I noticed i did not have a clear intro post and as i am gaining new followers (welcome welcome and thank you 💓)
My name is Juu and i mainly do fanarts for the SxF fandom (you can go through my Franky madness on this blog for years if you are brave enough) and for the pokemon one (if you are a new follower you are probably here for the Corbeau guy 🐦⬛✨)
I am a profesional illustrator but i usually dont mix everything so i have another pen name for anything related to my business. I am a french native but i mainly interact in english, as wonky it could be !
My other socials :
🦋Bluesky : juuyeah.bsky.social
☕️ Ko-Fi : ko-fi.com/juuyeah
🥖 Poipiku : poipiku.com/12750885
If you enjoy my work, you can leave a tip on my Ko-Fi page, but all my work will remain free to enjoy for everyone. Of course i don’t allow any repost/AI training on my work ! But please don’t feel shy to reblog ! My ask box is open for now but if your ask makes me feel uncomfy i will just not answer it.
Just popping in to say I love love LOVE how you draw Lysandre and L, they're so underappreciated in this fandom and oughhh you draw them so handsome 😭🥴🥰 thank you for the foodddd
Hello dear anon !
Thank you so much for reaching me ! I have the feeling that Lysandre has many fans but indeed L is underrepresented.
It's also a way to feed me to draw him and fortunately i have moots who write lovely fics with him 💖
I am leaving in 10 days for Japan to spend some holidays with my dear friend, a fellow sxf and Franky fan ! We've met thank to Franky on Twitter years ago and he always welcomes me when i manage to get there. And this year we managed to plan a trip together to the south of the country !
It's also the opportunity for me to offer him sxf stuff and exclusive merch 😊
I have closed comms as i have a lot of work to finish before leaving, but i ll try posting updates here if i find cool sxf stuff 😌
Word Count: ~1,300
Characters: L and Corbeau
Summary: Kissing your partner as you go to feed them a bite of whatever it is you're eating, but kissing them instead.
I rewatched a video reel of this and thought it was a cute idea
L
The small kitchen in your Hotel Z suite was aglow with warmth, the lamplight softening the edges of the city that sprawled outside. The thick, savory scent of stew—a rich tangle of herbs, root vegetables, and tender meat—swirled in the air, promising comfort after a long day. You stirred the pot with practiced ease, checking for the perfect simmer, tasting, adjusting, and humming softly to yourself as rain began to tap at the window.
The door opened with a muted click, and L stepped in, the city’s cool air clinging to him. He looked a little windswept, white hair tousled, the orange streaks catching the light as he shrugged out of his jacket. His worn clothes, with his patched elbows and red-stitched knees, spoke of a man who carried the world with him wherever he went. But when he saw you, something subtle in his posture relaxed, his single bright eye softening.
You glanced over your shoulder, spoon in hand. “Why don’t you go wash up. Dinner’s almost ready.” The words were gentle, familiar, the easy cadence of a couple who’d carved out a haven together.
He nodded, disappearing into the bathroom, and you took the moment to admire him—how even exhaustion seemed dignified on him, how every line in his face told stories you’d never tire of hearing. An impish spark flickered in your chest; you hid a smile, plotting.
He returned a few minutes later, hands and face scrubbed clean, hair damp from the sink, that faint, steady smile on his lips. He hovered at your side, watching you work, and you caught him stealing a glance at the pot.
You gave the stew another stir, then dipped the spoon, blowing on it to cool the bite. “It’ll be a few more minutes,” you said, trying to sound casual as you turned to him, spoon poised between you. “But would you like a taste?”
He nodded, a touch of boyish eagerness creeping into his gaze. He never turned down your cooking, not after so many solitary meals on the road. He leaned down, lips parting, about to accept the bite—and you whipped the spoon away at the last second, closing the distance with a swift, playful kiss. Just a press of your lips, quick and sweet, catching him off guard. You lingered a heartbeat, then leaned back to take in his reaction.
L blinked, surprise flaring in his eye, but the amusement that curled his mouth was unmistakable. “I see you’re serving mischief tonight,” he murmured, voice low and warm, a huff of laughter escaping him.
You grinned, offering the spoon again, this time for real. “I’m sorry, I couldn't resist. Here.”
He took it, savoring the bite, the corners of his mouth turning up in genuine appreciation. “It’s wonderful,” he said simply, the compliment soft but earnest, as if he were tasting comfort itself.
You turned back to the pot, reaching for the ladle, but before you could take another step, L caught you by the waist, spinning you gently to face him before capturing your lips with his, tasting faintly of the stew. His hands were sure and grounding as he lingered, letting the kiss warm and build, his thumb stroking your cheek, his body pressing close as if to remind you that he was here, whole and real and yours.
When he finally pulled back, his eye shone with quiet mischief, his lips curled in that rare, unguarded smile. “I think I prefer my meals with a side of you,” he whispered, voice rough with affection.
You laughed, the sound bright and free in the cozy kitchen, your heart light as he drew you in for another kiss.
Corbeau
The two of you sat at a little table by the window, the city’s neon and dusk bleeding together on the glass. Your bowl of pecha berry ice cream was a swirl of soft pink, already melting at the edges, while Corbeau’s bluk berry scoop gleamed a deep, mysterious blue—almost black—against the cream porcelain. You watched him, half-distracted, half-intrigued, as he methodically carved perfect bites, savoring each one with the same measured deliberation he brought to every move in the battle royale.
He caught you staring, his gaze flicking over the rim of his glasses, expression unreadable. “Is there something wrong with my ice cream?” he asked, tone deadpan but edged with a dry amusement. His yellow eyes flicked from your face to his cup and back again, as if daring you to voice a complaint.
You shook your head, a little too quickly. “No, not at all. You just… always seem to pick bluk berry every time we come here.” You tried for a casual shrug, but there was no hiding your curiosity
Corbeau leveled you with a sidelong look, as if weighing your words for hidden meaning. “Is there a problem with consistency?” he asked, arching a sharp brow. “Or do you find my taste in ice cream somehow offensive?” His tone was dry, the ghost of a smirk threatening the corner of his mouth.
You huffed, laughing despite yourself. “No, I just—don’t you ever want to try something else?”
He considered this, stirring his spoon through the melting blue cream, posture loose but elegant. “I enjoy what I enjoy,” he said, as if reciting a simple truth. “Do I need a reason to prefer what pleases me?” The question was rhetorical, but it left you smiling, returning your attention to your own dessert, the soft pink beginning to drip down the side of the cup.
You scooped another bite of your own ice cream, letting the tart sweetness coat your tongue. “Fair enough,” you said, attention drifting back to the melting pink in your bowl. “I suppose if you like something, you stick with it.” When you looked up again, Corbeau was holding out his spoon, a neat curl of bluk berry ice cream poised at the tip. The color was almost hypnotic, rich as midnight.
“Would you like to try?” he asked, his expression perfectly neutral, but his yellow eyes sharp with intent.
You hesitated only a heartbeat, eyes flicking from the spoon to his face. He waited, patient, lights glinting in his glasses. You leaned in, parting your lips to accept the bite—
But at the last instant, Corbeau smoothly withdrew the spoon, closing the space between you in a whisper. His mouth caught yours, cool and unexpected, the taste of bluk berry lingering on his tongue as he kissed you—soft at first, then a little deeper, a little more deliberate. You gasped, startled, and Corbeau deepened the kiss just for a moment, letting you taste the flavor on his tongue before he pulled back, satisfaction glinting in his gaze.
He watched your flustered, open-mouthed surprise with barely concealed delight, and then, with infuriating poise, offered the spoon again—this time slipping the bite between your lips before you could recover your composure.
You glowered at him, cheeks hot, but couldn’t hide the smile tugging at your lips as the cool, tangy bluk berry melted on your tongue. “All right,” you conceded, savoring the flavor, “it’s actually good. I might have to start ordering this more often.”
Corbeau’s eyes narrowed, the faintest hint of a smirk curving his mouth. “Oh?” His voice was languid, teasing. “And why would you need to do that?” He leaned in, his gaze unwavering. “You could always just share mine, you know.” He held your gaze, the suggestion hanging between you with deliberate intimacy, as if the offer was more than just about ice cream. His hand drifted over, brushing a faint smear of bluk berry ice cream from your lower lip, his touch slow, thumb lingering for a heartbeat.
You let your smile grow, feeling a flutter of delight at the implication—at the quiet, possessive warmth in his manner. “Maybe I will,” you replied softly, letting your hand rest beside his on the table, your fingers brushing.
Corbeau’s expression softened, the usual edge replaced by something rare and quietly content. “It’s settled, then. Next time, I’ll make sure to get an extra spoon. But don’t expect me to give up my last bite without a fight.”
You laughed, the sound low and warm, letting the city’s night press in close around you both, the taste of bluk berry and his kiss lingering.
So i haven’t had period in a time and my 1st fear was to be pregnant during a time i was not prepared for. Blood tests revealed i am not pregnant but my period had stopped for another reason and probably stress. I ll travel at the end of the month and people around me did begin to make me anxious even if it was probably not their 1st intention but hearing sentences like « no way your plane will take off » or « maybe you ll be stuck in transit or there » or the usual « You re sure you re not pregnant?? » really emphasized my stress.
Fortunately i had comprehensive friends and true support from them 💖 I still have the feeling to be in fog and i struggle to create as much as before and i try to stay away from Twitter or other to cool down before leaving…
