna be yours.” His cock twitches at your words. You watch as his abs flex, his muscles tightening and releasing with every thrust.

The kisses on your neck became sloppy, and his thrusts were irregular.

His cock twitches inside you again, throbbing against your walls. You know he's close because he's moaning and pulls away from your neck looking for your eyes.

His muscles flex as he finds your face, and he throws his head back mindlessly pumping his warm hot seed inside of you. His hands softly stroking your thigh as he comes back to his senses.

With a few other pumps, he pulls out dropping next to you in the bed. He pulls you close keeping your head on his chest. You hear his heart hammering against his ribcage.

"That was so-"

"Needed." He finished

"Yes, needed." You agreed, tracing circles against his chest as he caught his breath.

A moment of silence passed, and you both comfortably enjoyed each other's company.

As the quiet stretched between you, the soft hum of the night outside filtered into the room, making the moment feel even more serene. Logan’s heartbeat began to slow, and the steady rhythm beneath your fingertips was soothing. You felt completely at peace in his arms, as if the chaotic world beyond the four walls of the bedroom didn’t exist.

He shifted slightly, adjusting to pull you even closer, his chin resting on the top of your head. His hand drifted to your back, tracing lazy lines along your spine, the touch intimate and grounding. It was moments like this where words weren’t necessary. The connection between you spoke louder than anything you could say.

"You okay?" Logan murmured, breaking the silence in a voice so low it was barely above a whisper. His tone was soft, tender, almost as if he feared disturbing the quiet that had settled between you.

You nodded against his chest. "More than okay," you whispered back, your fingers continuing their idle patterns against his skin. "I’m happy you’re here. Really here."

His arms tightened around you in response. "I’m not going anywhere," he said, his voice carrying the weight of a promise, the kind he rarely made.

A content sigh escaped your lips as you nuzzled deeper into his embrace, the scent of him—familiar and grounding—filling your senses. His warmth enveloped you, lulling you into a state of complete relaxation. The world outside felt distant and irrelevant, and all that mattered was this moment, with him by your side.

As the minutes passed, you both drifted into a comfortable stillness, your breaths synchronizing, the only sound being the soft rustle of the sheets and the steady beat of Logan’s heart beneath your ear. This was all you needed—him, right here, with you.

As you closed your eyes, drifting on the edge of sleep, Logan’s hand gently tightened on your hip, and in a low, teasing murmur, he whispered, "Next time, I’m going to ravish you all over again."

sorry it took so long, I started uni <3 love you guys and thank you for enjoying the Ravish series. hope yall request or stick around for more.

🏷️:@babucakes@landlockedmermaid77@theoraekenslover@loreniscrying@bpmiranda @rogueinmymind @lose1tall @2fatblunt @ltristessedureratoujours @th3mrskory @angelofthorr @strawberrylore

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golden-cherry · 1 year ago

Text

deal - cl16 (15/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: Showing your friend your favorite place shouldn't be as romantic as it is.

Warnings: this is soft, like really soft, Charles is cute, everything's cute so be prepared, Charles playing piano

Word Count: 3.5k

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A/N: ahhhhhhhhhh. feedback is appreciated.

"Not happening."

You put your hands on your hips and look at your roommate with narrowed eyebrows. "Why not?"

"Because I said so." Charles holds your Renault's car keys tightly in his hand as you stand in front of your car in the underground parking garage.

Ever since you left the apartment - wrapped in thick, cozy sweaters and warm socks - you've been bickering about who should sit in the driver's seat.

"You don't know where we have to go," you argue, holding out your hand, so he can put the key in it. After all, he really doesn't know where your favorite place is, and for sure you wouldn't tell him if you wanted it to remain a surprise.

Charles shrugs his shoulders. "So what? You can guide me." He lets the key ring circle around his finger. "But I'm driving."

"But it's my car," you try to change his mind. "And you've driven it the last few times. Both to your place and to Joris and to the restaurant. Would you want to be the passenger princess in your own car?"

Your buddy raises an eyebrow in confusion. "Passenger princess? What's that?"

You cross your arms in front of your chest. "Actually, it's a girl who can't, won't, or shouldn't drive, and that's why she's always driven by her boyfriend." You point to your car. "But I can, and more importantly, I want to drive my car too."

"But you don't have to now." A grin spreads across his face and it becomes clear that you can't win here. "So, be a good passenger princess. Sit in your seat, look pretty, and let your boyfriend drive you around." He walks around the hood and opens the passenger door. "Let's go. I thought you said we were supposed to make the most of the time before I left for Italy. And you can pout on the drive, too."

As he titles himself your boyfriend, your heart beats a tiny bit faster, but you block that out as you follow him and reluctantly plop down in the seat. "Alright, go ahead and drive. But I'll be complaining the whole time."

Charles smiles at you. "I expected nothing less." He closes the door as you buckle up and trots back to his side of the car, where he takes a seat next to you. "So, where are we going?"

"If you'd let me drive, then you wouldn't have to ask," you reply to him, playfully annoyed, letting the seatbelt tighten against your chest.

The brunette puts the key in the ignition and lets the engine rev briefly. "But you're my passenger princess. So, which way do we have to go?" He presses down on the gas pedal and steers the car out of the underground garage and onto Monaco's streets.

You pucker your lips into a thin line. "Nice."

Charles' head jerks in your direction. "You traitor."

You turn to him and cross your arms in front of your chest. "Why is that? It's not my fault there's no place like it here in Monaco."

"Maybe you just haven't been looking properly," he says, turning - reluctantly - at a street sign that says Nice. "There's so much to discover here. So many beautiful things. And they're right under your nose."

You raise an eyebrow. A song is playing softly on the radio, whose name you don't know, but it sounds very familiar. "And what would that be, for example?" you ask.

Charles' gaze lingers on you for a moment before he looks ahead again. He swallows once and his slender fingers curl around the worn leather of the steering wheel as he turns again to drive out of town. "Tiramisu, for one."

You have to laugh. "I already know that, Charles. That tiramisu was by far the best thing I've ever eaten. So it doesn't count."

He shrugs. "Then you don't have to go all the way to Nice for it." He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, then clears his throat. "I mean, if you've already had the best tiramisu here, then it's not even worth the effort. You can be perfectly happy with the tiramisu here, no?"

You turn another bit in his direction, your hands folded in your lap looking at him.

The lights of the lanterns on the streets and the last rays of the day's sun bathe his face in a warm gold, his hair hangs slightly in his forehead and the dimples that usually bore into his cheeks are only slightly hinted at as he purses his mouth into a thin line and waits for your reaction.

Is his remark about Nice an innuendo about Lando? That you don't have to go to Nice with him when it's best with Charles? Is Charles then the "best tiramisu"? The one that's right in front of your nose, but you're too blind to recognize?

Even though you're not blind at all. You see Charles clearly in front of you, you know how beautiful and wonderful he is, and with all due respect, you've even dreamed about him. You know full well that Charles is the absolute best thing that has ever happened to you. But your focus is limited to your friendship, not allowed to spread to anything else for fear that it might affect yours and that it might suffer.

Charles is your favorite tiramisu. And you don't need to try another to be sure of that. But maybe tiramisu is just a dessert you share out of friendship because it's easier, more enjoyable. A means to an end.

You smile at your friend. "I'm perfectly happy with my tiramisu here."

A slight blush creeps onto Charles' cheeks, almost certainly from the fact that the heater is warming up the inside of the car and he's wearing a thick sweater. At least, that's what you try to tell yourself. "I'm perfectly happy with the tiramisu here, too."

The rest of the car ride is quiet. The radio continues to play songs that you hum along to as Charles focuses on the road and it grows darker outside. The silence between you is not uncomfortable, but relaxing and comforting. Neither of you feels compelled to say anything, to keep the conversation going, but you simply enjoy the closeness the car gives you before you break the silence and give Charles instructions on which direction to drive.

When you end up at a narrow road after twenty-five minutes, he turns off the engine. "So, where's your favorite place now?" He spins around a bit, trying to make out something through the windows of the car, but he can't make out anything except houses, small boutiques, and a deserted neighborhood.

No normal person would venture out of the warmth of their own home in this cold. Except the two of you.

"Over there." You point to a dark alley from which a small beam of light shines on the asphalt. Your gaze wanders to Charles. "If you laugh at me for that, or talk down to it, I'll hurt you." You knead your fingers in your lap.

Showing Charles your favorite place makes you incredibly nervous. Showing someone something so personal, so intimate, makes you vulnerable. And if Charles actually thought your favorite place was terrible, or said something bad about it - you don't even like to think about that.

"Don't worry," he says, putting his hand on the doorknob. "If the place is as great as you are, then nothing bad can happen at all."

Together you walk off, cold winter wind sweeping your faces, and you're so grateful Charles lent you that thick hoodie. Hiding your hands in your sweater, you walk beside him down the street, following the narrow strip of light into the narrow alley. In front of a store with dim lights, you stop.

You look at Charles. "This is it."

Your friend looks up from you to the store. The petits mondes is a small, two-story bookstore with ivy entwined around its sign. Fairy lights hang under the rain gutter, casting warm light on your faces. From outside, you can see the countless books stacked to the ceiling in the store through the small store window. "Petits mondes? Little worlds?" asks Charles without looking at you.

"Exactly," you answer him, rocking from one foot to the other.

"Okay." Charles looks at you and gestures toward the bookstore with a nod of his head. "Shall we?"

Your friend kindly holds the door open for you and lets you enter the store first, and immediately the smell of old books wafts around you. The shelves are overflowing with books so that the boards bend, and even the floor is piled high with copies, so you have to watch where you step. As you stop to let the place sink in, you sense Charles behind you.

"Show me," he breathes into the back of your neck and goosebumps spread across your body. "Show me your favorite place, mon amour."

Paralyzed, you stand in front of him, feeling his hot breath on your heated skin, and when he gently places his hands where your hips are, your brain seems to short-circuit. His touch burns through your clothes, through your skin and it feels like his touch is twitching through your veins.

As someone comes up to you from the back of the store, he takes his hands off you. You take a deep breath.

"Y/N!" An older gentleman stands behind the sales counter. "How nice to finally see you again! Where have you been the last few days?"

"Hi, Thomas," you greet him with a smile. "I've been incredibly busy. How's Agathe doing? Did she take her new medication well?" You take a few steps toward him as Charles stops in the doorway.

"Oh, it was terrible at first. She barely ate and slept very little, but she's much better now," he replies before glancing over your shoulder. "Who's your friend over there? Come here, young man, I won't bite."

You look to Charles, whose gaze lingers on you. He follows you and stops beside you. "I'm Charles. It's nice to meet you," he says, a little nervously.

"Likewise. Make yourself at home here," Thomas smiles at him before turning back to you. "You know where everything is. I'll lock up the store in a good fifteen minutes, but I'll leave the spare key here."

You nod gratefully at him. "Thank you very much. Please give Agathe my regards, and above all, please continue to get well, won't you?" You take a few steps toward the spiral staircase, which is in the back of the store, before turning to him once more. "And don't stay up too late, or you'll have that headache again tomorrow, yeah?"

"Of course, Y/N." Thomas smiles at Charles. "Go on, enjoy the evening. I'm sure we'll see each other again." Then he disappears.

"He's nice," says Charles, who joins you but glances after Thomas.

"He is," you counter him, and together you climb the steps of the steep spiral staircase to the top floor. "Agathe - his wife - is sick, which is why he's closing the store early to get to her faster. They've known each other for sixty years and they've been married for fifty," you tell him. When the two of you arrive upstairs, you look at Charles. "I guess they were best friends at first before they finally found each other."

Charles' smile is gentle. "And they opened the store together?"

You nod and take a few more steps as you let your outstretched fingers roam over the many book spines on the shelves. "The store is twice as old as we are, and they put so much time and love into this. I think you can tell with every single book."

"With every single little world," Charles adds. "Petits mondes."

The two of you browse through various books until you arrive at a small couch with books piled up on its sides. A table lamp stands on the small column, casting warm light on the dark red fabric. In the corner next to it is an old piano with loose sheets of music.

"I like to come here when I feel lonely. When I'm surrounded by these many little worlds, I know I'm not alone," you explain your favorite place, Charles listening intently. "Although I've been living in Monaco for months, and even though it's my home, I still feel quite lonely sometimes. And ever since I broke up with Raphael and all my friends dropped me, this place has been my refuge."

Charles drops onto the narrow bench that sits in front of the piano and surveys the slightly yellowed keys. "When was the last time you were here?"

You sit down on the couch. "The day you stood in my apartment," you reply, a smile spreading across his face.

"You mean when I was standing in my apartment," he grins, tilting his head.

You purse your lips. "Do you play?" you ask him, gesturing toward the piano with a nod of your head.

He shrugs his shoulders. "A little. I started learning to play two years ago, but I'm not particularly good at it."

You prop your elbow on the armrest and rest your head in your hand. "Would you play something for me?"

"Something from the sheets here?" he asks, sliding the loose pages back and forth on the piano, looking for something appropriate for this moment.

"Whatever you like," you answer him.

Charles nods and raises his hands to place his fingers gently on the keys. He takes one deep breath before looking to you. With a smile, you encourage him to get started, and as he returns your smile, his fingers begin to dance across the piano.

You watch him as he intently plays a melody you don't know. His eyes flicker as well as his movements across the keys, moving from the high notes to the low ones. The sight of seeing him so in his element, so captivated by the music, brings tears to your eyes.

He plays with a passion that you would also like to feel for something, and whatever the song is that he is playing there for you, you would love to tattoo on your skin. The warm light from the lamp shines softly on his face as he looks over at you for a moment.

After a few minutes, when he lets his fingers linger on the keys and the last notes fade away, you have to wipe the tears from your cheeks.

"It's beautiful," you breathe, smiling at him. "Who's it from?"

Charles turns back to you and there's a twinkle in his green eyes. "It's my piece," he replies, looking down at his hands. "I wrote it."

You widen your eyes. "That was from you?" you ask, aghast, pointing your finger at the piano. "Don't bullshit me, Charles. That's really from you?" When he nods, you slap your hands over your head. "And you say you're not very good at it."

He shrugs. "I didn't write the piece, it - it just came out of me. This place -" He stands up from the bench and spreads his arms, "I can see why this is your favorite place. It's beautiful here, and I'm very grateful to you for sharing all these little worlds with me. It means a lot to me." He tilts his head. "I just hope you don't feel lonely around me and need to seek refuge here."

You get up from the couch and stand in front of him. Most of all, you want to tell him that Charles is the reason you haven't been here since you met, that he is your haven. But you can't tell him that as a friend. Friends don't do that.

"Thank you for coming here with me." You poke his finger against his hard chest. "And thanks for not making fun of it. After all, it's not as special as the place you showed me."

Charles takes a deep breath. "Everyone has their own experiences that make certain places special. I would never make fun of you. You're too important to me for that." He leans a bit in your direction and tilts his head. "I know it's your place, and I definitely don't want to seem like an intruder, but maybe we can make this our place too. To one of our little worlds," he suggests, pulling back a little, only to reach out to you. "Dance with me, mon amour."

You smile at him. "We don't have music, Charles."

He shrugs. "We can make our own music," he counters, noticing how reluctant you are to take his hand.

His suggestion to make this place one of yours is lovely, but what would happen if the two of you stopped being friends at some point? Then you would have to find a new place, a new haven - and you definitely don't want that. This place means far too much to you for that.

You don't know what to say to that, so you just smile and move away from him a little more. A glance at the clock hanging on one wall tells you that you've been in the store longer than you think.

"We'd better get going. We haven't eaten anything decent yet, and it's getting late, and we still have to head back." You make your way back toward the stairs, where you then stop and glance back. Charles' outstretched hand is now in his pants pocket, and judging by the look on his face, you've hurt his feelings. Something you definitely don't want to happen, but you can't stop it either. "You coming?"

Putting a little distance between you, you head down the stairs and hear Charles slowly following you with heavy footsteps. Once downstairs, you reach for the spare key Thomas has left for you. There's a switch under the counter, which you flip as your friend joins you, and all the lights in the store - including the string of lights outside - go out.

"I don't want the day to end." Even though it's dark in the store, you see Charles clearly ahead of you. His look is a little sad as he walks toward you. A few inches in front of you, he stops. "When the day is over, it's already tomorrow and then I have to go. And then we won't see each other for four days." You feel him reach for the hem of your sweater with his fingers.

You smile softly at him. "It's only four days. You'll be fine," you try to talk him down, even though you feel the same way. Four days isn't the end of the world - so why does it feel like an eternity?

Charles continues to play with your sweater. "It's our third day together, and I don't know why, but I've already gotten so used to you. To your company, being so close to you." He looks from the hem into your eyes. "It's going to be weird not having you around me all the time."

"How do you think I'll be?" you venture to ask him, and confused, he looks at you. "Well, you're in Italy having your meetings, your work colleagues and I'm here just waiting for you to come home." You push your bottom lip forward. "Not that you'll forget about me and not hear from you."

Charles wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you against his body. Chest to chest, you stand there in the dark bookstore, only the thick sweaters between you, your faces inches apart. If you would just stretch a little, go up on your toes, your lips would brush his. His hot breath glides over your face and you close your eyes.

"I could never forget you, mon amour. How many times do I have to tell you how important you are to me?" You feel his hands on your back, pressing you against him. Not a sheet of paper fits between you anymore. Heat spreads through your body, and it's definitely not because of the thick sweater.

"So often, until I believe it," you answer him softly, and there's so much more meaning in your words than either of you can imagine.

He tilts his head forward a little more. "I promise you that you'll never have to doubt how much you mean to me, even if I have to tell you a hundred times, a thousand times, a million times." His scent envelops you like a cloud and that feeling, what you can only describe as Charles, surges through your body. "I will tell you as many times as you need to hear it, mon amour. In this life and the next. In each of our little worlds."

next part

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc blurb #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc prompt #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc fanfiction #charles leclerc f1 #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x yn #charles leclerc x you #Charles Leclerc fluff #Charles Leclerc cute #Charles Leclerc one shot #charles leclerc x female reader #Charles Leclerc prompt #carlos sainz smut

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girlrotterr · 7 months ago

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But I'm a Lesbian! pt.4

ellie x abby x dina x fem!reader a/n: Hellooo angels!! so sorry for the wait!! writers' block has been hitting me wayy too hard. I might break everything into smaller parts to release chapters more frequently, so expect shorter chapters!

→ Part one! → Part two! → Part three! → Part five! → Part six!

"Got your cigs!”

With a swift motion, Dina tossed the pack across the room, aiming for Ellie’s bed but missing. The box made contact with Ellie's face with a resounding thud, prompting a groan of pain from her.

"Ow!! What the fuck?" Ellie gtoaned, rubbing her sore cheek.

Dina rolled her eyes, settling herself on your bed with a snack in hand. The room was now dimly lit, the only illumination coming from a small desk lamp in the corner.

You laid on your bed, staring up at the ceiling. Meanwhile, Ellie was reclined on her stomach with an ice pack on her ass. Abby sat perched on the edge of Ellie's bed, eyeing the cigarettes.

"Pass me one," Abby requested, gesturing towards Ellie.

Ellie, cigarette already between her lips, shook her head. "No."

"Aw, come onn," Abby urged, throwing her head back in frustration.

Ellie remained firm, clutching the box. "Get your own."

Abby reached for a cigarette, but Ellie swiftly slapped her hand away. "Dude!"

"One won't hurt!" Abby argued, her tone becoming more insistent.

Ellie's grip tightened on the cigarette box. "fuck off."

Growing impatient, Abby's hand hovered menacingly over Ellie's bruised ass. "I swear, Ellie, I'll do it."

Ellie shot a warning glance over her shoulder, her eyes narrowing at the threat. She began to squirm, trying to avoid Abby's hand. "I fucking said no!"

Dina couldn't help but snicker. "Come onn, just give her one."

"Your last chance el’s." Abby persisted, her hand slowly lowering towards ellie’s ass.

"Seriously, Abby," Ellie cautioned, “Don’t fucking do it."

Suddenly, Abby's hand descended forcefully, delivering a sharp and stinging slap. Ellie couldn't help but let out a yelp of pain, her body tensing at the sudden impact.

With a smirk playing on her lips, Abby swiftly grabbed Ellie's legs and pulled them towards her, snatching the cigarette box from her grasp. With a satisfied grin, she retrieved one and lit it up, enjoying her victory.

"Damnn," dina remarked with a grin

Ellie shot Abby a glare, rubbing her stinging ass cheek, while Abby leaned back with a satisfied expression, puffing on her cigarette.

Suddenly, you were starting to feel overwhelmed. Panic began to bubble up inside you, and you couldn't shake the feeling that this place was too chaotic, too unpredictable.

"I-I..need to get out of here," you muttered, your voice trembling with anxiety. "This place is fucking crazy! Everyone's just...a bunch of horny, depraved lesbians!"

Abby snapped her fingers in front of you, "woah, woah, woah! I am NOT depraved,"

“Me neither!” Dina chimed in with a smirk. “I fingered a girl on Ellie’s bed last month!”

Ellie's expression shifted to one of disbelief. "Dude, what the hell!?" she exclaimed.

With a cheeky smile, Dina shrugged. “You didn’t even notice the squirt stain,” she teased.

Ellie let out a disgusted groan, burying her face in her hands.

"Come on, give me a break," Dina snickered. "It was the most action your bed had seen in months."

As You continued to pace, your mind raced with thoughts of escape and confusion. "This is insane," you muttered, running your hand through your hair. “It’s only my first night here! How the actual fuck has so much shit happened?!”

Dina walked towards you, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. "Hey, hey, calm down," she said soothingly, trying to steady your frantic pacing. "It's not that bad here."

You gestured to your nose, which was still sore from the earlier. " how the fuck am I supposed to eat someone out with a broken nose?!" you exclaimed, “I can’t even have a little action out here!”

Abby let out a chuckle "I'm sure we can find a way to work around it," she said smirkingly.

You scoffed walking towards her, swiftly taking the cigarette from her grasp and inhaling deeply. Taking a long drag, you felt a bit calmer as the smoke filled your lungs. Sitting down, your leg bounced anxiously as you tried to calm your nerves.

Ellie, still recovering from the slap on her ass, sat up with a wince of pain. She placed a comforting hand on your back, offering a soothing gesture. "Hey, if…” she suggested. "If you help us steal our stuff back...we'll help you escape."

Her words sparked a glimmer of hope in your mind, a potential solution to your growing unease. You nodded slowly, considering the offer.

Ellie leaned forward, her eyes gleaming “We'll wait until late at night when everyone's asleep. Then, we'll sneak into the director's office, find our confiscated items, and make a run for it. Simplee"

Abby let out a scoff, shaking her head in disbelief. "That's your plan? Sneak into the director's office like a bunch of amateurs and hope for the best? No way."

Ellie's brows furrowed. "What's your fucking plan, then?"

Abby flashed a confident grin. "We need to create a distraction. Something big enough to draw everyone's attention away from us"

You perked up, intrigued by Abby's suggestion. "But what kind of distraction?"

Abby's smirk widened. "How about a fire? We start a small one in the courtyard, nothing too serious, just enough to set off the alarms and send everyone into a panic. While they're busy dealing with that, we slip away unnoticed."

Ellie raised an eyebrow. "Too damn risky. What if it gets out of control?"

Abby waved off her concerns. "We'll make sure it's under control. Trust me, it'll work.”

"Okay, that solves the sneaking issue," you said, contemplating the plan. "But what about my escape?"

Dina's eyes lit up with excitement. "You can steal the director's car!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands together. "That way, she won't be able to chase after you."

You raised an eyebrow at Dina's suggestion. "Steal the director's car? Are you serious?"

Dina nodded. "duhh!"

"But how do I even get the keys?" you asked.

Abby smirked, her eyes gleaming mischievously. "Leave that to me."

#ellie williams #ellie fanfic #ellie x y/n #ellie x reader #ellie x fem reader #ellie tlou #ellie smut #abby anderson #abby fanfiction #abby tlou #dina tlou #dina nolastname #ellie williams au #abby anderson au

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sword-bunny · 1 month ago

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Unpopular opinion: I don't think Luka is actually that bad

(Casual reminder first that all of the unwilling participants of this death match are slaves who were essentially raised from childhood to compete in Alien Stage. None of them are competing by choice, and this is Luka's second time being forced through this nightmare, and he will probably be made to do it a third time.)

"But he's enjoying this!"

Is he, though?

I don't feel like this moment gets talked about enough. Obviously we don't get to see the actual match so we can't say anything about it, but Luka kissing the dead girl's hand afterwards was important enough that some of the very limited time this series has was used to show it.

Here, he's not smiling, he's not making a show out of it. The show is already over. His back is to the audience, and he isn't even on stage. He lived, she died, and to me this read as a gesture of respect.

"What about him purposefully invoking the images of Sua and Ivan to make Mizi and Till lose their shit?"

Yeah, he definitely did do that, and I'll get back to that. But take a look at his face during his duet with Mizi:

It's shockingly different from the smug, smiling face he has for the rest of the song. From the background behind him, we can tell that Mizi is blocking the view of his face from the audience.

In comparison, the bit where he rolls his eyes, he isn't even looking at her. He's looking at the audience, making a show of his lofty condescension.

Look at the way he's portrayed in the "promotional footage" we see in Top 3. He's the "Ruler of the Stage", the elegant personification of victory. In other words, it's a stage persona.

We got this new expression in Blink Gone, and I did think he was laughing at first! But why would he be hiding that? He certainly never has before. There would be no point, he'd be playing it up, even. But the more I look at it, the more I think he's covering up something else.

Luka has outlived a lot of his opponents, some of whom very likely were people he grew up with, and I think he's starting to crack.

This leads us back to the tactics he uses to win.

Luka is undeniably ruthless! You could definitely make an argument that he goes beyond what's necessary to win.

But remember, he's trying to survive. I don't think he can reasonably be called a sadist for trying his best not to die, even if his methods are underhanded. Is he a good person? I wouldn't even try to argue that. Is he a bad person? I genuinely don't think so.

The situation he's been forced into is unimaginably cruel, and I genuinely believe it doesn't make someone a bad person to try to survive, even if it means someone else doesn't.

Imagine a modified version of the trolley problem: you and a person you do not know are each tied to separate tracks. You get to choose whether the train kills you or the other person. In this situation where you are not there because you want to be or because you're experiencing any kind of consequences for your actions, is it morally acceptable to choose not to die?

Anyways, that's my rant about why it's been getting on my nerves to see Luka constantly getting called a sadistic psychopath. Feel free to make counterarguments, just please try to be chill about it if you do✌️

Edit: I totally forgot about the Alien Stage promo video, which pretty clearly shows that Luka is having a Less Than Stellar time (pun intended)

This is the first shot we ever get to see of Luka, and I've left the lyrics on because I think they're pretty important since Luka is the contestant that's been in this situation the longest. He won and it's still not over. I'm not surprised he feels like it won't ever end!

Then there's this shot. Hooooooo boy this shot makes me feel a lot of things. It's so clear that Luka is even less than a pet, barely more than a toy to his "fans".

Finally, there's this bit where he hides his face behind his arms like he can't bear to be looked at any longer.

Your honor I'm so normal about him I swear

#alien stage #luka #alnst #alnst luka #alnst till #till #mizi

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faeriekit · 4 months ago

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It's truly magical how a post that says "I'll block people who post ai generated pieces, because I don't want to see ai content" gets comments arguing with me to this day as if I won't just like. block them. Lay thine eyes upon my boundary, and then upon my person; thou shalt observe that my hand is indeed right upon the divinely-given block button, as the gods intended. What do you have to gain from this

#faer nonsense #ai

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dilfscvm · 2 years ago

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Fitzgerald Grant x Female! Reader

Hi! This is my own work, I wrote it and I much don't like to have it posted in other social media flatforms without my permission.

WARNINGS : This contains smut, if you don't like such content please skip it and don't read it. Vulgar words has been used also. Do excuse my grammatical errors and typos, correct me nicely or else I'll block block you. English is not my first language:)) Enjoy reading!<33

Special thanks to the owner of this gif<3

“I told you to stay away from him!” Fitz yells at you, he's in the pit of rage and you know you just crossed the line.

Making him jealous because you wanted to make him pay at what he did to you a week ago. He thought you got over it, but looks like his naughty wife has a better plan. And that is to make him angry. What's on his mind right now?

I'll get you bend over this dining table, fuck you and breed you.

That's what his brain tells him to do. You're his property, you're his and he doesn't like to share. And you absolutely knew it. That's why you make everything on planned.

"I'm sorry, but you really need to stop working." Fitz firmly stated, you're shocked at his sudden statement.

"W-what?" you scoffed.

"I said... I want you to stop working." he repeats as he slowly strode over you, like a lion ready to attack its prey. His eyes tells he craves. You stumped in front of him, face to face, nose almost touched. Eyes raged.

"I. Won't. Stop. Working." you said what is to be said, "I love my work, Fitz, I love working as a professor and you know how much I love my work and you can't just barge here in my office to tell me to resign and stay with you at the white house and fulfill my duty as a first lady. How did you get in here anyways?"

"You don't need to know how I get here, what you need to do is to get all your things and sign these resignation papers and let's go at the white House." his frown deepen, but you can see his eyes averting from your eyes to your lips, his breathing getting heavy as you argue with him.

"I won't resign just because you're jealous of my colleague who haven't done anything but to do his job." you continued. He scoff, he backs away a little shaking his head.

"Believe me, you will." and that's the last thing he said before he walks out your office. You stared at the door where he just walked out of, jaw drop, can't believe that your husband can do such things.

Well he's the president of the United States after all.

You're at his birthday party, talking with some guests. Not paying attention at your husband who's been such a attention seeker for you.

Since he made you sign those resignation letter you give him silent treatment that he deserves. He can't just manipulate you just because he's jealous.

“Dance with me?” you heard a voice from your back making you turn around. It's your colleague, the man Fitz don't ever want to see.

“Well why not.” you giggle and took his hand that been waiting for you to take.

You wanted him here. His name is Race, and he's a colleague, a married man but it's a private marriage. Fitz were a fool, he doesn't even let you explain it, and now, you will take advantage of it.

Race lead you to the dance floor where there's already some people who's dancing, including your husband who's with a old lady which you can recognise as the 40th president's wife.

Well watch me turn the tables around, darling.

“So, I bet he still doesn't know.” he smiled at you which you returned with a naughty smirk.

“This is a lesson, he has been fooling himself. You know that I would never cheat on him, I love him too much to break his heart.” you factly stated. He sighs as he slowly sway you, syncing with the music.

“I know that you cheeky minx.” he whisper that makes you both laugh together.

Both of you continued to dance and talk about random things up until Fitz finally notice, well actually you've seen him, he got his eyes on you. Watching you dance with the man he despise right now, and all he wanted to do were to yank you off him and take you right in front of everybody, specially him. You're playing with fire.

“Ma'am if you'll excuse me.” he politely smiles at the woman who nods with a smile. As soon as he turns around, his face contorts into a deep frown, raging eyes glued at you.

He walks with power, greeting every person he walk pass with a smile then immediately turns back into a frown as soon as he looks at you.

“I think that would be great, I like it and I know-”

“Mind if I steal my wife for a while?” firm, and low husky voice. Fitz says as he folds his arms across his chest. His face shows it all. Anger, rage, jealousy... Lust.

Well you were about to say that you like race's idea to surprise his wife for her birthday.

“Why sure, Mr. President.” race politely agrees as he smiled at the man, not paying attention to fitz's face, looking like he's ready to punch him.

Fitz did not waste anymore time as he possessively pull you away from him by your waist. He then pressed his lips on yours, taking you by surprise. Race sealed his lips containing his evil grin. Success.

You on the other hand, didn't give what Fitz wants. You did not kiss him back making him pull inches away from your lips.

“You like him don't you?” Fitz slowly said. You stared at him, slowly, a smile formed in your lips, mocking him. You know it makes him more hungry for you, and you like every bit of it.

Knowing your husband, he loves you so much, he's a very territorial, possessive, and obsessive at you. Well because you're his wife, and he needs you to know it.

“I love you.” you smiled at him. He'll say it back. No matter how he's mad at you. You know he will.

“I...love you too.” he whisper, as he look down on your lips, almost looks ashamed. I know you too well.

“Dining room.” you whisper at him before pulling away to walk out of the room.

“What?” he asks confusedly. His brows knitted, his signature look. You smiled evily, seductively bit your lower lip as you said;

“I know you like it anywhere, baby.”

Fitz is a kinky man, you must declare.

A knowing smirk were now plastered on his face making you giggle.

“Meet you there, baby!” you turned around and walk off.

Did he waste more time? Of course he didn't. He quickly walk off the room full of guest and walk towards dining room, where you waited there. Wearing nothing but a pair of black lingerie and a black stocking.

“Y/N-” his breath caught above his lungs as the view in front of him completely astonished him. “What's all of these?” he asks, as his eyes continue to hungrily Starr at your body up and down.

You hop ontop of the table and crossed your legs. He slowly walk towards you.

“A lesson.” you simply said when he's already standing right in front of you and tries to open your legs.

“A lesson for what?” he looks confused. You smirk and parted your legs, you hooked him with your legs on his hips and forcely pull him using it.

You put a finger on his lips and it just parted for you, “You know what you've done, Fitz, and now I'll teach you.. A.. Lesson.” you lean closer to him, he thought you will kiss him, so he lean forward to reach your lips but you pull back. “Ah, ah, darling... You need to be taught and punished—”

“Screw you.” that's all he got to say before he slam his lips on you, you tried to pull away but you're too intoxicated at his taste and scent. He kissed you hungrily, both hands on either side of your cheeks. Both with heavy breathings, both were panting, and moaning in each others mouths, as their tounge collide, exploring the insides of it adding more heat down your womanhood.

Fitz grab ahold of your stockings and rip it apart making you gasp into his mouth. But keep on kissing him still anyways. He pushed your legs more apart and start to kiss your neck. His hands were now roaming you body, specially down your area.

“F-fuck, Fitz.” you moaned as his kiss went down your cleavage, to your stomach up until he reached where you wanted him to be. He place a kiss on your lingerie, as his eyes stilled on yours.

“You can't punish me. I will punish you... For being such a brat, for ignoring me, for teasing me, you think you'll get away with it? Think again...” he snarled. You scoff at him. He just smirked. That devil smirk he always does when you both on bed. It turns you on.

“Fuck you.” you smile and press your lips on his kissing him ever so roughly as your hand went to his belt and undo it. He slapped your hand away and grab a hold of your ass and yank you off the table and put you on your feet as he turn you around, panting as he retrieve his breath, as well as you. He continue to kiss on your neck as he unbuckle his belt and push his pants down.

“Fuck you, you mean.” he chuckles, he ripped your panties and thrown it on the floor leaving you gasping. There's nothing can make you more turned on than you are now.

He latched his lips again on your neck as you grab ahold of his head pushing him more to it, moaning as you did. Fitz let his mouth open while he teased your hole with the tip of his enormous cock. Confusedly you is when he put his hand tightly on your mouth, but it didn't take long when he rams his cock inside of you with a guttural groan, trying to contain his own sounds.

You swear if he hadn't covered your mouth, you would scream. You never got used to his cock, up until now.

“I will never get tired fucking this sweet, tight pussy of yours, Y/N.” he whisper erotically in your ear, while you left there moaning in his palm, grinding your hips with his as he thrust slow but you can feel the roughness.

“Now tell me, my sweet, does teasing me satisfy you?” he asks as he slowly fastening his thrust, breathing were getting more heavier. You shook your head. “Liar.” he grunts, he let's go of your lips and push you down the table, making you lay your front to it as he grab onto your hips and continue his bruising pace. He pause a little when you began to moan, as much as he wanted to hear it, you must minimise your moans so no guest will get traumatised, “Please do be quiet for me, sweetheart, there's people outside. I don't want them knowing I'm screwing my bratty wife while I have party to be at. Wouldn't want to look disrespectful yeah?” he whispers at your ears. You only nodded, panting. “Good.” he smirk before he bit your ear gently. He then suddenly pushed in roughly making you squeal and him shushing you.

Fitz won't let you dominate him, we'll at least not now. He doesn't have much time for you to tease and edge him. But he will let you do that later, when no one's in the house.

He spread your ass to watch his harden cock penetrate your wet cunt, he couldn't help but whimper looking at the beautiful view. He sure is won't ever get enough of you.

No one can ever make his cock this alive, only you, his wife. You always turn him on even in small things you do. Like the way you walk, you talk, your smell, he gets turned on easily, if it's you who'll make him.

“Fuck, Fitz, I'm close.” you quietly moan, Fitz was too lost in pleasure. He wrapped his arms around your waist and pull you against his chest as he thrust up to help you cum for him. He's nearing, as much as he doesn't want this to end, he has visitors to entertain.

“Darling, I'm gonna cum.” he whisper against your skin. His eyes closed, mouth open, eyebrows were knitted, pleasure takes over him. “I know you want to cum too. Cum hof me.” he place a kiss on your neck.

“Fitz..” you moan, almost out of breath. His hand went to your breast and squeeze it tightly as he left his other arm wrapped around your waist. “Ah! Fuck!” your walls clamped around his cock that enough to edge him, and leave him moaning as you cum.

“Oh God, you feel so good.” he groans through gritted teeth. He continues to thrust in you as he breed you, filling you with his cum—wait he breeds you?!

“Fitz!” you yell at him. He frowned at you.

“W-what?” he says panting.

“You finished in me!”

Not to be rude but you both talked about having another baby and he said it's not the right time yet to have another one, and you agreed with it.

“So?” he asks confusedly. He's still inside of you, still thrusting very slowly as he just reached his climax. “You're my wife, I have the rights to do so.” he said, he slowly pulls away making you bite your lip. You turn around to face him.

“Yeah, but I thought you don't want another baby yet?” you ask, he sighs and pull you closer to him as he wrap his arms around your hips.

“Jerry's not a baby anymore, he's four—well he'll still remain our baby but I miss having a small human in my arms,” he chuckles. He place a hand on your cheek, a finger in your lips and continues; “I want to have another baby, I know that you also want another but I choosed to deny you. I'm sorry.” he whisper, your eyes were glistening as he rub your cheeks.

“Thank you, and I love you.” you smiled at him, which he returns.

“I love you too.” he says back with a chuckle. You giggle and tiptoed his lips. Kissing him deeply and passionately.

It didn't last long when he lift you up again and sat you on the table before he push you on your back. He pulls away with a smirk dancing on his lips.

“Fitz!” you giggle when he pulls a chair and sat on it before he pulls you by your tighs to the edge of the table. He smirk at you making you part your lips.

“What? I'm hungry.” he teasingly said before burying his head between your tighs leaving you breathless as you throw your head at the back, moaning as you did.

#fitzgerald grant #scandal #olivia pope #imagines #oneshot #y/n #wattpad #romance #tony goldwyn #actors #readersgonnaread

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