#occasionals mon/ma

[projectjasper]

nlmg palm is actually so musical!quasimodo-coded

[luxxid]

precis – genshin men talking in their native language in bed. 16+ gentlemen – neuvillette (french), tartaglia (russian), diluc (german), al haitham (arabic) remonstrance – obv smut, 16+ , fingering, degrading in arabic (😃👍), i've linked the translations just click on em.

NEUVILLETTE x french.

"je t'aime mon amour." his hands find yours on the wrinkled sheets, fingers interlocked clinched as he plunged his hips against yours, his girth dragging over your velvety folds. slow and sensual were the two words you could use to describe how he made you feel right now. who knew the ludex of fontaine was so amorous?

"ne te cache pas de moi, ma belle sirène." he mumbled in a low growl, brushing away stray strands of hair present on your forehead while undulating his ambit into your glory. the only support you had were his ample muscles, which you held on to with every thrust.

every frown, every blissful sigh and every moan of his name a precious token of memory he cherishes. soft pants fall from his lips as he compels your legs to your chest in order to bury his length deeper. dithers and butterflies rafted in your stomach indicating your climax. your nails drew crescents into his toned back, engraving signs of pleasure into his back.

"je t'ai-t'aime." he groaned, broiling breath fanned over your lips, foreheads pressed against yours as he rolls his hips over your one last time before planting his seed deep inside your womb, unleashing a swarm of butterflies to uncoil the ribbon in your stomach. (oui oui baguette)

flopping down onto your chest, exhausted from your previous activities, his pristine hair covers most of your figure, his eyes array love, just love. soft kisses rain down on your neck, adorning many of the purple bruises he had marked before. his callused hands bedecked your waist, barely applying force as if you were made of glass. his girth was still buried into your heat, as if he didn't want to withdraw from the sedative serotonin.

"i love you too.."

TARTAGLIA x russian.

his arms slithered around your waist, his bistre hair splattered all around your shoulder as he latches onto your waist for support, his fingers dig up your ass, sculpting demilune shapes into the soft plush. he buckled his foot to grant him more leverage. your body weight was all amended to the male beneath you.

his soft groans vibrated in the stifling atmosphere, bobbing up and down on his stupefying dick. "ty menya tak khorosho prinimayesh, hm?" he breathed into your shoulder, his indurate hands restlessly tracing over your curves, bathing in the luxury of having you so close to him. your breasts quavering in front of him, a slinky smirk absconded over his face at seeing your zest plight.

your moans gradually started getting obstreperous, interminably quivering on his bulk. his hands pinned your ass, to the point it almost drew out blood, your whimpers and whine were like music to his ears. gosh, you made him feel so lascivious. his grip grew tighter, sending shivers of pleasure down your spine as he murmured words of syrupy desire. his touch was like a fire, and you found yourself not wanting it to end.

"blyat' ty idealna." he groused, his voice raspy and bare. his cobalt eyes gulled lust and fire, you never ceased trotting on his cock with abandon, your head thrown back in sheer pleasure, your body shaking with every thrust. his hands were on your hips, guiding your movements, and you could feel every inch of him inside you. you let out soft happy grumbles of frustration, not knowing what he meant but you were assured it meant nothing other than love. archons- every hit to your nerves felt like celestia.

a bluffing beam pressed into his ephebic face as his cock obscured deeper into your warmth. your lamentations and sobs made him even more accelerated his appetite to taste you. what felt like clustered pieces of wires were coming out of you, your eyes gaped as you held onto his toned muscles, occasionally gasping and whining. he threw his head back revelry, his load whirled inside your womb as you let out a silent cry in the release of awaited feelings.

"moya krasivaya devochka" he chuckled as he adaged your rollercoaster of emotions, gentling brushing his hands through your hair, the sly smirk still remained pictured on his lips.

DILUC x german.

"ich liebe dich" he spituated, his arms grasped your shoulders ever so softly, beads of sweat dropped down from his sweltering face. a weary smile was forced upon his face, occasionally fading due to how well you sucked him in. your hands run over your body from over your belly to your waist to your mounds grabbing them as he slows down the pace of his girth.

you moan out as he starts rutting into you at a fast pace. the carmine haired male groans, tightly holding your hips for leverage and fucking his cock in and out of you. you wrap your arms around his neck, burying your face into his shoulder. heat resides every corner of his body. he closes his eyes as he proceeds with his adoring actions.

"don't stop luc', don't stop" you whine, harshly tugging his hair while syncing with his body movements. a soft, hushed hum resonated from him. kisses ran down from your neck to your back. his incandescent hair ran down your chest, concealing it. fuck— you were so perfect. archons, everything about you was perfect.

the bed creaked along with his every action, his actions only bought pleasure- no pain whatsoever, your breaths and moans got faster and more louder. his girth hitting your g-spot more faster, the slapping of his balls against your warmth got faster and more searing before he finally releases his seed inside of you, as well as you cumming on his girth.

"i-ich liebe- dich" he scours, his arms still vested on top of your waist, all while his length is snuggled inside of your warmth. he sagged onto your chest, your heartbeat undulating against his own.

AL HAITHAM x arabic.

nirvana. the only word that you can use to describe how the akademiya's scribe made you feel right now. his fingers edged into your tepidity, ever so often toting more vastly. his digits were coated with your dowse, driblets of sweat coalesced on your forehead, though, the viridescent eyed male had no emotion, only pure amusement and lust in his orbs.

"waqihat qadhirat." he spat, his eyes darkening as he watched your contorting face, drool splattered all over your face, he stroked your clit with his thumb, impending his face closer to your warmth before proffering a prolonged lick to your folds, his soaked, acute tongue almost immediately earned a squalid moan from you, your eyes solidly sealed.

"haitham' more, please m-" a finger forcefully shoved down your mouth kept you silent."madha? turid almazida?" he nudged, a jiving grin swept across his face before diving into your toothsome. gosh, his tongue did wonders. his eyes averted to yours, breathing in your gaped expression, relishing in your fucked out face. his other callused hand held your waist steady, gripping it harshly to the point that his finger imprints were reflected onto your smooth flesh. pink and black scribbles clouded your eyes, fuck— you wanted more, way more, and he knew that damn well.

"ma bik habibi, turid almazida?" he inquired teasingly after taking a deepend lick of your delicacy, your grumbles and lewd mewls were like harmonic tunes. his sunken eyes glaring at your pitiful condition, a breathful chuckle escaped from his chapped lips. his tongue once more delved into your hole, in result of you gripping his pristine hair harshly, moaning and gasping at the assidissous revelry.

your heart fluttered in joyful anticipation, as you felt the knots untangle, your face betrayed a beaming smile occasionally faltering as he kept scouring your pussy inside out. the knurls and lumps soon came undone, squirting out your juices and sap onto his tongue, greedily licking it up. his lissom fingers still remained deep inside your delicacy.

[leclerc-hs]

maybe happy (and kinda dumb) charles after his first win of the season and hes just needy in the hotel and maybeee pussydrunk too? ☺️

A/N: not sure how I feel about my writing in this one but it was fun to write!!! idk why but i am smut obsessed tonight. xoxo I hope you guys like it enough. sorry if it's not good enough!! warnings: smut under the cut!!! minors do not read!!!! xoxo also bad french

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

If anybody were to ask Charles how he plans to celebrate his first win of the season, there would be two possible answers he could say. It was dependent on who was asking. If it were a reporter or somebody from work, the simple answer would be 'célébrer aves amis et ma famille' celebrate with my friends and family. If it were you asking, on the other hand, the answer would be much more complex, much dirtier.

"I need your tight cunt wrapped around my cock, chérie." He groans softly into your ear, pushing you into the hotel room with such vigor, and you don't fight it. "Laisse moi te sentir," let me feel you.

"Est-ce que je le mérite?" Do I deserve it? The question is rhetorical, but he repeats it with each thrust of his underwear covered hips into yours. He knew he deserved it. He was that fucking smug over his win. The cotton panties adorning your body, dampening with each swing of Charles hips onto you.

He hovers over your petite frame on the bed, his head hanging and arms placed on both sides of your head, eyes locked on yours. You lift up, attaching your lips straight to the prominent veins on his neck, licking from the base of his neck until you reach his ear and pull it in between your teeth.

His helmet hair is still strongly apparent, his skin salty and coated in dried sweat from all the hard work he put into his win. The taste of his skin on your hot tongue only turns you on more.

There was no strategic moves this time around, you both were far too needy to tease one another. You both couldn't even take your underwear off all the way. He pushes his underwear out of the way, just enough for his cock to spring free. It's hard and a flushed shade of red, it almost looks painful. For a moment, you felt bad for taking this long to even get to the hotel.

Not bothering to remove yours, he strokes himself a few times to ease the ache surging in his cock, while simultaneously slipping his fingers into your underwear, pushing the fabric that covered your aching hole to the side. He wastes no time. Stuffing his cock into your tight pussy, loud groans escaping both of your lips simultaneously as the burning stretch of your walls clasp onto his cock.

"Mon dieu," My god. He groans, shuttering softly into the shell of your ear as he falls down onto his elbows. "Vous vous sentez is bien." You feel so good.

His tongue traces the shell of your ear and you mindlessly wrap your legs around his waist, letting his hips drive further into you.

Your velvet walls flutter endlessly around his hard cock. His hips driving into you with such force, the bed is knocking into the wall with each flex.

"G'na take all of me?" He groans. "Tu es à moi?" You're mine? He already knows the answer, but he loves to hear you say it. He needs you to say it.

"Oui, je suis à vous!" Yes, I am yours! You exasperate with a shriek in between each word. The sound of skin slapping echoes in the room, the squelches of how wet your pussy is, audibly known and it only turns you both on more.

"Tu es tellement mouillé." You're so wet. His cock slides in and out of you, a shuttering breath is released between each thrust.

"Only for you," you babbled on, rutting your hips up to meet his thrusts.

Occasionally, he would slow his hips, pushing into you as deep as possible while pressing his hands down onto your tummy. The bulge of his cock visible in the depths of your stomach, making you melt like butter in his hands.

"C'est mon endroit?" That's my spot?

Your walls clench tightly around him, it was border line suffocating to his cock. It's so tight, that he is fully whimpering directly into your ear about how good you feel, about how tight you are, about how badly he wants you to soak his cock. It only springs your orgasm on quicker.

"Oh fuck, m gonna cum." You confess, your eyes shut and head pressed against the mattress as you arch your back off of it.

"Mmm." You nod your head repeatedly, barely able to form words from the delicious stretch of his cock in you as you feel yourself getting close. "Fill me up, s'il te plaît." Please. You beg.

You feel his body shutter against yours at that, his hips losing their rhythm for a few moments. You clench your walls around him tightly, begging for more. More anything.

You cum hard. It's messy and soaks his cock completely. And it brings Charles to his own release in the matter of seconds.

"That's my girl," he grunts while releasing hot spurts of cum into you, hips still drilling into you.

He's babbling, unsure of what is even going on as you continue to clench around him, surely the oxygen supply to his brain cut off from your tight grip. Babbling things like 'so fucking good, chérie' 'such a greedy little pussy' 'g'na give me it all?' 'g'na make a mess of me?' 'soak me, chérie'

The squeeze of your pussy had him at loss for words as he collapses on top of you, not pulling out. The idea of his cum sitting inside of you, snug with his cock, had his erection growing not too long after. To which, you cock an eyebrow as he looks at you, all smug.

"I'd like to claim my prize all night." He muttered into the crevice of your neck, rolling you over and driving his hips upwards into you, sending you spiraling all over again.

[urdreamydoodles]

Hi! I saw you were taking requests and wanted to see your take on everyone dealing with a reader who's a smart ass? Thought it be a funny concept about something you'll enjoy 🤍

X-Men x Reader (Part.1)

You're a smart ass (Part.1)

You have a playful and sarcastic personality that adds humor and lightness to your relationship with your partner. Your sarcasm creates both moments of laughter and occasional tension, but ultimately strengthens your relationships.

Characters: Logan Howlett, Remy LeBeau, Kurt Wagner, Scott Summers, Erik Lehnsherr, Bobby Drake, Wade Wilson, Jean Grey, Wanda Maximoff & Pietro Maximoff

I confirm it's a funny concept! Thank you for that one ♡ Hope you enjoy. — Love, Marie, your friendly marvel fangirl

Logan Howlett (Wolverine)

- Logan has always admired your wit, but when your sharp tongue turns into you being a bit of a smart-ass, it both amuses and irritates him. He raises a brow every time you make a snarky remark, half-impressed but also battling the urge to roll his eyes. “You think you’re funny, huh, darlin’?” he’d growl under his breath, though his lips twitch into a grin despite himself.

- While he’d try to keep things serious when the situation called for it, your teasing often gets the best of him. Like that time in the Danger Room when you outmaneuvered him with a smirk and a cocky quip, Logan pretended to be pissed, but you could see the pride in his eyes. “Better watch it, or I might not go easy on you next time,” he’d say with a low rumble, knowing full well that he’s too soft on you.

- There are moments when your sass pushes his patience, and he’ll let out a deep sigh, rubbing his temples in that way he does when he’s had just about enough. But instead of snapping, he pulls you close, growling something like, “You’re gonna be the death of me,” before kissing you fiercely, reminding you who’s in charge — at least until the next time you decide to test him.

- Despite all the banter, Logan wouldn’t trade your fiery spirit for anything. Deep down, he loves how sharp and quick-witted you are, even if it means dealing with your sarcasm on a daily basis. You keep him on his toes, and after everything he’s been through, your energy and humor are a breath of fresh air. Sometimes, when the two of you are alone, he’ll lean in and say, “You might be a pain in my ass, but you’re my pain in the ass,” with that gruff, affectionate tone that never fails to make your heart skip a beat.

Remy LeBeau (Gambit)

- Remy is no stranger to charm and wit, so when you sass him, he’s ready to dish it right back. He loves the playful banter between you two, and half the time, he’s probably encouraging it just to see what you’ll come up with next. “Ah, ma chérie, you t’ink you can outsmart Remy, eh?” he’d say, a devilish grin lighting up his face as he leans in closer, daring you to keep going.

- When you make a smart-ass remark, especially in front of the other X-Men, Remy can’t help but smirk proudly. He’ll throw an arm around your shoulder, pulling you close and whispering, “You gon’ get us in trouble, but I like it.” He’s never one to shy away from mischief, and with you by his side, the two of you are unstoppable when it comes to pulling off clever pranks or getting the upper hand in any situation.

- Every now and then, Remy will try to one-up you with his own smart comments, leading to playful verbal sparring matches that only deepen your connection. But even when he’s trying to get the last word in, he never minds when you come out on top. “Damn, chérie, you too good at this,” he’d laugh, eyes sparkling with admiration as he wraps you in his arms.

- On the rare occasions when your sass catches him off guard, you might notice a flicker of surprise before he recovers with that signature grin. “Ah, you keep me on my toes, mon amour,” he’d murmur, pressing a kiss to your temple. Remy loves every part of you — the wit, the sass, and the undeniable chemistry between you two. No matter what, he’s always ready for the next round of banter, knowing it only brings you closer together.

Kurt Wagner (Nightcrawler)

- Kurt is gentle and kind, so when you hit him with a sarcastic or smart-ass comment, he’s more likely to chuckle than to take offense. He’ll tilt his head, a curious smile playing on his lips as he tries to figure out if you’re serious or just teasing him. “Are you making fun of me, mein Schatz?” he’d ask, his voice full of playful curiosity.

- Despite his more serious nature at times, Kurt is never one to shy away from your banter. If anything, he enjoys your quick wit because it keeps things light between you two, especially during difficult missions or stressful situations. Whenever you throw a clever remark his way, he’d respond with a thoughtful hum, pretending to be deep in thought before adding, “You know, I think I love you even more for that.”

- Kurt has an incredibly patient demeanor, and while your sass might fluster him at first, he always handles it with grace. He might try to counter with a more philosophical or heartfelt response, which often makes you laugh even harder. “Ah, mein Liebe, you are too clever for me,” he’d say with a soft chuckle, before pulling you into a warm embrace. Even when you push his buttons, he can’t help but love you more for it.

- When the teasing gets a little too much, Kurt will lean into his affectionate side, making it impossible for you to keep up the act. He’ll teleport behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist, and whisper, “No matter how much you tease, I know your heart.” His sweet words, paired with his playful nature, always bring a sense of comfort to the banter, reminding you that, above all, you’re deeply loved.

Scott Summers (Cyclops)

- Scott is a bit more serious than the others, and your smart-ass comments tend to catch him off guard. He’s used to people following orders and being straightforward, so when you hit him with a sarcastic quip, he’s not always sure how to react at first. He’ll frown slightly, not out of anger, but out of pure confusion. “You’re kidding, right?” he’d ask, trying to gauge your tone.

- Despite his initial bewilderment, Scott can’t help but admire your sharp mind. He may act exasperated, but deep down, he appreciates that you’re not afraid to challenge him, even if it’s through sarcasm. You keep him grounded, reminding him that not everything has to be so serious all the time. “You know, you’ve got a smart mouth,” he’d say with a smirk, shaking his head in mock disapproval.

- When you sass him in front of the team, Scott tries to maintain his composure, but there’s always a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He’ll shoot you a quick look that says, “We’ll talk about this later,” but you know he secretly loves the way you keep him on his toes. It’s a side of you that only he gets to see, and despite his stoic nature, it brings out the softer side of him.

- After a long day of leading the X-Men, Scott finds your sass refreshing. He’ll sit next to you, finally letting his guard down as you tease him about being “Mr. Perfect” all the time. “Alright, I get it,” he’d say, his voice filled with warmth and amusement. “You’re right — maybe I do need to lighten up.” And in those moments, he’d pull you close, appreciating every part of your smart-ass self.

Erik Lehnsherr (Magneto)

- Erik, always the strategist and thinker, isn’t used to someone challenging him with quick wit and sharp humor, especially not someone as close to him as you. The first time you throw a smart-ass comment his way, he pauses, his cold eyes narrowing, but there’s a glint of amusement behind the stern expression. “Careful, little one,” he’d murmur, his voice low and commanding, “you’re playing a dangerous game.”

- Despite his typically serious demeanor, Erik finds your sharp tongue intriguing. He’s surrounded by people who either fear or revere him, so your sass brings something refreshing into his life. Occasionally, when you get a bit too clever for your own good, Erik will raise an eyebrow and smirk, “You really think you’re clever, don’t you?” His tone is dangerous, but you both know there’s a playful undertone hiding beneath the menace.

- Erik’s response to your snarky comments often depends on his mood. In darker moments, he might grow irritated, his patience tested by your quips, especially if you question his decisions. “I’m not in the mood for jokes,” he’d snap, though there’s a deep affection behind his frustration. But when he’s feeling more relaxed, Erik has been known to surprise you with his own dry, sarcastic retorts. “Perhaps I should just let you lead the revolution next time,” he’d quip with a smirk, his voice thick with sarcasm, but his eyes soft with affection.

- At the end of the day, Erik admires your courage and intelligence, even if you use them to give him a hard time. There’s a sense of respect in how he handles your smart-ass attitude — after all, he’s seen too much of the world to be fazed by a little sass. In quiet moments, he’ll pull you close, whispering in your ear, “You may be impossible sometimes, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Bobby Drake (Iceman)

- Bobby loves a good joke, so when you start tossing smart-ass remarks his way, he’s all in for the banter. “Oh, is that how it’s gonna be?” he’d ask, grinning from ear to ear as he prepares to throw a sarcastic comment right back at you. With Bobby, the sass only escalates into playful teasing that often ends with the two of you laughing uncontrollably.

- He’s the kind of guy who thrives on humor, so your quick wit only strengthens your relationship. Whether it’s during training or just hanging out at the mansion, Bobby always finds a way to keep the mood light, and he loves that you can match his energy. “Wow, look at you, Miss Smart-Ass,” he’ll say after you roast him with a particularly sharp comment. “Guess I’m not the only funny one around here.”

- There are times when Bobby’s insecurities come through, especially when your teasing touches on sensitive topics like his struggles with his powers or his place in the team. In those moments, he might brush off your comment with a forced laugh, but you can tell it’s bothered him. Later, he’ll admit, “Hey, about earlier… I know you didn’t mean anything by it. I just… you know, I’ve got my stuff to deal with.”

- Despite the occasional hiccup, Bobby loves that you keep him on his toes. Your sarcasm brings a balance to his humor, creating a dynamic that keeps things fun and light-hearted even during the toughest times. After all, he’s always been the class clown, but with you by his side, he feels like he’s met his match. “You know what?” he’d say, pulling you into a playful hug. “I think we might be the funniest couple in the mansion. No one else stands a chance.”

Wade Wilson (Deadpool)

- Being with Wade means endless chaos, and your quick wit fits right in. Wade absolutely adores your sass, and from the moment you drop your first sarcastic comment, he’s all over it. “Oh, look who’s got a smart mouth! I like it, babe!” He’s practically bouncing with excitement, eyes gleaming behind his mask. Your banter becomes a regular part of your relationship, with Wade taking every opportunity to match your smart-ass remarks with ridiculous quips of his own.

- Wade’s response to your sarcasm is often over-the-top, always aiming for laughs. You’d roll your eyes at something absurd he does, and Wade, without missing a beat, would respond with, “Oh, did you roll your eyes at me? That’s it, we’re getting a divorce.” It never fails to make you chuckle, and you know that he appreciates how you can keep up with his crazy antics. He loves that you never back down, even when he’s being the most outrageous version of himself.

- However, there are moments when Wade’s insecurity creeps through, particularly when it comes to his appearance or his mental health. If your sarcasm hits a little too close to home, Wade might joke it off, but you can sense the shift in his tone. “Yeah, I mean, who wouldn’t want to be with a guy whose face looks like a melted pizza?” he’d say with a forced grin. You always reassure him, showing him that your wit comes from a place of love, and Wade, with his usual dramatics, would throw himself into your arms, “Aww, babe, you really do love me, scars and all!”

- Despite his unpredictability, Wade loves how your humor keeps him grounded. Your ability to match his energy and throw in some sarcasm helps him feel normal in the whirlwind that is his life. “You know, I think we make a pretty kick-ass duo,” Wade would say, wrapping his arms around you. “You with your snark and me with my endless charm — we’re unstoppable!” And though the world may be chaotic, your relationship with Wade is filled with love, laughter, and plenty of smart-ass remarks.

Jean Grey (Phoenix)

- Jean is known for her calm demeanor, so your sarcasm catches her off guard at first. She’s used to people being more respectful around her, especially considering her immense power, but your playful attitude draws out a side of her that she doesn’t often get to express. The first time you make a smart-ass comment, Jean raises an eyebrow, her lips twitching into a small smile. “Oh, so we’re doing this now, huh?” she’d say, her voice light with amusement.

- As your relationship develops, Jean grows to love your quick wit. It brings a sense of normalcy to her life, something she desperately needs amidst the chaos of being an X-Man. She enjoys the way your banter makes her feel human, reminding her that she’s more than just a telepathic, omega-level mutant. “You’re lucky I don’t read your mind more often,” she’d tease after you make a sarcastic remark, though you both know she’d never actually do that without your permission.

- There are moments, however, when Jean’s powers make her feel overwhelmed and vulnerable. If your sarcasm comes at the wrong time, she might take it to heart, her telepathic abilities amplifying the impact of your words. “I’m not in the mood for jokes,” she’d say softly, her eyes downcast. You’d quickly realize that she’s struggling, and after a gentle apology, Jean would nod, grateful for your understanding. “Thank you,” she’d whisper, her voice filled with affection.

- Despite the occasional tension, Jean appreciates how your sharp mind challenges her. Your smart-ass attitude keeps her grounded, helping her navigate the pressures of her powers and responsibilities. “You always know how to keep me on my toes,” she’d say with a smile, leaning into your embrace. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.” And while Jean may be one of the most powerful beings in the world, your sarcasm reminds her that she’s also just a woman, capable of love and laughter.

Wanda Maximoff (Scarlet Witch)

- Wanda, initially reserved and quiet, is surprised by your quick wit and sarcasm. She’s not used to people being so casual with her, especially given the weight of her powers and her past. The first time you make a smart-ass remark, Wanda’s eyes widen in surprise before a small smile pulls at her lips. “Oh, so that’s how it’s going to be,” she’d say, amusement dancing in her eyes as she begins to warm up to your teasing nature.

- As your relationship deepens, Wanda grows to appreciate how your humor helps lighten the heavy burdens she carries. Your sarcastic comments often draw her out of her thoughts, bringing her back to the present. “You think you’re funny, don’t you?” she’d tease back, a smirk on her lips, her Sokovian accent slipping through as she gives you a playful nudge. She loves how you can make her laugh, even when she’s feeling down.

- However, there are moments when Wanda’s emotions become overwhelming, and your sarcasm might accidentally cut too deep. If she’s in a particularly vulnerable state, she might take your comment the wrong way, her powers flickering dangerously as her mood shifts. “I’m not in the mood for jokes,” she’d say, her tone sharp. You’d quickly reassure her, explaining that you didn’t mean it, and Wanda, ever self-aware, would soften. “I know,” she’d sigh, taking your hand, “I just… I need some time.”

- Despite the occasional misstep, Wanda loves how your quick wit keeps her grounded. Your playful banter reminds her that not everything needs to be serious, and it helps her find moments of joy in an otherwise heavy world. “You always know how to make me smile,” she’d say softly, leaning into your embrace. “Even when I try to be serious, you just… bring out the light in me.” Your smart-ass attitude becomes a source of comfort for her, a reminder that she’s not alone in the darkness.

Pietro Maximoff (Quicksilver)

- Pietro is quick in every sense of the word, so your sharp tongue and sarcastic remarks don’t catch him off guard — in fact, he thrives on it. The first time you throw a snarky comment his way, Pietro’s already grinning before you’ve even finished. “You’re fast, but I’m faster,” he’d quip, zipping around you in a blur before coming to a stop with a smug look on his face. “Think you can keep up, smart-ass?”

- Your sarcasm and quick wit become a game to him, a challenge he’s always ready to meet head-on. Pietro loves the verbal sparring, and his playful nature means that he’s constantly teasing you back. “Oh, you’re really asking for it, aren’t you?” he’d say with a grin after you make a particularly clever remark, speeding off before you can respond. It’s a back-and-forth that keeps your relationship exciting, always filled with laughter and light-hearted banter.

- However, there are times when your sarcasm touches on his insecurities — like his tendency to rush through life, or his complicated relationship with Wanda. In those rare moments, Pietro might bristle, his smile fading as he crosses his arms. “Yeah, well, not everything can be a joke,” he’d mutter, clearly hurt. You always know how to handle him though, and after a bit of reassurance, Pietro’s back to his usual self, cracking jokes and challenging you to keep up with him.

- Pietro loves how your smart-ass attitude matches his fast-paced lifestyle. Your quick comebacks keep him on his toes, and he adores how you never let him get away with being too cocky. “You might be the only person who can keep up with me,” he’d say, pulling you into a tight hug after a particularly playful argument. And while life with Pietro is always fast and chaotic, your sarcasm adds a layer of fun and connection that makes your relationship all the more special.

[emjayewrites]

the best gift • jules koundé one shot

SYNOPSIS: Jules and Maya celebrate Christmas together…Sequel to Turkey Day

PAIRINGS: Jules Koundé x Maya Richardson (fc: Ebonee Davis)

TAGLIST: @hopefulromantic1 @lettersofgold @sinflowersugar @alika-4466 @peyiswriting @leilaxaliel @serpenttines-library @certifiedlesbianbaddie @niahxo @jack0357 @chaoticcoffeequeen @greedyjudge2 @yeea-nah @saturnville @cranberryjulce

Jules watched from his kitchen as his mother, Sophie, fussed over the already immaculate house for the third time that morning. Her nervous energy was palpable as she adjusted throw pillows and muttered in rapid French about wanting everything to be perfect for Maya's parents' first visit to Barcelona.

"Maman," Jules called out gently, "tout a l'air magnifique. Veuillez vous asseoir avant de porter un chemin dans mon sol” ("Mom, everything looks beautiful. Please sit down before you wear a path in my floor.")

Sophie turned to him, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. "Je veux juste qu’ils se sentent les bienvenus, mon chéri. Et mon anglais... ce n’est pas aussi bon que le français de Maya." ("I just want them to feel welcome, mon chéri. And my English... it's not so good like Maya's French.")

Jules smiled, remembering Maya's first meeting with his mother six months ago. Despite the language barrier, Maya had charmed Sophie with her attempts at French and her genuine interest in family photos of a young Jules. This time would be different though – Maya's parents would be joining them.

"Le Dr et M. Richardson vous aimeront, Maman. Tout comme Maya." ("Dr. and Mr. Richardson will love you, Maman. Just like Maya does.")

His phone buzzed with a text from Maya: "Just picked up my parents from the airport. Dad's already commenting on all the soccer stuff everywhere 😂 Be there in 30!"

Jules checked his watch. The timing would be tight – they had his match against Leganes that evening, and he'd need to leave for Camp Nou in a few hours.

The door opened exactly twenty-eight minutes later. Jules turned to find Maya beaming at him, her parents behind her looking jet-lagged but excited. Dr. Angela Richardson immediately moved to hug him while Miles Richardson extended his hand for a firm handshake that felt warmer than their first meeting at Thanksgiving.

"Welcome to Barcelona," Jules said, ushering them inside where his mother waited.

"Bonjour!" Sophie stepped forward, her smile bright if slightly nervous. "Welcome, welcome! Please, come in!"

Maya hugged Sophie warmly, switching to French. "Sophie, c'est si bon de vous revoir!"

Sophie's face lit up at the familiar language, and she launched into rapid French that had Maya nodding along, occasionally asking for clarification.

"Your home is beautiful," Angela said, looking around the modern space with its floor-to-ceiling windows displaying Barcelona’s skyline. "And what a view!"

"Merci," Sophie replied, then looked at Jules for help.

"Maman helped me decorate," Jules explained. "She has much better taste than I do."

Miles was examining the wall of Jules' framed jerseys – his first Bordeaux shirt, his Sevilla kit, and several Barcelona and French national team jerseys. "Quite a collection you've got here, son."

"Those are just the special ones," Maya said proudly. "You should see the storage room."

Jules led them on a tour of the house, ending in the kitchen where Sophie had prepared a light lunch of quiche, salad, and fresh bread. She'd been cooking since dawn, determined to make a good impression.

"This is delicious, Sophie," Angela said after her first bite of quiche.

Sophie looked to Jules for translation, beaming when he conveyed the compliment. "Merci beaucoup! C'est une recette de ma grand-mère."

The conversation flowed surprisingly well despite the language barrier, with Maya and Jules acting as translators when needed. Miles, to everyone's surprise, revealed he'd been using a language learning app to pick up basic French.

"Merci pour le repas," he said carefully, making Sophie clap in delight.

All too soon, Jules had to leave for the stadium. "I've arranged for a car to take you to Camp Nou," he told Maya's parents. "Maya knows where the family box is, and Maman will be with you."

"Good luck, baby," Maya said, kissing him quickly. "Show Daddy what real football looks like."

"That's right," Miles added with a grin. "Show me what all this fuss is about."

Three hours later, Jules stood in the tunnel at Camp Nou, waiting to walk out onto the pitch. He knew Maya and their parents were up in the family box – Maya had sent a photo of them all together, his mother and Maya's parents wearing Barcelona scarves, Miles looking slightly bemused but game.

The match itself was electric. Jules had always played well with Maya in attendance, but having both their families watch seemed to elevate his game even further. In the thirty-seventh minute, he made a crucial sliding tackle that started a counterattack, leading to Barcelona's first goal. The roar of the crowd was deafening, but he could have sworn he heard Maya's distinctive voice among the 90,000 fans.

Barcelona won 2-0, with Jules putting in a man-of-the-match performance. After the game, he found their families waiting in the designated area for players' guests. Miles' expression had changed from polite interest to genuine excitement.

"Now that," he said, pulling Jules into a surprise hug, "was something else, son! That tackle in the first half? Reminded me of my playing days, except you got right back up and started the attack!"

Maya was practically bouncing with pride, while their mothers chatted animatedly despite the language difference, Sophie's hands flying as she tried to explain something about the game's tactics.

"See?" Maya whispered to Jules. "Daddy's coming around to soccer."

"Football," Jules corrected with a grin.

The next few days passed in a blur of sightseeing and family meals. Jules showed them his Barcelona, not just the tourist spots but the hidden gems he'd discovered since moving to the city. Sophie took Angela shopping in the boutiques along Passeig de Gràcia, while Miles surprised everyone by developing a deep appreciation for Spanish wine.

On their last evening in Barcelona, before flying to Atlanta for Christmas, they had dinner at a small Catalan restaurant Jules loved. Watching their parents interact, seeing Maya laugh at something his mother said in broken English, Jules felt a certainty settle over him. The small velvet box that had been hiding in his home since before Thanksgiving seemed to burn in his mind.

The flight to Atlanta was long but comfortable, with Jules arranging for first-class tickets for everyone. His mother dozed most of the way, while Maya worked on her dissertation, occasionally asking Jules to help her with some Spanish terms.

Christmas in Atlanta was everything Sophie had hoped for and more. The Richardsons' home was decorated magnificently, with a enormous tree in the family room and lights everywhere. Jules' mother was immediately absorbed into the controlled chaos of the Richardson women's holiday preparations, her limited English forgotten as she and Angela communicated through the universal language of cooking.

On Christmas Eve, after returning from the candlelight service at the Richardsons' church, Jules asked Miles if they could speak privately. Maya was helping her mother in the kitchen, and Sophie was engaged in what appeared to be a spirited game of charades with Maya's brothers and their wives.

Miles led Jules to his study, a warm room lined with books and family photos. He sat behind his desk, a knowing look in his eyes.

"Sir," Jules began, then paused to gather his thoughts. "Mr. Richardson..."

"Miles," Maya's father corrected gently. "I think we're past 'Mr. Richardson' now, don't you?"

Jules smiled, some of his nervousness easing. "Miles. I wanted to speak with you about Maya."

"I had a feeling this conversation was coming," Miles leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable. "Ever since Thanksgiving, actually."

Jules straightened in his seat. "I love your daughter, sir – Miles. She's the most remarkable person I've ever known. She challenges me, supports me, makes me laugh... makes me better. And I want to spend the rest of my life with her."

"And the distance? Your career? Her career? Have you thought about all that?"

"Every day," Jules replied honestly. "We've talked about it extensively. Maya's dissertation defense is in three months, and she's already been offered a position at the Universitat de Barcelona. It's not just me asking her to fit into my world – we're building our world together."

Miles was quiet for a long moment, studying the young man before him. Finally, he smiled. "You know, when Maya first told us she was dating a professional soccer player – football player," he corrected himself with a chuckle, "I was worried. Worried about the lifestyle, the distance, the culture differences. But watching you with her, with our family, with your mother... you're a good man, Jules. You see Maya for who she is, and you love her for it."

He stood up and walked around the desk, placing a hand on Jules' shoulder. "You have my blessing, son. Though something tells me Maya would say yes regardless."

Jules laughed, relief flooding through him. "She would. But having your blessing means everything."

"Have you thought about how you're going to ask?"

"I have some ideas," Jules admitted. "But I'd appreciate your input..."

They talked for another hour, Miles sharing stories about his own proposal to Angela, offering suggestions, and finally showing Jules an old family photo album. When they emerged from the study, Maya raised an eyebrow at them suspiciously, but Jules just kissed her temple and joined in the charades game, his heart lighter than it had been in weeks.

Christmas morning dawned bright and slightly cold. Sophie was overwhelmed by the American Christmas traditions – the mountains of presents, the matching pajamas Angela had gotten for everyone (even managing to find some in Jules' size), the seemingly endless supply of food.

"C'est magnifique," she kept saying, her eyes wide as she took in the scene.

Jules watched Maya help his mother understand the rules of the gift exchange, translating when needed, treating Sophie with the same easy affection she showed her own mother. The ring box was still hidden back at home, waiting for the perfect moment he and Miles had discussed the night before. But watching Maya now, radiant in her Christmas pajamas, teaching his mother how to say "Merry Christmas, y'all" in her best Southern accent, Jules knew he'd made the right decision.

That afternoon, while Sophie was helping Angela in the kitchen, several of Maya's cousins who hadn't met Jules' mother yet arrived. DeAndre was the first to notice Sophie as she emerged from the kitchen, wiping flour off her hands on a festive apron and chatting animatedly in French with Maya.

"Wait, hold up," DeAndre said, looking between Jules and his mother. "You're mixed?"

Before Jules could respond, MJ's hand connected with the back of DeAndre's head with a soft thwack. "Man, where are your manners?"

"I was just asking!" DeAndre protested, rubbing his head.

Jules laughed, used to the question by now. "Yes, my mother is French – white French," he clarified with an amused smile. "My father is from Benin."

"That's why he got that good hair," Trey joked, earning himself a slap from Michael this time.

"Y'all are embarrassing," Michael sighed, but there was fondness in his exasperation.

Sophie, who had been watching the exchange with curious eyes, leaned toward Maya. "Qu'est-ce qu'ils disent?"

Maya translated the conversation, making Sophie laugh. "Ah, oui! Jules' father... très beau homme," she said in her limited English, making everyone chuckle.

"See? Ms. Sophie gets it," DeAndre grinned, seemingly recovered from his earlier scolding. "Beautiful people make beautiful people."

Later that evening, as both families gathered in the family room for games and dessert, Jules caught Miles' eye. Maya's father gave him a subtle nod and raised his glass in a quiet toast. Across the room, Maya was teaching Sophie how to play Spades, while Angela and the rest of the family cheered them on.

"Je suis très heureuse," Sophie said to Jules quietly, watching Maya with obvious affection. "Elle est parfaite pour toi."

"Oui, Maman," Jules replied. "Elle l'est."

The rest of the visit passed too quickly, filled with more family meals, impromptu dance parties (Sophie proving surprisingly adept at line dancing), and quiet moments that felt like snapshots of their future together. When it was time for Jules and his mother to return to Barcelona, the goodbyes were emotional.

"You come back soon," Angela said, hugging Sophie tightly. "Family doesn't need language to understand each other."

Sophie, tears in her eyes, hugged her back. "Oui, famille," she then managed in English. "Family."

Miles shook Jules' hand, then pulled him into a hug. "Take care of yourself, son. And remember what we talked about."

"I will," Jules promised, catching Maya's curious look. "Thank you... for everything."

On the plane back to Barcelona, Sophie dozed against Jules' shoulder, exhausted but happy. His phone buzzed with a text from Maya: "Missing you already. But I'll see you in three weeks for my conference in Madrid ❤️"

Jules smiled, already planning how he would transform their Madrid weekend into something unforgettable. But that was a story for another day.

"Étaient-ils ce que vous attendiez?" he asked his mother.

Sophie opened her eyes, smiling. "Ils sont de la famille," she said simply. "Et Maya... elle sera la plus belle mariée."

"Maman!" Jules laughed, but didn't disagree. After all, mothers always knew best.

Three weeks later, Maya was in her hotel room in Madrid, getting ready for what Jules had told her would be "just a nice dinner" to celebrate the successful presentation of her research at the conference. She had no idea that Jules had spent the last month planning every detail of this evening, or that both their families were anxiously waiting for news.

In their year and a half together, she'd grown used to Jules' thoughtful gestures and reverent attention, but something about tonight felt different.

Her phone buzzed with a text from Jules: "Car will pick you up in 15 minutes. Can't wait to see you ❤️"

Maya smoothed down her dress – a deep emerald number that she knew Jules loved – and checked her reflection one last time. Her bohemian braids were styled in an elegant updo with the curly strands purposely hanging out, small golden earrings catching the light when she moved.

The car took her through the twinkling streets of Madrid to a historic building in the city center. When she stepped out, Jules was waiting, looking devastatingly handsome in a perfectly tailored suit.

"You look beautiful, mon cœur," he said softly, kissing her cheek and offering his arm.

The restaurant was intimate and elegant, but instead of heading to the main dining room, Jules led her up a private staircase to a rooftop terrace. Maya gasped as they emerged into what looked like something from a fairy tale. Hundreds of tiny lights were strung overhead, creating a canopy of stars. White roses – her favorite – were everywhere, their sweet scent mixing with the crisp winter air. A single table was set for two, with champagne already chilling.

"Jules," she breathed, taking it all in. "This is..."

"Too much?" he asked, suddenly looking nervous in a way she rarely saw on the football pitch.

"Perfect," she finished, squeezing his hand.

They sat down to a meal that somehow combined French cuisine with touches of Southern comfort food – a detail that made Maya's heart swell with love for this man who always thought of everything. As they finished their main course, Jules grew quieter, more contemplative.

"Do you remember the first time we met?" he asked suddenly.

Maya laughed. "Of course. At that charity event in London. You were so serious until I made that terrible joke about football existing during Shakespeare's time."

"'To kick, or not to kick,'" Jules quoted, grinning at the memory. "It was the worst joke I'd ever heard. But your smile..." He paused, taking her hand across the table. "Your smile made me forget every smooth line I'd practiced in English."

"You'd practiced lines?" Maya teased.

"Mmhmm. None of them as bad as your joke, though." He stood up, still holding her hand. "But that's what I love about you. You make me laugh, you challenge me, you support me... you see me, not just the footballer or the public figure, but me."

Maya's heart began to race as Jules moved to stand beside her chair. "Jules..."

"I talked to your father at Christmas," he continued, and then he was down on one knee, producing a small velvet box from his jacket. "Because while I know you're perfectly capable of making your own decisions, I also know how much family means to you. To us."

Maya's free hand flew to her mouth as Jules opened the box, revealing a stunning ring that somehow managed to be both elegant and unique – just like them.

"Maya Simone Lynette Richardson," Jules said, his French accent wrapping around her name the way it had since the day they met, "you make every day better just by being in it. You've brought so much joy and love into my life, and if you'll let me, I want to spend the rest of my days trying to do the same for you." He took a breath, his eyes never leaving hers. "Will you marry me?"

Through tears of joy, Maya managed to nod. "Yes," she whispered, then louder, "Yes, yes, absolutely yes!"

Jules' hands shook slightly as he slipped the ring onto her finger, then pulled her into a kiss that felt like a promise of forever. When they finally parted, the waiters who had been discretely waiting burst into applause, and champagne appeared as if by magic.

"I love you," Maya said, admiring how the ring caught the light. "And I can't wait to see what Sophie and my mama do with wedding planning."

Jules groaned good-naturedly. "They've already started, believe me. Your mother and mine have been texting on WhatsApp for weeks."

Maya laughed, the sound carrying across the Madrid rooftop like music. "Of course they have."

As they celebrated under the canopy of lights, with the Madrid skyline twinkling around them, Jules felt a profound sense of rightness. Their lives might be complex, stretched between continents and cultures, but their love was simple and true. And really, that was all that mattered.

Later that night, after Maya had FaceTimed both their families (who, to no one's surprise, were all gathered at the Richardsons' house waiting for news), she curled into Jules' side and said, "You know what this means, right?"

"Hmm?"

"You're officially officially part of the family now. No backing out of Homecoming next year."

Jules laughed, pulling her closer. "Wouldn't dream of it, future Mrs. Koundé."

"Dr. Maya Richardson-Koundé," she corrected with a smile.

"Even better," he agreed, and kissed her again.

August 2025….

The historic Ebenezer Baptist Church in Atlanta had never seen such a blend of cultures, but on this warm August morning, the sacred space buzzed with an energy that transcended language and tradition.

Jules stood in a side room, adjusting his bow tie for the hundredth time. The past few months had been a whirlwind since he'd posted that simple photo of Maya's hand with the ring, captioned only with a heart emoji. His Instagram had exploded – teammates sending congratulations in multiple languages, fans ranging from supportive to devastated ("It should've been me! 😭"), and even a few celebrities chiming in. Maya had taken it all in stride, her academic's analytical mind finding humor in the social media frenzy.

"Bro, stop fidgeting," Aurélien said, slapping Jules' hands away from his tie. "You look perfect. Though not as perfect as some of these wedding guests I saw walking in..." He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Jules shook his head, grinning. Some things never changed. "Behave yourself. These are Maya's family friends."

"I'm just saying, Atlanta's reputation is well-deserved," Aurélien defended, then whistled low as he peeked out the door. "The hats alone..."

Indeed, the church was a sea of elaborate hats and fans, church mothers dressed in their Sunday best having arrived early to claim prime viewing spots. Jules could hear their voices carrying through the walls, a melodic mix of excited chatter and occasional "Well, bless his heart" when someone mentioned how nervous the groom must be.

The media attention had been intense at first. Maya's academic credentials and their cultural backgrounds made them a source of fascination. But they'd managed it carefully, keeping their private life private while sharing just enough to satisfy public interest. Maya had given one interview to El País, conducted entirely in Spanish, that had won over even the most skeptical Barcelona fans.

"It's time," Reverend Richardson, Maya's grandfather, appeared at the door. He would be performing the ceremony, adding another layer of significance to the day.

Jules took his position at the altar, Aurélien beside him as best man, along with his other groomsmen including several teammates and childhood friends. The church was packed, every pew filled with a perfect blend of their two worlds – his football family alongside Maya's extended clan, French relatives mixed with Southern aunties fanning themselves with wedding programs.

The music shifted, and the wedding party began their entrance. Jules watched as Maya's cousins and friends glided down the aisle in deep burgundy dresses, followed by her sister-in-law as matron of honor. Then the music changed again, and everyone rose.

Maya appeared in the doorway, escorted by her father. Jules felt his breath catch in his throat. Her dress was a masterpiece of elegant simplicity – off-shoulder with delicate lace details that traced her collarbones, a fitted bodice that flowed into a full skirt, and a cathedral-length veil that seemed to float behind her like a cloud. But it was her smile, radiant and certain, that brought tears to his eyes.

"You better cry for her!" came a loud whisper from somewhere in the congregation, followed by Maya's grandmother turning around with a stern look that could have frozen hell itself.

Miles walked Maya down the aisle with measured steps, his eyes glistening with barely contained emotion. When they reached the altar, Miles hugged Jules before placing Maya's hand in his, whispering, "Take care of each other."

The ceremony was a beautiful blend of traditions. Reverend Richardson spoke of love's power to bridge any distance, any culture, any difference. They exchanged vows in English and French, Jules' voice steady despite the emotion evident in his eyes. After the rings and the "I do's," a beautifully carved broom was placed before them – a tradition dating back to enslaved ancestors who couldn't legally marry.

"Jump into your future together," Reverend Richardson announced, and amid cheers and applause, Jules and Maya joined hands and leaped over the broom into their new life.

Their first kiss as husband and wife nearly brought the church down, the celebrations reaching a fever pitch as church bells began to ring. As they ran down the aisle, guests blew bubbles that caught the light streaming through the stained glass windows, creating tiny rainbows around them.

Outside, they ducked into a classic white Rolls Royce, Maya's massive bouquet of white roses resting between them as they headed toward their reception venue in downtown Atlanta.

The reception space was transformed into an elegant wonderland. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, casting warm light over tables decorated with towering centerpieces of white roses and burgundy dahlias. French and American flags stood alongside the Beninese flag near the head table, representing all parts of their heritage.

After their first dance – to both a French love song and Al Green's "Let's Stay Together" – and the traditional parent dances, Jules found himself standing with Aurélien and Hugo, watching as Maya lined up with her sorority sisters. The opening notes of their Delta Sigma Theta call had the crowd cheering as Maya and her fellow Deltas, including her mother, showed off their steps.

"C'est incroyable," Hugo murmured, filming on his phone. "The energy..."

"This is just the preview for Homecoming," Jules said proudly, remembering Maya's stories about her days at Clark Atlanta. He'd already marked his calendar for October, arranging his schedule to make sure he wouldn't miss it.

The Deltas' performance transitioned seamlessly into Maya's brothers and father taking the floor with their Omega Psi Phi fraternity brothers. The energy in the room shifted again as they hopped and stepped in precise formations, their purple and gold colors flashing.

"Your new family is full of surprises," Aurélien laughed, still recording.

Later, as the evening wound down, Jules held Maya close during a slow dance, her head resting on his shoulder. The dress she'd changed into for the reception sparkled under the chandeliers, but not as brightly as her eyes when she looked up at him.

"Happy?" she asked softly.

"Beyond happy," he replied, spinning her gently. "You are the best gift I could ever ask for. The perfect match I wasn't even looking for."

Maya smiled that smile that had first captured his heart in London. "I love you, Jules Koundé."

"Je t'aime, Maya Richardson-Koundé," he whispered, and kissed her as their families and friends cheered around them, their love story now written into the fabric of both their worlds.

Tomorrow they would leave for their honeymoon in Bora Bora, and after that, they would return to their life in Barcelona. But right now, in this moment, they were simply Jules and Maya, two hearts that found each other across oceans and cultures, proving that love truly knows no boundaries.

"Ready for our next adventure?" Maya murmured against his chest.

Jules tightened his arms around her, thinking of all the moments that had led them here – from that first laugh in London to Thanksgiving chaos to Christmas to this perfect day. "With you? Always."

And as he leaned down to kiss his bride one more time, Jules knew that while he might have won championships and accolades on the football pitch, this victory – this love – was by far his greatest achievement.

[thirtysomethingloser92]

Hi hi I was just wondering if ur taking requests could u do a 97!Remy LeBeau x fem!mutant!reader headcanon list of going on a date in New Orleans 👉🏼👈🏼

I don't think I've ever done a headcannon list before so I'LL TRY.

Remy, ever the charmer, surprises you with an invitation in true Cajun fashion—leaving a handwritten note with a single red rose at your doorstep. The note simply reads, "Dinner à New Orleans, chérie? Pack y'self a lil' dress, we gon' have some fun."

Remy picks you up in a sleek black convertible, the engine purring as music plays softly in the background. He's dressed in a tailored dark suit with a hint of his usual flair—a red silk shirt peeking through. He gives you a once-over, eyes sparkling as he says, "Mon dieu, chérie, y'lookin' like a dream come true."

He takes you on a leisurely walk through the French Quarter before dinner, guiding you by the hand through cobblestone streets. Remy points out little historical tidbits and shares colorful local legends, his arm occasionally brushing yours. He loves showing off his city, and his accent grows thicker the more excited and animated he gets. His pride in his roots is infectious, and you can’t help but feel enamored by his passion.

Remy makes sure you stop for a moment to enjoy the vibrant street performers—a lively jazz band plays under the glow of old-fashioned street lamps. Without warning, he spins you into a playful dance right there on the sidewalk, leading you in a few smooth, flirty moves. He chuckles when you stumble slightly, pulling you closer and whispering, "Just follow m'lead, chère."

He takes you to a hidden gem restaurant known only to locals—tucked away, intimate, and filled with the aromas of Cajun spices. You’re seated in a cozy corner, candles flickering softly on the table. Remy orders in flawless French, his eyes never leaving yours. The conversation flows effortlessly between playful banter and deeper confessions, with Remy listening intently whenever you speak.

Remy insists on ordering a variety of dishes for you to try—gumbo, crawfish étouffée, jambalaya—each one more delicious than the last. He teases you about the spices, but when you handle the heat with ease, he raises an impressed eyebrow. "Didn’t think y’could keep up wit’ a Cajun’s palate, chère. Guess y'full of surprises, huh?"

At one point, Remy uses his powers in a subtle yet impressive display. With a flick of his wrist, he charges a small card, letting it glow softly in the dim light before tossing it away, harmlessly discharging the energy. It’s his way of showing off, but also a reminder that beneath the charm and the smiles, he’s got an edge that’s both thrilling and dangerous.

After dinner, Remy whisks you away to a riverboat cruise along the Mississippi. The boat is old-fashioned, with a big paddlewheel and a lively jazz band playing on the deck. He takes you out onto the balcony where the city lights glitter on the water. As you lean on the railing, he wraps his coat around your shoulders and stands close behind, his breath warm against your ear as he murmurs about the sights.

Near the end of the night, Remy takes you to a little antique shop that’s open late. He insists on buying you a small keepsake—a delicate locket with a tiny flower engraved on it. He fastens it around your neck, his fingers lingering a moment longer than necessary as he gazes into your eyes. "Now y’got a piece of New Orleans wit’ ya, wherever y’go."

He walks you back to your door, the night air still warm and filled with the faint scent of magnolias. Remy leans against the doorframe, smirking as if he’s in no rush to leave. When the moment finally feels right, he steps closer, tilting your chin up gently. His kiss is soft and slow at first, filled with unspoken promises of more nights like this. As you part, he whispers, "Bonne nuit, ma belle. This ain’t gon’ be our last rendezvous."

[eurydicees]

tamaki who calls kyoya mon amour, mon chéri, mon beau. everyone who thinks kyoya calls tamaki by his name only, and the occasional sarcastic "yes, daddy," until someone catches a glimpse of them alone and hears just the quietest mumble of ma raison de vivre. my reason for living.

[baeksqt]

𝐒𝐖𝐈𝐌 — elisa de almeida

elisa de almeida x fem!reader

(a/n: heyy its been a while ~(>_<~) I thought I would be more active in the summer but idk what happened there as I had this sitting in my drafts for sooo long, I hope you enjoyed this piece luvvies (¯ ³¯)♡)

word count: 1305

genre: fluff/angst

summary: a holiday with elisa allows her to open up.

Elisa had always been captivated by the beach, with its golden sands and the soothing sound of the waves crashing against the shore. However, while she relished the serenity of sunbathing and the occasional stroll along the coastline, the adrenaline-fueled world of surfing didn’t quite resonate with her as much as it did with you. During your getaway to the Maldives with Elisa and a few close friends, the days unfolded in a gentle rhythm.

You explored vibrant local markets, immersing yourself in the rich culture and vibrant colours of handcrafted goods and aromatic street food. Together, you ventured to breathtaking viewpoints, marvelling at the stunning turquoise waters and lush tropical landscapes. Despite her reservations about surfing, you often tried to coax Elisa into the warm ocean breeze, hoping to share the thrill of catching a wave with her.

Now, on this sun-drenched beach with the sun blazing high in the sky, you found yourself standing over Elisa as you stuck two surfboards into the sand, captivated by the way her bronze skin shimmered under the warm light filtering through your sunglasses. She squinted in the brightness, her brows knitting together as she mumbled softly to herself, momentarily puzzled by what was casting a shadow over her sunbathing spot.

“Ma belle,” Elisa began, her tone playful as she leaned back, the sun illuminating her radiant smile. She pushed her sunglasses up onto her head, revealing bright eyes that sparkled with mischief. “As much as I adore you and consider you the very light of my life,” she continued, a teasing grin spreading across her face, “you’re going to ruin my tan.” Her gaze met yours, a hint of challenge glimmering in her eyes.

You couldn’t help but smile at her corny charm, a mix of fondness and amusement washing over you. “We leave in just two days, and you still haven’t taken the plunge into the waves with me,” you retorted, pouting slightly, the playful banter dancing between you like the summer breeze.

“It's just not my thing, mon amour.” Elisa stood up, her voice laced with a hint of apology as she felt the familiar pang of guilt creeping in for avoiding the surfboards propped in the sand. The sun glinted off the water, inviting and tantalizing.

“You had no problem getting on the jet ski yesterday, though,” you pointed out, your tone playful but edged with a bit of frustration. You could still envision the way her laughter had danced on the wind while zipping across the water, the adrenaline painting her cheeks with colour.

“Well,” she hesitated, her brows knitting together as she contemplated the potential hazards of surfing, “what if I wipe out and the board hits me? I could end up with a concussion!” Her eyes widened as she imagined the worst-case scenario, the apprehension evident in her posture.

“Firstly,” you replied, arching an eyebrow and giving her an incredulous look, “do you forget that I do this for a living? I’ve seen it all!” You leaned closer, hoping to reassure her. “Secondly, the waves here aren’t rough at all. They’re gentle, perfect for beginners! I wouldn’t just toss you into the water without a proper lesson from moi.” You emphasized “moi” with a playful flourish, landing a kiss on her pink lips, and transferring your watermelon chapstick, hoping to lighten the mood.

Elisa bit her lip, still uncertain, but you could see the flicker of curiosity in her eyes, battling with her fears.

Elisa stood at the water's edge, her smile illuminated by the sun as she watched the gentle waves lap at her feet, the cool saltwater glistening on her skin. Yet, despite the serene setting, a flicker of apprehension danced in her eyes. "We won't venture far," you reassured her, your voice steady and warm. "We’ll just paddle and cruise along the shore. You’ll be perfectly fine, I promise. Just follow my lead." You offered a gentle squeeze on her shoulder, hoping to instil a sense of calm.

With a determined breath, you dashed into the inviting embrace of the ocean, feeling the refreshing rush of saltwater envelop your board. As you lay flat on your surfboard, you glanced back to check on Elisa. To your relief, her expression had transformed; the worry had faded, replaced by a newfound sense of tranquillity. She was right beside you now, ready to embrace the waves.

You both glide further from the shore, the rhythmic sound of the waves lapping against the boards harmonizing with the gentle whispers of the ocean breeze. As you find your balance and sit up on your board, the salty air wraps around you like a familiar embrace. Your gaze sweeps across the horizon, where the vibrant colours of the sky blend seamlessly with the island’s silhouette, its lush greenery and rugged cliffs standing proudly against the shimmering blue backdrop. Each breath fills your lungs with the briny scent of the sea, heightening your senses as you take in the stunning view.

Elisa’s voice sliced through the quiet rhythm of your thoughts as she glided effortlessly alongside you in the shimmering water. “You know,” she began, her tone laced with vulnerability, “after the Olympics, I found myself questioning my place on the squad.” She stared down at the rippling surface, her legs creating gentle waves that danced around her. “It’s been constant miss after miss, year after year, and when the moment finally came at a home Olympics, it felt surreal.”

You nodded, empathy rising within you as you observed Elisa’s averted gaze, her thoughts seemingly lost in the depths of the water. Before you could express your support, she pressed on, her voice tinged with emotion. “I’m so grateful to have been part of it all, to be called up to the team. It just feels…” She paused, finally meeting your gaze, the concern mirrored in her eyes. “…exhausting.” The weight of her words hung in the air, a testament to the mental toll of her journey.

“Why didn't you tell me this in August?” you asked, your fingers resting gently on her firm thigh, your gaze searching her eyes for some kind of understanding.

Elisa's expression shifted to one of disbelief as her voice rose in protest. “You came back from Tahiti with a silver medal hanging proudly around your neck!” she exclaimed, the shock evident in her tone. “Who was I to let my misery overshadow your moment of triumph?”

A heavy sigh escaped your lips, a pang of regret tightening in your chest as you both reflected on the whirlwind of emotions over the past couple of months. You were acutely aware of Elisa’s lingering discontent regarding the team's performance at the Olympics, but you had never fathomed she might start doubting her abilities.

You both lay on your surfboards in peaceful silence as the sun hung low in the sky, where the sound of seagulls occasionally punctuated the calm atmosphere. The gentle rhythm of small waves, with each ebb and flow, gradually brought you closer back to the soft beachfront.

Elisa settled down beside you on the warm, golden sand, a soft towel draped over her shoulder. She wrapped her arm around you, pulling you closer as the gentle sound of wave crashes filled the air. “You should really make me surf more,” she said, her voice playful yet serious. The sun cast a warm glow over her face, highlighting the sparkle in her eyes.

“It’s soothing when you seek solace,” you chuckled softly, the sound mingling with the gentle ebb and flow of the waves. Your gaze drifted toward the horizon, where the tide retreated, leaving a glistening trail along the shore. “But please, don’t hold back. Share anything that weighs on your heart.” Your voice was earnest, a tender plea born from the depths of your concern.

[james-is-here]

You're writing a hyune fic with him getting shaboinked by French reader??? Lord, I just found out. We need it asap, I need to be fed babes

I hope you accept this in the mean time 🥺 It's still Hyun being shaboinked, this is something I suddenly thought of. 😠🫵 Fluffy mullet Hyunjin, I don't make the rules.

Tags: Fluff, implied Wifey dorm, Smut, receiving BJ while on a call, very wet, lots of spit, Alternative Wheelbarrow on a couch :P, French reader, whiny Hyunjin, Special Guest: Changbin 🫢

Yes, I researched the position, leave me be. Let me know if I forgot a tag 😘✌🏼

[Translations] Ma Belle Chérie: My Beautiful darling | Attendre: Wait | Mon Petit Artiste: My Little Artist

French, Korean, English

Blogs: @succubus-hansol @theo4eve @forever-atiny @dis-trict9 @lemon--shark @victorbutnotreally @leezanetheofficial @belladonna6-6-6 @heartbinn @yongbokkk @dontwannaexist @demtttt

(Red means can't tag)

Hyunjin walked towards the kitchen only to stop when he hears you on the couch.

You're talking on the phone and he assumes it's someone from your home as you lazily mutter in french to whoever is on the other end. You look bored, tired even, and when you stop speaking you look over and smile at him, holding up your phone and he sees an unnamed phone number with the call time being an hour and counting.

You mute your self for a moment and tell him it's just a boring meeting before unmuting and going back to listening. He giggles, smiling widely as he's pretty sure you've barely been listening.

You begin to talk again as he carefully lays down on top of you. You shift, switching your phone to your other hand and your now free hand rests on his back as he gets comfortable on your chest with a smile. He sighs contentedly as you begin to fidget. Your hand rubbing his back in circles, fingers idly dragging up and down or walking along his spine, playing with his hair, gently tangling them in the long strands.

He leans into your touch, sighing again and nuzzling into your chest again. You smile, gazing down at Hyunjin as you continue to speak and move your hand to rest on his jaw. He looks up at you when you thumb his cheek. He shifts, moving to lay his head on your shoulder and kiss your cheek before settling and burying his face into your neck. You pull him closer, kissing his temple with a smile and settling against the pillow you've been laying on.

Being this close to you, he can feel the vibrations as you speak and with each beautiful french word, you speak basically into his ear, making him blush slightly. He smiles shyly into your neck, you're not even talking to him and yet he still blushes. With a sudden wave of love, he leans back, kissing your cheek again, then your jaw, under your jaw, and along your neck. He didn't think his affection would affect you much, you clear your throat when he feels you about to groan when he kisses next to your adam's apple, your hand on his side squeezes him occasionally, you tilt your head back into the pillow to slightly give him more room.

He doesn't realize how much it's affecting you until he moves his left leg to drape over your waist and you stutter slightly, stuttering over your words when his shin grazes your crotch when he lifted his knee. He pulls back, watching you stutter between French and Korean before stopping and starting again in French.

Looking down and moving his leg, he sees the slight tent in your sweats and he smiles. You're wearing grey sweats, he's a mad man that he didn't see them sooner, he would've done something from the start. Hyunjin is a slut for you in grey sweats.

He scoots down and he assumes you finished what you had to say as you mute yourself and pull your phone away from your ear. "A-Attendre, Attendre, Ma Belle Cheri, hold on." He moves to his knees, straddling and hovering over your thigh with his hands resting on your hips, holding himself up as he pouts down at you with wide shiny eyes that he knows you'll fall for. "Please, Mn~?" "C-Can it wait until this is done, please? Da'ling I-I would love to have you around me and...this meeting is really boring but-" "Then let me entertain you~ These people mean nothing, right?" "W-Well, they're accountants and-" "That's not what I asked. Do they mean anything? You already do everything with your company, you already handle that stuff without help so do you need them? Do you really need to be in that meeting?" "U-Um, no, I guess not but it's not a great impression when the CEO doesn't show up to meetings. They already think I'm being rude cause I'm not there in person." "Mn~ You're on vacation, you're here with your lovely boyfriend in Korea, not there at work in France." He whines.

Moving further down, you move your phone closer to your ear to pick up your assistant calling your name. "Go on, just pretend I'm not here and enjoy it." He mutters, still pouting while he hooks his fingers into your waist band and pulls them down enough and you resist hissing at the cold air as you unmute and ask for your assistant to repeat herself, briefly brushing your fingers through his long hair to the back of his neck and squeezing his nape.

He looks up, moving back up to you as you tilt your phone down and he leans in to kiss you firmly, letting you lick into his mouth messily as he wraps his hands around your cock and pulls it out of your sweats, gently dragging his fingers up along your length before resting his hand on your abdomen.

Pulling away carefully, only making a small slick noise as he pulls away from your lips, Hyunjin pulls your sweats down to your mid thigh as he moves back down, gathering saliva on his tongue and licking from your base to your tip. You inhale slowly, shifting your right leg slightly to give him more space. He wraps his fingers around you and spits more saliva onto your cock before stroking you slowly, squeezing only slightly as his closed fist slowly slides along your length.

He lays his head on your thigh, looking up at you as he lets go and slides his fingers up to your tip. He wraps his hand around you, just stroking your tip with a tight fist before he goes back to stroking your whole shaft at a quicker pace.

He watches you take deep breaths, visibly trying to ignore him but he knows you can't resist watching him suck you off. You shudder when he sits up and presses his soft, plush lips against your cock. Pressing light kisses from your base and up, occasionally giving little licks until he reaches your tip and wraps his lips around it. You inhale sharply as he swirls his tongue around your tip slowly, dipping into your slit and beginning to sink onto your cock.

He sinks slowly, licking every new bit that he takes into his mouth until he takes you whole. He takes a second to settle his gag when your tip met the back of his throat. Looking up, he sees you swallow heavily before slowly exhaling. He pulls up until his lips are around your tip then sinks back down, licking the underside of your cock the best he can before bobbing up and down. He hums around you quietly, bobbing at a quick pace, and starting a pattern of going quick, pulling up and sinking down slowly, then continuing his quick pace. His hands resting on your thigh and on your pelvis around your cock.

Looking up, the hand on your thigh moves up to move your shirt out of the way and he can see the muscles in your stomach clenching and unclenching as you resist moving, as you resist as hard as you can to not throw your phone, hold his head, and fuck his throat. He knows you would if you weren't on the phone.

He pulls off your cock with a loud gasps, breathing heavily as spit trails from your tip to his lips. His throat feels sore but he ignores it as he strokes you at a fast pace and leans down to lick your base. It's messy, your cock covered in spit but you can't look down, honestly you'll break if you look down so you keep your eyes closed.

He wetly kisses your length and slows down the speed of his hand. You finally look down at him, your mouth opening before you snap it shut and inhale sharply, pressing your head back into the pillow. "Hyungie~" He purrs quietly, kissing your pelvis then your hip. You look down again and see him humping the couch. You switch your phone to your other hand, reaching to the floor to grab the other pillow you moved and give it to him. He moves instantly, removing your sweats so you can give him even more room by moving your right leg off the couch as he shoves the pillow between his legs and lays back down, left hand taking its place on your thigh and right holding your cock at the base before he takes you whole again, gagging for a second before relaxing and starting where he left off.

His fingers dig into your thigh as he whimpers around your dick. He wants more but you're still on your stupid call so he whines as he settles with the clear comprise you decided and grinds into the pillow hard, shifting around until he moans around your length again when the pillow settles perfectly against his aching erection still confined in his sweats. Every hump against the pillow sends shocks to his core and makes him moan around you even more.

His humping, his mouth, his tongue, and the adorable moans and whimpers he lets out finally get to you and you snap.

He looks up when you groan, pulling off your cock when he hears your phone meet the coffee table and barely has time to process before you're firmly kissing him, biting his lip harshly and aggressively lick into his mouth, pulling away with a more audible slick click before carefully manhandling him to bend over off the couch. His top half directed towards the floor with his knees on the couch, his ass presented for you as he leans onto his arms.

You pull down his sweats, collecting some of the spit from your length and coating your fingers before pressing your finger against his rim and slowly pushing in. He gasps, moving his knees further out slightly and picking himself up to place his hands on the floor.

Pulling your finger out and inserting two, you pull breathy moans from him as he moves back to his elbows, incredibly grateful that the couch isn't too tall. "Hyung, please~" You pull your fingers out, kneeling between his knees and pressing your tip against his rim and pushing in slowly but fast enough to pull an elongated, load moan out of Hyunjin. He would've lived with the pillow, has cum from just sucking you off before, but you hit all the right spots perfectly, pulling breathy whines out of him as he can feel every pulse and twitch as you stretch him out. His own cock, heavy between his thighs, twitches and leaks pre-cum.

You start a quick pace, pulling high pitched 'ha~'s out of him with every thrust you push into his tight hole. Your right hand grips his hip as your left rests on his lower back, following his arch until you can't reach anymore. His shirt has slid to his shoulders, exposing his smooth back that you can't help but scratch, needing to mark the smooth canvas that is the beauty that is all yours.

His small 'Ha's turn into your name, practically every other thrust is a small gasp followed by a whiny call of your name. You love how broken he gets under you, so whiny and reduced to only moaning your name and cuss words until you fuck him so good he can only moan your name.

"M- M- M-" He gasps and you smile, he can't seem to even get your name out. "Do you feel good, Ma Belle? Too fucked out all you can do is make those beautiful noises?" "Ca- C- Ca-Call- Ha~ Fuuuuck-ing sh-shit AH!" Your right hand moves off his hip and smacks his ass. "I-I hung up." You groan. "Th-They c-can finish without me." You thrust into him hard, pausing at the hilt and he squeals as he practically feels you in his throat, he feels so good, you make him feels so good and fuzzy.

You pull back and fuck into him at your previously quick pace, your right hand gripping his ass cheek and your left scratching down his back before moving to grip his hip. He clenched around you, panting heavily as he moves up onto his hands then back to his arms. He squirms the best he can in the position, can't decide between his arms or hands. "Shh, it's okay, Mon Prince, it's okay. Gonna cum soon? Gonna make a mess on the floor?" He settled back on his arms when your hand slowly slides up his back.

"Y- M'y- M'yeah, ye- p-please~ G'cum~" "Cum for me, Mon Petit Artiste." "Fuck, Fuck, M-Mn~ Ah, Mn! Hngh~ Ah~ Shit~!!" His back arches up as he tries to lean into the pleasure of his release, hip jerking as he spurts onto the floor and a little onto the couch, his cock twitching as you hit his prostate and he trembles as he pants heavily, attempting to take deep breaths but they're slow and stuttery as he whines.

"F-Fuck, Fuck, inside?" He whimpers as he nods his head against the rug. "Shit, Hyun~ Ah~" You push all the way into him, holding his ass against your pelvis as you cum inside him, groaning low and deep as your grip becomes practically bruising on his hips. You thrust into him hard as you cum, holding for a moment and shallowly thrust hard into him again before pausing at the hilt and letting your high wash over you.

"M-Mn~" Hyunjin whines, slowly moving onto his hands and finally looking back at you and you notice he had been crying. Panting, you gently rub his hips and rub his ass with both hands. "Aw, My little crybaby~" You purr softy and let go of his ass, moving your left hand to his hip and go to pull out but he gasps out a whimper. "N-No, not yet..." You sigh, right arm moving around his side to his front and placing your hand on his left collar bone and asking him to push himself off the floor.

It works, surprisingly. Your hand and arm on his chest hold him up as you pull him back and his hands reach back until he can feel your waist. You grunt as you shift and sigh. "Ma Belle, I don't want to hurt you. Can I pull out until we're lying down?" He whines, but pouts and drops his head after nodding.

You slowly pull out and can tell he's trying to hold your cum in. You're quick to help him move off his knees so he doesn't fall and you lay the both of you down to your right and pull him close, reentering him with a groan that blends with Hyunjin's moan. He relaxes into your arms, clenching around your length when you shifted slightly to grab the blanket on the back of the couch.

Hyunjin is dozing in and out of sleep and you had to carefully slip off your shirt and toss it onto Hyunjin's mess on the floor, hopefully you'll remember to clean it up.

You slowly begin to drift off to sleep when footsteps can be heard making their way to where they are. You suddenly think 'Maybe if I lay still, he won't see me' which backfired when Changbin walked in and paused, staring at the two of you on the couch to get a closer look. Pants and shirt on the floor, you and Hyunjin under a blanket, faces still flushed pink but your blush darkens the longer you watch Changbin.

"You should double check if anyone is home first." Changbin says with an awkward smile. "I was on a call, he started it. I'm sorry." "It's okay. Just...always double check. Are you..." He gestures to you then Hyunjin then the blanket. "Yeah." "You sleep, I can help clean." He reaches for the shirt and you stop him. "Ah, Ah, wait, I-I can get the shirt." He picked up the sweats and reached for the shirt even with your protest. "Mn, you don't know how many times I've already had to clean up his messes, do you?" "Wait, that's not-" He picked up the shirt that was cover in cum and a lot was still on the floor.

"Oh." "Sorry." "Well, I didn't listen." He proceeded to use the shirt to wipe up the rest of his band mates cum and you feel incredibly embarrassed. "I'm really sorry." "It's fine." He smiles genuinely, carefully wrapping the shirt in the sweats. "I can bring more clothes too." "Actually, that'd be helpful." "Are yours with his?" "Mine are in the suitcase in the corner." "Cool." He walks away with the soiled clothes and you call out another apology. "I'm sorry, Binnie! And thank you!" "No problem and you're welcome!!"

You wrap your arms around Hyunjin and bury your burning face into his shoulder and fall asleep.

When you woke up, you've slipped out of Hyunjin and he's now curled up against your chest and tucked under your chin with both your arms wrapped around him. You stir, opening your eyes to look down at Hyunjin sleeping then look around. You fix the blanket that's exposed part of his ass and look at the end of the couch to see clothes for the both of you.

You sigh, remembering that Changbin was in his room that entire time but it doesn't feel as awkward as you thought it would feel when Changbin eventually walked in or heard you and Hyunjin accidentally.

Looking back down at Hyunjin, you kiss his temple and tighten your hold around him, deciding to go back to sleep for a little longer.

I just love that after I post, I go to edit it and then come up with things to add to it after people have already read it. 🤦🏼

[fatfuckingcatstuff]

Babe.

Babe i need platonic reader with the mercs

Them reacting/helping reader get out of sh (Ignor if it makes you uncomfortable)

I just need some motivation to stop burning myself

Pick you fav mercs and maybe gn reader so more folks can enjoy

Luv your work btw <3

Of course you can! And I hope your recovery journey goes well! Sorry it this isn't exactly what you had hoped for but either way I hope you enjoy it.

Medic

- Medic is proud of you for seeking help. He noticed the bandages and, with genuine concern, asked if you wanted to talk. He knows how important it is to have someone listen.

- In his office, he listens without judgment as you open up about your struggles. Medic then suggests regular check-ins, encouraging you to reach out whenever you feel overwhelmed. "You are stronger than you realize, mein freund . There are other ways to cope like harming someone else other than yourself! Remember, my door is always open."

"Oh okay wow thanks medic."

"no worries mein freund :)"

- He offers resources like books on mental health and teaches you stress relief techniques. Medic even shares some basic medical knowledge, so you can better understand your body and how to care for it. He’s always there for you, providing unwavering support.

"Would you like me to help remove those thoughts of yours?"

"you are not going anywhere near my brain."

Spy

- Spy, ever observant, sees the subtle signs of your struggle. He'd brush it off aside during the day but find himself wanting a chat with you alone.

- He'd take you to his smoking room using this private moment to discuss serious matters. "Tell me ma fleur. What's on your mind?"

As you pour your heart out of your struggles and how you've been slowly trying to heal he listens with intent.

"Mon ami, we all have our demons. What matters is how we face them. You have the strength to overcome this, and I will be here to help you every step of the way."

- Spy keeps a watchful eye on you from a distance, ensuring you’re never alone in your vulnerable moments. He wants you to know you can always rely on him for support. Hell he'd start getting noticeably closer to you.

Demoman

- Demoman is proud of you for opening up. He brings it up casually, noticing your reluctance to show your arms. With genuine concern, he gently prods and listens.

"Aye I hear ye lassie/laddie"

- He shares his own struggles, making you feel less isolated and more understood. I feel as though he would occasionally offer a bottle or 2 of scrumpy to *help* in which you would always refuse but thank him.

- He regularly checks in on you, using humor and camaraderie to lighten your mood and make sure you’re doing alright.

"Ye know, we all got our battles. But ye don't have to fight 'em alone. Anytime ye feel down, just come find me. We'll have a laugh, aye?"

Pyro

They notice your distress through your body language and offer comfort without words. Pyro sits beside you, offering his toys and gadgets to play around with to distract your mind from the simple idea of harming yourself.

"Mmphhshs mpyymph mpthhh mthjs mppjdhh"

"Thank you pyro"

- They introduce you to creative activities like painting or building crafts, helping you channel your emotions into art. Pyro’s presence becomes a comforting constant.

- Pyro ensures you always have a safe space to retreat to, filled with comforting and familiar items to help ground you during tough times.

Sniper

- Sniper would be a little taken aback I feel. Sure he had noticed your change in behavior but he wasn't really expecting it.

- He invites you to his perch, sharing the tranquility of the outdoors. Sniper opens up about his own ways of dealing with isolation and stress, teaching you about the calming effects of nature. "It's alright, mate. Sometimes, getting out here and away from it all helps clear the mind. Whenever you need to talk or just want some company, you know where to find me."

- He takes you on walks, introducing you to nature therapy. Mundy would provide steady, reliable support, always there for late-night talks and his presence if you ever need him. He wants you to know you have someone who cares.

[im-not-drowning-you-are]

Remus “suggested” that I should do this. I personally see this as quite unprofessional.

I’m Regulus Black, if it is not obvious enough. If you call me anything else, especially my deadname, I will have Evan send Barty after you. Barty does not take transphobia nicely.

I use He/Him. If you use anything else, it’s off to Barty you go.

I am sixteen years of age, and I am a Slytherin.

I will not discuss my sexuality. It does not seem relevant.

Do not question my heritage. Nothing is wrong with it. I am, however, French. That is all I shall say.

I might occasionally use this for my poetry. If my so called “brother” interacts with my writing, I will auto-defenestrate. Do not test this. If you are not Sirius, you will likely find my poetry and ideas with #the poetry yet to be written and #the poetry of the stars

I do like to dabble with painting and many different arts from time to time. Ideas for these will most likely be under #the art yet to be done and #the art of the stars

My violin is one of my passions.

If you spell or use the wrong type of grammar, I will not hesitate to point it out.

I am not an illegal animagi. To suggest such, would be incorrect. Do not look into it.

My Acquaintances

@prongs-plural - Mon amour. Mon fiancé. Mon soleil.

@pandora-roses - She is my best friend. I do not have a lot of those, but she is one of them.

@girlinthemeadow - She is a little crazy, but I do like her.

@bat-b0y-barty - He is fine. I tolerate him more than I should. He only occasionally makes fun of me, so he’s perfectly fine.

@evans-roses - He is considerably better than Barty. Do I occasionally want to throw myself into the lake because of them both, maybe, but he is better. I murdered his relationship, though. I don’t deserve him.

@redwearingred - She is better than most, and is really nice to read literature with.

@everyhouseishaunted - He is a great person to read pieces of literature with.

@snuffles-loves-the-moon - If you see him, run. Or he will. Depends on who you are in relation to him.

@marlene-mckickin - I do not know he well enough beyond her friendship to Lily and the fact that she is dating Dorcas.

@go-lonedove-xo - He is the book man. Pandora seems to enjoy his company. I killed him.

- I do not interact with him much, so I cannot say.

@mary-mary-not-contrary - She dislikes my brother, which is always a positive.

@dumb-german-boy - He is in my brother’s so called “boy band.”

@frank-n-bottom - I barely know him.

@alice-the-fortescue - I barely know her.

@paintsandpencils - She is friend of Remus.

@euphemia-effie-potter - Mrs. Potter. She is the mother of my fiancé.

@narc1ssa-bl4ck - Je jure que si tu gâches ma vie, je vais foutre la tienne en l’air.

@bella-donna-black - Je la déteste. Je la déteste. Je la déteste.

@beetlethebards-second-coming - Elle me fait du mal. Elle me fait du mal. Elle me fait du mal.

Playlists with my friends and others are located below.

If you want to join, just ask @bralnwashed or myself (or literally anyone. Someone can get you in touch)

I do have a life, so I won’t be active 24/7

My regular account is @the1970sdeadgaywizard-regulus

I write things there

I use he/him most often, but literally anything is fine

My name is Regulus (wow, inception)

I DO NOT MEAN TO BE RUDE WHEN GRAMMAR POLICING, IT JUST MAKES SENSE

If there is anything that I end up reblogging here that makes no sense, chances are I was stupid and didn’t switch over accounts

I do not normally speak like a sickly Victorian child. These few sentences, however, do seem to prove otherwise. That could quite possibly just be an issue that only occurs to me.

Do I curse? Idk. We’ll see as time passes (I do when I deem it necessary or in character)

I don’t support JKR. Also, basic stuff, if you are a jerk, you will be blocked. I don’t take hate. Constructive criticism, sure, but hate of people who have done no harm, heck no.

I do actually love the arts and play violin.

I am a Slytherin.

I use passive aggressive periods for the heck of it. It seems very Reg.

Any French that I may use will probably be translated. I will check a few times using different things, though.

[lanitaminaj]

mon coeur

a short, cute passage on frenchie comforting kimiko after her brother got uhmm murked

frenchie x kimiko

"mon coeur?"

for several days, following her brother's death, kimiko had been avoiding the boys.

usually she'd be huddled up against frenchie, her sleepy form cradled tenderly underneath his arm, her slumped shoulders draped in one of his oak-brown, cargo jackets. the fabrics often effused a scent of marlboro cigarettes and dark-roasted midnight coffee, an oddly comforting array of aromas that made kimiko feel at home.

currently, she'd been crouched underneath one of the basement's ash-wooden dining tables, her sorrowful doll-eyes trained dejectedly onto the television's colorful pictures. she drowned herself in her favorite Japanese television shows and music videos, allowing herself simple pleasures to distract her from her reality.

frenchie, similarly, had been indulging in unhealthy hobbies of his own. his nose and jaw had begun to ache from his ecstasy overindulgence; his espresso-brown eyes rolled beneath his clenched eyelids.

he’d been in a daze of his own, yet his mind miraculously remained focus on one thing.

“mon ange,” the european man slurred, his knees crouched as he bent underneath the dining table. his little angel looked so crestfallen; her doe-eyes were bagged, a plump crescent-shaped fatness developed underneath them. her cheeks had been coated an apricot red, a sight so delicious it forced frenchie to restrain himself from taking a bite.

“look at me, mon ange,” he pleaded. “ma douce biche. regardez-moi.”

his sweet words called her to obey; her soft eyes melted frenchie’s cocaine-pumping heart as she looked heartbreakingly sorrow.

“oh, mon plus doux trésor,” the european cooed at his sad girl. his arms, fleecy and ash-scented, outstretched as they invited kimiko in. she subconsciously obliged, her muscles throwing her into the familiar warmth of frenchie’s mellow chest.

“that’s it,” he coaxed the weeping woman. his arms embraced her smaller, shaking form, his lips curling upwards as he felt the occasional hiccuping coming from his girl’s lips. “i’m here, mon coeur. papa est là.”

he rocked her tenderly, his eyes shut as he contentedly took in her smell. she smelled just like him, but with an added, unique kimiko-musk to her.

frenchie could feel his girl's labored breathing, the steady rise-and-fall of her chest and shoulders against his own enticed a little smile on the european's lips. kimiko's lips were parted against the fabric of frenchie's shirt, a blob of spit puddled onto it as soft snores exited her mouth.

"si somnolent, non?" frenchie cooed. he tucked his left arm underneath kimiko's legs, his own legs carried them to the couch that rested near the center of the room. he draped the woman's sleepy form against his thighs, his arms cradling her as he hummed sweetly to her.

"nothing's going to hurt you now, mon coeur," frenchie whispered, his brown eyes glittering with love and unshaken adoration. "je vous le promets."

[pmak2002]

You were silent as you drove though New York. The only sound in the car was Timothee anxiously talking on the phone in French. Probably to his sister or Dad. His grandma had passed and you guys were heading to his parents house to have a shiva for his grandma.

Listening to him talk in French was normally mesmerizing and wonderful to listen too. Now he sounded anxious and sad.

By the time you got to his parents apartment he had hung up and looked at you exhaustion written all over his pale face.

“It’ll be alright my love.”

As soon as you two enter. Timothee runs right to his mother sobbing.

You greet Pauline and Marc.

“c'était un service charmant.” You say in your not so great French.

They nod and embrace you.

“nous serions venus plus tôt mais Timothée a vomi dès notre sortie du bâtiment.” You explain.

Marc frowns

“It’s quite alright Y/N” Pauline says. You glanced at Timothee. Still wrapped up in his mother’s arms.

“Oh my love you’re crushing her.” You rush over to pull him away.

“Mama.” He whines.

“I’m alright Timmy.” His mom assures him.

Timothee coughs and whimpers.

Pauline can you help him to bed. I think the funeral and everything has exhausted him. We’ll stay for a few days and help with whatever. But now he needs rest.”

Timothee continues to cry and cry. Pauline helps him to the guest bedroom to help him calm down.

“Nicole I apologize for that I know this loss has been hard on you all. But I worry…”

“Darling Y/N you’ve taken care of our son and now our family. You don’t have to apologize. Don’t be sorry about Timmy.”

Marc nods “we are devastated by this loss. We can all work through it together. I am just glad you are taking care of my son.”

You nod.

“We’ve would have come sooner if Timothee hadn’t puked as soon as we left the synagogue.”

Nicole frowned and shook her head.

“It’s quite alright. Besides no one stayed Long and we all need to rest and figure out things.”

You nod you can hear Pauline saying something to Timothee in French and despite your French lessons from Timothee and occasionally his father. You can barely make out what she’s saying to him.

You help Tim’s parents clean up from the celebration of life for Enid. While Pauline helps Timothee calm down. Eventually his crying lessens and Pauline emerges from the guest bedroom.

“Is he alright?” You question.

Pauline nods

“He finally fell asleep. You’re right he is exhausted.”

“He’s been filming things and now all this. I’m not surprised. Poor guy needs sleep.” You say.

“Has he been struggling to sleep?” His mom asks.

“He had dark circles under his eyes. When he rushed in here.” Says his father.

“He’s been all over and sometimes he wouldn’t sleep well. Worrying about work and stuff. It was improving for a while but I think this started it all up again. I don’t know how much help he’ll be.”

His parents nod and later that evening Timothee doesn’t come out to eat dinner.

You bring him a small plate of food to eat. After you’ve eaten. You find him scrolling through his phone.

“s'il te plaît, mange un petit quelque chose mon amour” you say gently as you enter the guest room.

“laisse-moi à mon chagrin et à ma souffrance” he responds

You shake your head and place the plate on the nightstand.

“I know it hurts bubba and I’m sorry.” You say before leaving him to be alone for a few more minutes until you will join him for bedtime.

Grief is exhausting and you know it’ll take a toll on all of you. It hurts to see Timothee so heartbroken and sad.

Later that night

Timothee wakes up sick every few hours. You’re up with him each time. He’s a complete mess and can’t seem to settle. At one point his mom comes in to try to help. You hated when Timothee got anxious and couldn’t sleep. He seemed far away, distant.

Eventually he falls asleep with his head in his mom’s lap. His mom gently running a hand through his curls.

“I’m sorry Nicole. I didn’t mean for him to wake you.”

“Y/N please it’s alright. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be alright. We’ll be ok. We’ll get through this.” Nicole gently massages Timothee’s scalp as he sleeps In her lap.

“Grief is hard but we’ll be ok we have each other.” Nicole says.

You nod and move closer to her. Watching Timothee sleep finally.

Nicole smiles warmly at you.

“You need rest too you know.” She says

“Oh I’m alright I slept on the flight here. I’m worried about him and you.” You gesture to Timothee.

“He’ll sleep now don’t worry. You need sleep as much as the rest of us.” She said

“You sound like my mother when I work too much.” You chuckle.

“I’m a mother and your mother in law. Of course I’d worry about you too.”

“Just rest Y/N I’ll take care of him if he wakes again.” She says

“Are you sure?” You ask.

She nods “stop worrying about him. He’s ok now.”

You nod and curl up next to Timothee and you realize just how tired you really are. Within minutes you are asleep.

A/N l came up with this idea after thinking about the loss of my grandpa and when I learned about Timothee losing his grandma in March 2022 I came up with this. So yea

[marsbar17]

Do you have any love for Darksparks and/or Lobalore?/gen

I HAVE SO MUCH LOVE FOR DARKSPARKS HERE YOU GO BESTIE

Thank you for requesting btw!

Contains: NSFW further below, nothing too bad tho

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

《SFW》

• You'd think that Wraith would be the jealous and protective one in the relationship but Wattson will subject you to hell for eternity if you wrong her girlfriend

• Wraith is completely infatuated with Wattson, she studies her features and loves tracing her Lichtenberg scar

• Wattson's only insecurity is the scar, but seeing Wraith trace it or place kisses along it makes her feel better about it

• Wraith is big spoon because she needs to cuddle smth to fall asleep

• Wattson plays with Wraith's hair to calm her down when times are hard

• Wattson will call Wraith mon amour, ma chérie, and mon ange

• Wriath will call Wattson dear, hun, small things like that, and around others she just calls her Natalie

• Wraith isn't one for pda, she lets Wattson kiss her cheeks or hold her hand but she won't go out of her way to be affectionate with her girlfriend when others are around

• Wattson is fine with that^^^ she knows it's not because Wraith is embarrassed of her or anything, it's just not something she does

• They read books together and quote lines that are interesting, and Wattson will accidentally blurt out spoilers before Wraith can get to that part, but Wraith doesn't mind

• "Renée.... (insert character here) just died..."

"....I haven't gotten to that part yet hun."

"OH, DÉSOLÉE MON CHÉRIE."

"Thats okay Nat <3"

• Their relationship is so healthy they don't even know the meaning of the word toxic

《NSFW》

• They're both switches, but Wattson tops more often

• SHHSHSGHS I KNOW THATS AN UNPOPULAR OPINION BUT HAVE YOU SEEN WATTSON??? SHE DEFINITELY OWNS AT LEAST 3 STRAPS

• Plus this woman gets satisfaction and joy from electric shocking her enemies, she would love to find all the spots that make Wraith squirm

• Wattson is probably the type of person who doesn't need to cum to get satisfaction from sex, probably doesn't even need to be touched, as long as she's making her partner cum enough for both of them

• But she's gentle with it, always making sure that Wraith is okay and enjoying herself

• Wraith is absolutely loving it, and by the end she's so relaxed you'd think she just took 10 melatonin gummies like she's ready to sleep for a whole year

• There's always blankets and pillows and candles when they have sex, and Wattson is always ready to scoop Wraith up and hold her close if she doesn't want anymore

• I can't even think of anything super kinky they'd do man, this ship is just the most wholesome things and they just take care of eachother

• That gave me an idea tho, mommy kink

• Wraith occasionally calls Wattson mommy, but not because she's told to, it just feels right and then she cries

• OKAY IM DONE

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I hope you liked it! I might do some Lobalore later too. Have a good day all you wonderful people!

[urdreamydoodles]

Remy LeBeau (Gambit) x Fem!Reader (Smut)

Remy checking you out (Smut)

You and Remy LeBeau enjoy a flirtatious night in New Orleans, filled with playful banter and undeniable chemistry. As the night progresses, the tension between you both reaches its peak, leading to an intimate and passionate encounter.

Warning: public sex, oral sex fem!receiving & fingering

The early evening sun bathed New Orleans in a soft, golden light, casting long shadows across the cobblestone streets as the city began to transition into night. You could hear the distant sounds of jazz filtering through the air, the lively hum of conversation, and the occasional burst of laughter from nearby cafés and bars. It was the perfect night for what you had planned—meeting Remy LeBeau for a date.

Remy was late, of course. But you were used to that by now. He never seemed to be in much of a rush, always moving with that signature lazy confidence that made him impossible to stay mad at. And even now, as you waited, you found yourself smiling, the anticipation of seeing him again fluttering in your stomach.

Tonight was special. You had picked out an outfit that you knew would catch his attention, something that hugged your curves in all the right places and emphasized your natural beauty. You knew Remy would appreciate it—he always did. But tonight, you wanted to leave him speechless. You had spent more time than usual on your hair, your makeup, and everything else, wanting to see the look in his eyes when he saw you.

As you waited on the corner of a quiet street, your fingers fidgeting with the strap of your purse, you heard the sound of footsteps approaching from behind. Instinctively, you turned, and there he was—Remy LeBeau, the infamous Gambit, strolling toward you with that same lazy grin that could melt hearts from across a room. His long coat billowed slightly in the evening breeze, and his hair, tousled and wild as always, fell into his face, giving him an effortlessly roguish look.

“Chère,” he drawled as he got closer, his voice dripping with that familiar Cajun accent, “ain’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

You felt a surge of warmth rush through you at his words, but it wasn’t just what he said—it was how he was looking at you.

Remy’s red-on-black eyes raked over your entire outfit the moment he laid eyes on you, starting from your heels and moving slowly, deliberately upward. You could feel the heat of his gaze as if it were a physical touch, his eyes taking in every detail of your outfit with unspoken admiration. He didn’t try to hide it, either. Remy had never been shy about letting you know exactly what he thought, and tonight was no exception.

His gaze lingered on your legs for just a moment longer than necessary before moving up to your hips, his eyes narrowing slightly as if appreciating the way the fabric of your outfit clung to you in all the right places. You felt a blush creep up your neck, but you didn’t look away. Instead, you watched him watching you, the tension between you building with every second that passed.

When his eyes finally met yours again, there was a spark of something darker, something more intense, behind his usual playful smirk. “Mon Dieu,” he murmured, stepping closer, his voice a little rougher now, “if I’da known you’d be lookin’ dis good, I’da shown up early.”

You laughed softly, though your heart was pounding in your chest. “Late as usual,” you teased, your voice light but filled with affection. “I was starting to think you forgot.”

He smirked, his eyes never leaving yours as he stepped even closer, the scent of him—cigarettes and something darker, like leather and spice—filling the space between you. “Forget a face like yours? Non, ma belle. I been thinkin’ ‘bout nothin’ else all day.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, and you found yourself instinctively stepping back, your back pressing against the wall of the building behind you. Remy followed, his tall frame towering over you as he placed one hand on the wall beside your head, effectively trapping you between him and the wall. But you didn’t mind. In fact, the way his body was so close to yours, the way his gaze never wavered from your eyes, only made your pulse quicken.

“You lookin’ too fine t’night, chère,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with that teasing edge you knew so well. “Can’t blame a man for wantin’ t’take his time, no?”

You swallowed, your throat suddenly dry as his gaze flickered down to your lips, his own lips curling into a wicked smile. He was enjoying this—enjoying the effect he had on you, the way your breath hitched when he got too close, the way your heart seemed to race whenever he looked at you like this.

“Remy…” you began, your voice barely above a whisper.

He raised an eyebrow, his hand still resting on the wall beside your head, his other hand now reaching out to brush a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered against your skin, the touch sending another shiver through you. “Oui, ma chère?” he asked, his voice teasing but with a rough edge to it that sent your heart racing.

You tried to keep your voice steady, but it was hard when he was looking at you like that—like he wanted to devour you whole. “We’re supposed to be going to dinner,” you reminded him, though the words came out weaker than you intended.

He chuckled softly, his breath warm against your skin. ���Dinner can wait,” he murmured, leaning in just a little closer, his lips dangerously close to yours. “I’d rather enjoy de view right here.”

Your breath caught in your throat as his hand slid from your ear down to your neck, his thumb brushing lightly against your pulse point. You were sure he could feel how fast your heart was beating, how your entire body seemed to be reacting to his every touch, his every word.

For a moment, neither of you moved, the world around you fading into nothing as the tension between you crackled like electricity. Remy’s eyes were half-lidded, his gaze heavy as he looked down at you, his lips barely an inch from yours. You could feel the heat radiating off him, the closeness of his body making it difficult to think straight. Your whole world had narrowed to this one moment, this one person. He was all that mattered.

You weren’t sure what would have happened next if someone hadn’t coughed loudly from behind him.

Remy turned his head, glancing over his shoulder with an annoyed expression, though it only lasted a moment before softening into a smirk. “My apologies,” he drawled with a chuckle, glancing back at you, “looks like we got us an audience.”

You peeked around his body to see an older man and woman standing a little ways down the street, both of them eyeing Remy suspiciously. The older man had his arm around the woman’s shoulders, and they both looked like they were trying to get somewhere. But it was clear that they didn’t want to get any closer as long as Remy was in their way.

Remy watched them for a moment before turning back to you. He had a mischievous look in his eye, his grin curling up at one corner. “Guess we better get outta here, no?” he murmured.

Without waiting for your response, he reached down, sliding a hand behind your knees before scooping you up into his arms. You yelped in surprise, wrapping your arms around his neck to keep yourself steady. And then he was walking, moving down the alley toward the next street.

But he didn’t stop at the end of the alley. Instead, he kept moving, bringing you further and further into the deserted alleyway.

“Remy, what are you doing?” you asked, your brow furrowing with confusion.

He didn’t answer right away, his gaze flickering around the alley, looking for something. After a minute or so, he found what he was looking for—another side alley, this one completely deserted and lined with tall walls on either side, the only way out at the very end. Remy turned, striding toward it with purposeful steps.

You squirmed in his arms, looking around the deserted alley. “What’re you doing?” you demanded, frowning.

“Give me a minute, chère,” he drawled, still walking, his eyes on the path ahead. “Promise you’ll like it.”

A moment later, he stopped and set you down against the wall. And before you could open your mouth to complain, he was kissing you.

Remy knew how to kiss. He’d always known how to kiss. But this was different. There was something deeper to it, something more urgent. He pressed against you, pinning you to the wall as his lips claimed yours in a bruising kiss that left your head spinning. You clung to him, gasping as he drew back for a moment before claiming you again.

His hands skimmed up your thighs, slipping beneath your skirt with a quiet rustle of fabric. You gasped at the feeling of his calloused palms against your bare skin, but before you could catch your breath, he was moving again, his hands sliding up your back to slip beneath the waistband of your panties. He cupped your bottom in a firm grip, pulling you close as he deepened the kiss, his tongue teasing the seam of your lips.

You were breathless, dizzy from the kiss and from the feeling of him holding you so close. Your legs were trembling, your mind swimming with sensations. All you could think was "yes". Yes to whatever he wanted.

Remy seemed to sense it, his lips curling into a triumphant smirk against yours as his hands began to slide downward, slipping beneath the hem of your skirt once more. He broke the kiss, trailing his mouth along your jaw and down to the sensitive skin of your neck, the words "Mon dieu" escaping him in a low groan as his fingers brushed against the damp fabric of your panties.

“Remy,” you gasped, your hands clutching at his shoulders, “Remy, wait—”

“I ain’t waitin’ no more, ma belle,” he murmured against your skin, his fingers slipping beneath the fabric of your panties to tease lightly at your entrance. You gasped again, your head falling back against the wall.

“You’re so wet,” he whispered, his breath hot against your skin. “Like you been waitin’ all day for this.”

You swallowed, a whimper escaping you. “I have,” you admitted.

He groaned softly, the sound sending a shiver through you. And then his mouth was on you, his teeth scraping against your skin as he dragged his lips down to your chest, pausing only to claim one of your nipples through the thin fabric of your top.

You gasped at the sensation, your whole body trembling with need. And Remy seemed to know exactly what you needed, his touch becoming more insistent, his teeth biting lightly at your nipple through the fabric before his hands moved downward, his fingers teasing at your entrance before sliding in to the hilt.

You moaned, your body bucking against his hand as he began to pump in and out of you in a slow, torturous pace that sent waves of pleasure coursing through you. You could hear your own ragged breathing echoing in the deserted alley, feel your heart pounding in your chest.

Remy broke away from your chest with a soft groan, his red-on-black eyes flashing up to yours as his fingers continued to work you. “God, chère, you look so fuckin’ good,” he murmured huskily, “you like this? You like when I finger you like this?”

“Mmhm,” you whimpered, your head falling back again, your eyes fluttering closed. “Feels so good.”

He chuckled low in his throat, his hand slowing as if savoring the way your muscles clenched around his fingers. “You feel so good, baby,” he muttered, his voice low, “so good…God, I could stay here all night.”

It wasn’t what he said that got your attention, however. It was what he did next.

With one smooth movement, he dropped to his knees, his hands withdrawing from your panties before reaching up to hike your skirt upward. His eyes were half-lidded as he looked up at you, his gaze heated. “Don’t wanna rush things, chère,” he muttered. “Want to enjoy it.”

And then he was leaning in, his lips brushing against your inner thigh.

You gasped, your eyes flying open as his breath washed over you, the sound of your own panting echoing off the alley walls. Remy’s mouth felt hot against you, his lips moving in gentle, teasing kisses against your inner thighs as his fingers moved back to your panties, easing them down to mid-thigh before grasping one of your legs to drape over his shoulder. You could feel your cheeks flush, the feeling of being exposed so completely sending a thrill through you.

Remy glanced up at you, his red eyes flashing with something dark. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured. “I love lookin’ at you. Can’t wait t’taste you.”

His mouth was on you again before you could even register his words, his lips brushing lightly at your clit before his tongue came out to swipe at it in a featherlight touch.

You cried out, your whole body shuddering as his mouth began to move against you in slow, deliberate strokes. It was like nothing you’d ever experienced. Remy’s tongue was wickedly talented, the way it danced against your clit and the rest of you sending shockwaves of pleasure through your entire body.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, holding him close as your body began to tremble. He groaned softly against you, his mouth moving faster, his tongue circling against your clit before beginning to flick rapidly back and forth. The feeling was exquisite, a feeling like you were on the very edge of something incredible.

“Remy—oh god, Remy, I’m going to cum,” you gasped.

His mouth never stopped, his tongue still working magic against you as one of his hands slipped back beneath your panties, his fingers beginning to thrust inside you in time with his tongue. You cried out, your nails digging into his scalp as your entire body began to shake, pleasure coursing through every cell in your body. You came hard, gasping his name over and over again as you shuddered against him, his tongue never stopping as he brought you to the very edge and then pushed you over.

You were still trembling when he finally pulled back, his red eyes burning with something dark as he leaned in to kiss your thigh again. He stayed there for a moment, his face pressed against your inner thigh as you caught your breath, your mind still reeling from the orgasm that had just rocked your entire world.

When he finally stood, it was with an unholy grin on his lips. “Mm,” he murmured huskily as he pulled your panties back up, his fingers trailing up over your bare thigh to the hem of your skirt, “I knew you’d taste like heaven.”

You blushed, unable to stop it, though his words sent another shiver of pleasure through you. It wasn’t often that Remy got serious with you. Most of the time, he treated you like you were both kids, teasing you mercilessly and treating everything like a big joke.

But in this moment, he didn’t look like he was joking. In this moment, the look in his eyes was dark, his face closer to yours than it had been in a long time. You could see every fleck of color in his eyes, every eyelash, every line on his face. And when his mouth brushed against yours in a soft kiss, you could taste yourself on his tongue.

“You’re incredible,” he murmured, breaking the kiss. “Mon dieu, you’re incredible.”

You swallowed, feeling another blush rise up your cheeks. “So are you,” you murmured back.

His smile faltered for just a moment, something darker flashing behind his eyes. But then he smirked again, leaning in to kiss the tip of your nose. “Dinnae frett, chère. I ain’t never gonna forget dis night.” And with that, he stepped back, offering his arm. “Shall we go t’dinner?”

You blinked, your mind still half-dazed from everything that had happened. But as you took his arm and let him lead you from the alley, you realized that it didn’t matter. As long as you were with him, anything was possible. Anything at all. And right now, that was all that mattered. The world could wait. The only thing you wanted was more of this, more of him, more of the way he made you feel. And you knew he could deliver, every time, without fail. He always did. He always would. And as he led you out of the alley and back into the bustling streets of New Orleans, you knew that this night wouldn’t be one you’d ever forget, either. Not in a million years. Not with Remy LeBeau on your arm.

[capitainerowen]

LECTURES DE 2024 : Sherlock Holmes, tome 2: Le signe des quatre - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

Lecture terminée le 30 décembre 2024 (117/110)

154 pages lues

"He can find something," remarked Holmes, shrugging his shoulders; "he has occasional glimmerings of reasons. Il n'y a pas des sots si incommodes que ceux qui ont de l'esprit?"

Ma dernière lecture de l'année a été le deuxième tome de la saga Sherlock Holmes, Le signe des 4 écrite par Sir Arthur Conan Doyle ! Je l'ai lu en anglais, comme toute cette collection est dans cette langue-là. J'arrête ici pour le moment et j'y reviendrai plus tard pour lire la suite!

Oui, j'ai réutilisé la même photo pour cette partie-ci de ma lecture vu qu'il s'agit du même livre

Résumé: Sherlock Holmes et John Watson se retrouvent à enquêter sur une affaire des plus étranges. En effet, ils reçoivent un jour la visite de Mary Morstan, une jeune femme recevant une perle chaque année depuis la disparition de son père, et qui vient de recevoir une lettre lui demandant de se rendre dans un lieu mystérieux. L'accompagnant, les deux amis se retrouvent mêlés à une affaire d'héritages et de meurtres mystérieux.

CW/TW : meurtres, stéréotypes racistes, clichés racistes, racisme d'époque, misogynie, torture (mention), etc...

Je n'ai pas grand-chose à dire de ce tome, en vrai. Autant je comprends et respecte les raisons qui ont poussé le meurtrier du premier tome, autant je n'en ai eu RIEN A FAIRE de celles du meurtrier de ce tome-ci, ahah :')

L'histoire était un peu intéressante, en vrai! Mary a l'air d'être un personnage avec pas mal de potentiel, sensible mais courageuse, et je me demande si on la reverra! :) Et j'ai aimé aussi, voir des petits fragments de la relation qu'entretiennent Sherlock Holmes et John Watson. On voit que leur amitié est plus forte que dans le premier tome, ils sont plus attachés l'un à l'autre et forment un vrai bon duo! Puis, le fait que Sherlock berce John en jouant du violon, c'est un peu attendrissant. Il connaît ses goûts musicaux, sait ce qui lui plaira et l'aidera à trouver le sommeil, ça montre qu'ils sont devenus proches avec l'année qui s'est écoulée entre les deux tomes!

En revanche, j'avoue ne pas trop me rappeler de l'enquête en elle-même, c'était un peu flou. C'est probablement parce que je lis en anglais, et que c'est d'autant plus compliqué là qu'il s'agit d'anglais soutenu, mais oui, j'ai pas réussi à accrocher à tout. Et bon, j'aime bien retenir ce que je préfère, alors j'ai plus retenu les histoires secondaires que l'enquête qui était le sujet principal. J'ai vaguement retenu quelques informations, mais voilà, pas tout :') C'est peut-être ce qui a joué aussi dans mon (manque d') appréciation des motivations du criminel de ce tome.

Enfin, de manière générale, c'était une chouette lecture! Je pense que c'est vraiment mieux pour moi de lire chaque histoire de façon séparée!

Et c'est ainsi que se conclue mon année 2024! Dans les prochains jours, vous aurez mon top 10 de mes lectures préférées pour cette année, je l'ai déjà commencé.

Bonne année 2025 à vous! J'ai très hâte de vous parler de toutes mes lectures pour cette année-ci aussi!