Kind reader, I have several words for you, and they go like this:
Giving Remy LeBeau some head…
A/N: established relationship, bf!remy x gf!reader, 18+f!reader, oral m!receiving, deepthroating, dirty talk, praise kink, spit play (?), this is just a whole mess of hot and nasty, don’t judge me, thank you🙏
Gambit is always manspreading when he’s sitting down. I just know this man’s dick is long. Like, lengthy and thick enough to feel that stretch but not monstrous like Logan who I imagine to be roughly the girth of a Pringle’s can🤭. Remy definitely has the inches so it’s just more comfortable for him to spread out so his dick isn’t restrained.
The sight of him like that, leisurely sunken into a seat, thighs wide open like an invitation, lord, it makes you feral. You can’t help but perch yourself on his lap, face warming as he coos at you while guiding you down like he’s helping you sit on a throne.
“There you are,” He murmurs as he nuzzles his nose into your hair, kissing your neck once before sitting back and fanning out his playing cards with that air of confidence known to accompany the trademark Gambit charm. “Was wonderin’ where mon cœur had gone.”
As you’re just sitting together, listening to him explain the game he’s going to teach you, you can’t help but be turned on. Simply by the sight of your boyfriend sitting, manspreading, already trying to be in charge — even if it’s just over a card game. Slowly, you rub your hand on his thigh as he continues messing with his playing cards, absentmindedly bouncing you in his lap and you’re more than content to feel the strength of his leg muscles under you.
Until you need more than content, you want to ruin him, and you want him to ruin you. “You have some time for me?” You ask, pressing your chest into his as your hand begins to glide a little further up his thigh.
“Mm, chérie,” He groans as you palm his member, and he sighs softly against your neck while you feel him begin to swell beneath the material of his pants. “You can have every minute of my existence.” You can’t help your flattered grin as you lean in and kiss him before sinking down to your knees between his thighs. Remy leans forward to kiss you once more, making you giggle as you undo his pants and fish out his already hard cock.
“All of this for me?” You ask coyly as you stroke his length, wrist making circular motions as you pump him a few times.
“All of me is yours.” He sighs, one hand already tangling in your hair and you licks your lips before pressing a soft kiss to his tip. Your tongue circles around his tip and you can’t help a moan as you taste a bead of precum. Remy’s head falls back against the couch, a soft groan escaping his lips as you run your tongue up the thick vein on the underside of his cock and then suckle on his tip. “Jus’ like that, chérie.” Remy encourages, still petting your hair as he watches you indulge in him. “Always wanna be a good girl for Papa, huh?” You nod eagerly, loving when he calls himself that and looking up at him as your mouth sinks further down, taking another inch.
Soon his tip is pushing up against your throat with every bob of your head, taking less than half of his cock at this point. Remy always lets you take your time, lets you get yourself cockdrunk before he takes over. He enjoys this part, the play part. Rubbing his tip across your lips, tapping your tongue a few times when he’s too close to the edge and smirking when you moan sweetly and keep eye contact. Most of all, he just adores watching you suck him off like it’s a hobby of yours.
Suddenly, he pulls your mouth of cock to kiss you sloppy. His tongue sweeps into your mouth to suck on your tongue, and you whine weakly while still stroking his length. “You like bein’ a good girl, ain’t that right, chérie?”
“I like being your good girl.” You tell him, giving his leaking tip kitten licks while smiling coyly at him from where you’re sitting so pretty between his thighs.
“Then open wide for me, bébé.” Obediently, your mouth opens and you stick your out as Remy holds tight onto your hair, tilts your head back gently, and he spits into your mouth. “Use it.”
His hand in your hair guides you back down to swallow his cock, his tip hitting the back of your throat more intently. His added saliva in your mouth makes the glide further in easy and you choke on it. You gag softly, pushing through the discomfort of the stretch, and Remy swears as his tip pushes down your gullet. “Merde, juste comme ça, ma bonne fille.”
Those red-on-black eyes never leave you as he takes over now, your hair in his fist, forcing you to take his cock further as he groans and swears, always very vocal which you love. “That’s it, petite. Take Papa’s cock. You doin’ so damn good.”
Lord, you do love listening to his breathy French as you swallow another inch. You love the way he pulls you off without warning for a messy kiss because he loves you so damn much. You love when he tells you how gorgeous you look with him throbbing between your lips. You love the way you can make him lose his mind and his self control when going down on him. All while your pussy helplessly leaks arousal and you start to grind against the rounded end of his boot.
“Mon cœur, fuck,” His head falls back as he holds the back of your skull with one hand and wraps his hand gently around your throat to keep you steady while he fucks your esophagus. His strokes are long and deep, all the way in, all the way out. Same as when he’s pumping a load into your pussy late at night. Remy likes to see you taking all 8 inches again and again until he’s right at the edge and then he stands up, forcing himself fully down your throat while he empties his hot, sticky load into your belly.
His hands cup your cheeks and he coos at you in the middle of cumming, thighs trembling under your palms as he hunches over to look you in the eye while you finish him off. “My good girl,” He groans, wiping the rogue tears on your cheeks with his thumbs while milking himself with your tongue. “Such a sweet little mouth you give to Papa, bébé. Fuck, take it all.” Your eyes are refilled with tears from the stretch of his cock and your own gag reflex, but you keep taking it anyway because he deserves this.
Because he’s so good to you, you can’t help but want to be good for him.
Every time I tell myself I’m just going to do a short little blurb, I don’t🙃
A/N: incubus!remy, 18+f!reader, friends-to-lovers, when remy quite literally needs to eat pussy🙂↕️
There is a quiet truth within the halls of the X-Mansion, an unspoken affliction that one of their own carries quietly. Something old as time, something older than mutation, that is using Remy LeBeau as a host. Somewhere deep beneath his easy grin and Cajun charm something ancient still feeds.
At first, Remy used to blame exhaustion. Then stress. Then the way the mansion has been too quiet lately — no danger, no distractions, no touch. That deep, quiet ache beneath his ribs, not physical, not exactly, was all too present lately. Remy would dismiss the ache time and time again until the Professor helped him pin point it in his ancestry. The same ache that used to vanish after a night spent tangled in laughter and warmth and whispered promises he never meant to keep.
He hadn’t noticed how long it had been. No stolen glances. No fleeting encounters. No one drawn into his orbit close enough for the quiet exchange that always left both parties breathless and oddly lighter. And now nothing inside him seemed to ignite.
His incubi nature doesn’t replace his mutation. It fuels it. Each charged object, each explosive burst of pink light was backed by vitality. Each impossible feat of kinetic manipulation was drawn from the same well. A well replenished not by rest, but by connection and closeness. By the quiet surrender of vital warmth shared in moments that left hearts racing. This transfer of energy was never stolen as some myths claimed, never forced. Just exchanged.
Now, it’s been months.
Months since Remy last fed and recharged himself. His kinetic energy is dimmer and dimmer by the day, taking more toll from him than when he is at full charge.
Usually he has time between sexual trysts before his kinetic energy begins to deplete. Given that he has been jet-setting around on the Blackbird with little time between missions for a recharge, he feels it more now than ever. His cards fizzle faintly, it takes more effort from him to charge larger objects, he feels drained, and it’s almost humiliating for him to be in such need.
Cursing his incubi bloodlines, Remy rolls out of bed a little after dawn and heads down the staircase to the kitchen hoping to sate his hunger with a snack or a drink. As he pours himself a glass of water, he hears a light yawn behind him and turns to see you. You’re dressed for your pre-class jog, but still very much waking up as you rub your eye.
“Mornin’.” You say, offering him a sleepy smile as you lean into him and greet him with a side hug while grabbing a coffee mug from the cabinet.
“Mornin’, petite.” He says, handing you the mug you’re reaching for and you thank him. “Sleep well?”
You look over, noting the tension in his shoulders and the restlessness of his eyes. “Better than you, it seems. You look tired.” You say casually as you pour coffee from the pot into your mug.
“Tired’s too polite for what Gambit is right now.” He smirks tiredly while you grin and offer to make extra of your own breakfast to which he nods appreciatively as he watches you move with cat-like enthusiasm around the kitchen.
The friendship the two of you share has always been comfortable, uncomplicated, and honest. There is a mutual attraction, of course, biology wouldn’t be doing its job without a little sexual tension. But now with you standing in front of him while his main source of energy is drained, Remy realizes something unsettling. Your presence doesn’t just feel pleasant, right now it feels steady and charged. He chalks it up to his current state of being, he only feels like this because he knows he needs to feed and you just happen to smell really nice and look so pretty with your hair tied up and your tight leggings.
Is nothin’, surely, Remy tells himself as he takes the plate you hand him and sits across from you at the island.
Being good friends, you noticed how dim he seemed lately, however. You noticed how he had started looking at you — almost like he wanted to ask you something constantly, but just didn’t know how. Or couldn’t bring himself to ask.
“Are you sure you’re okay, Rem?” You ask one evening when he’s in the greenhouse with you helping you pick out herbs for dinner.
Remy gives you that charming grin, but you can tell it’s a little forced. “You worryin’ ‘bout Gambit, cherie?” He asks with a smirk. “Mighty sweet of you.”
“I’m serious,” You laugh softly, turning to him and crossing your arms over your chest. “You don’t seem like yourself. I just want to make sure you’re good.”
He hesitates just a moment. “Is jus’ biology,” He says with a deflecting wink. “Nothin’ for you to worry ‘bout.”
At that you scoff a little. “Of course I’m going to worry, Remy. You’re my friend, and it’s clear you haven’t been yourself.” You pause, not wanting to come off pushy and take a step closer to him. “Please, tell me what’s going on.”
Remy says your name with a small, nearly defeated laugh and shakes his head. “Is too complicated.”
“Rem, we’re actual mutants. Complicated is wired in us, come on.”
After a moment, he lets out a small sigh and nods like he’s convinced himself it’s better to have this conversation than to keep you in the dark. “I ain’t fed in a lil while, cherie,” He says with a small shrug as he hands you a small bushel of fresh rosemary. “Gambit’s energy gettin’ too low to charge.”
“Fed?” You ask curiously and then it clicks. Right, you think, He’s part incubi. “Oh.”
“Oh.” Remy smirks.
You know, everyone knows, everyone just has enough decency and respect towards Remy to not bring it up in everyday conversation. But now your friend is slowly dimming and it’s because he hasn’t had the sexual encounter required to keep himself charged. And if the Gambit can’t charge anything, that’s dangerous for himself and others in the field.
“Well,” You begin, busying yourself with the parsley and trying to sound more casual than you feel about this topic. “Have you made some calls? You know, find yourself a hot date.”
“Shoulda few weeks back,” Remy sighs, rubbing a gloved hand over his face with mild relief now that everything is out in the open between the two of you. “‘Fraid Gambit might take too much now.”
And then, just because you’re the kind of person — helpful and empathic — you ask. “What if I helped?”
Dinner that night is normal. Jean and Scott wrangle the younger students into the dining room, Logan barks at Bobby and Pietro for goofing around in the kitchen while he’s trying to hand out bowls of his hearty soup. Ororo is easily guiding the teens in from the rec room for mealtime.
You and Remy, however, are both quiet. Quieter than usual for either of you. Not in a bad way, just pensive. Your face is warm and your hands anxiously tremble whenever you pick up your spoon. While Remy can’t stop trailing you with his dimly glowing eyes, his mind wondering curiously about tonight. All through dinner, the conversation in the greenhouse plays on repeat in your mind.
“You ain’t gotta help Remy, cherie.” He had said, though his eyes didn’t shift off of you not one fraction.
“I hate seeing you walking around so dull, Rem, it can’t possibly end well.” You rationalize, more for yourself than him. “It doesn’t have to be a big deal, let me just…help a friend out.”
Remy had chuckled. “Mighty kind friend you are, petite.”
And you had rolled your eyes before saying, “Tonight, yeah? Meet in my room after dinner.”
Your room is familiar to him in the way that most of the mansion is familiar — he’s been in and out of it enough times over the years to know the layout without thinking. The stack of books and small gathering of coffee mugs on your nightstand. The window you leave cracked regardless of season. The way it smells like you, something warm and faintly herbal that he’s never examined too closely until now. You close the door behind him and turn to face him with that expression you get when you’ve decided something and aren’t second-guessing it.
“So…” You say, a bashful tint on your cheeks as you watch him take us space in your bedroom with a very different energy than usual.
“So,” Remy agrees, extending a hand out to you in a very gentlemanly fashion. You laugh a little, which breaks whatever formality was threatening to form, and then you close the distance as he tugs you into him for a kiss. It’s easy the way things between the two of you have always been easy. He threads a hand into your hair and you make a small sound against his mouth that sharpens his attention considerably. He can feel you smile against his lips. “Something funny, cherie?”
“Mm-mm,” You hum, still smiling smugly, and you kiss him again before he can respond to that. “No.”
Remy walks you back toward the bed with his hands at your waist and you go without resistance, pulling him down with you when the backs of your knees meet the mattress. He carefully settles his weight over you and you look up at him in the low light from your bedside lamp, your hair fanned out beneath you, a bright and curious glint in your wide eyes. His eyes, dim for weeks, are already beginning to warm at the edges, you notice.
“There you are.” You say quietly, your fingers brushing along his sharp jaw as you smile affectionately up at him. Remy kisses you before he can think too hard about how that landed.
There is no rushing, no desperation to reach the fun part. You both take your time with it, unhurried in the way that familiarity allows, trading kisses that grow progressively less casual while your fingers work at the collar of his shirt and his mouth finds your jaw, your throat, the soft place beneath your ear that makes your breath hitch and your chin tip back. Remy takes his gloves off because bare hands matter here in a way they don’t always and he feels your breath catch slightly at the deliberateness of it.
“Remy.” You moan softly.
“Cherie.” He praises reverently. He works your jeans and underwear down your legs with patience that seems to genuinely surprise you. He slowly presses his mouth to your hip, kissing the inside of your knee, and you watch him the entire time with that particular feline attention — sharp and a little amused and underneath it something that is neither of those things.
“You don’t have to make a whole production of it.” You tease in an attempt to remind yourself this isn’t a big deal, even if it’s starting to feel like it is, even though your voice has lost some of its usual certainty.
“Non,” He agrees, and looks up at you from between your thighs, thumbs brushing gently over your soft lips and parting them gently, “but Gambit gonna anyway.”
You laugh softly, and then his mouth finds your warm center and the laugh dissolves into a shaky inhale. The sound you make goes through him like a current finding ground, his kinetic charge pulses in waves within his bones. He knows immediately that this is different, that you are different. He can sense it the way he senses latent energy in objects, that particular aliveness and willingness to charge.
And what you’re feeling is genuine and warm and directed entirely at him. Your arousal is tricking through your folds as his tongue flattens against you, it feeds him differently than anyone he can recall. Richer and more specifically tailored to him definitely having to do with the bond you share.
Remy’s already charging back up and he could stop here if he wanted to, if you asked him to, but he doesn’t stop. You try to muffle yourself with the back of your hand and he pulls it away from your mouth with a firm patience, pressing it flat against the mattress instead.
“Non,” He says against your mound, his tongue flicking teasingly at your sensitive bud. “Let Gambit hear you.”
“You’re terrible.” You breathe, your back arching as he passes his tongue over your slit, searching a little deeper for that sweetness that fuels him.
“Oui.” He agrees, and gets back to work.
You give up on quiet after that. Your free hand finds his hair, your thighs bracket his shoulders, and he can feel the tension building in your loins, the small involuntary tremors of your legs, the way your breathing changes register with him in a way he doesn’t usually pay attention with someone else.
When your first orgasm crescendos to its peak, you says his name in a way you’ve never said it before, drawn out and unguarded, and your nails catch against his shoulder with an unconscious sharpness that he doesn’t think you notice, but he notices. His tongue burrows deeper, circling slowly as he drinks you in and feels his energy refilling slowly. A soft groan escapes him and he keeps going.
“Tu es parfait, si bon pour moi.” He murmurs, his hands subtly sending a charge through your skin as he refuels.
He takes you through the second release with more deliberate attention, learning what undoes you specifically and applying it with focused patience. You whine he focuses on your clit, sucking softly on the bud until your legs threaten to close out the sensation. You’re warm and restless and completely present and he is — for perhaps the first time in longer than he’d like to admit — entirely present too. Not performing, not managing the encounter from a careful distance…just here.
By your third orgasm, he’s lapping like a man no longer dying of thirst, but rather possessed by hunger, holding your thighs wide open to fight against your impulse to close them. You’re laughing breathlessly, helplessly, between the moans you can’t quiet, one arm flung over your eyes, your whole body flushed and trembling.
“Remy - okay, Remy, I’m - can’t, please - mercy!” He chuckles and presses one last unhurried kiss to the inside of your thigh before letting up. He looks back up to find you staring at the ceiling with the expression of a person who has been completely taken apart and is taking stock of the damage.
Remy’s been fully recharged for a little while now, but he doesn’t regret going overboard when you look this soft and happy. He settles beside you on the bed and you turn your head to look at him, your hair a disaster, your expression open in a way you probably aren’t aware of. His eyes are fully warm again, properly his, the dullness entirely gone.
“Merci, cherie,” He says, and means it in more ways than he’ll name. “Owe you my life.”
You exhale a breath that’s almost a laugh and look back up at the ceiling, loose and wrung out and completely unbothered. “Any time.” You say offhandedly like it costs you nothing.
Remy looks at you for a moment longer than he should, the low light illuminating your dewy skin, the warmth of your vitality still sitting in him like a coal, the careless generosity of those two words, and then he looks away. His arm wraps easily around you and you sigh softly as you rest your head on his chest to catch your breath.
Any time.
He’s going to have to think very carefully about that.
This is a little AU I have been working on just because I got really into mythology all of a sudden😂 Let me know what you think, kind readers!
A/N: frat boy!remy x oblivious!reader, college AU, friends to lovers, lots of flirting, making out, and sexual tension, fluffy, mentions of smut, oral f!receiving, p in v sex
Frat boy!Remy who is the point guard of the basketball team at Xavier’s University and he knows he’s got the look and the moves and the lines. He’s so cocky, but also very kind and genuine.
Loves to flirt with the underclassmen at mixers, loves to take pictures post-games with the cheerleaders and admirers in the student body, but adores most of all when he sees you coming towards him with a bright smile and open, congratulating arms.
Frat boy!Remy who has the most pathetically obvious crush on you, a sweet and innocent classmate, and he can’t help doing a little more showboating when he knows you’re in the stands.
Remy always brings you to mixers and on group hang outs so you know all of his friends and their girlfriends. A lot of them often assume that you and Remy are together, and it’s hard to dispute it because Remy flirts with you all the time.
And you let him because you think it’s just how he is, he’s a flirtatious and physically affectionate person, oblivious to his huge crush on you. In spite of the obvious signs such as his constant nitpicking any and all of your potential dates.
“Don’t go out with that guy, chérie, he a no good cheat at poker. No honor.”
“You don’t want that boy to have your number. You better off staying in with moi tonight.”
“You gon’ wear a fine dress like that for a boy with a 2.3 GPA, mon ange? Non, what a waste. Let me take you out to the jazz lounge I told you ‘bout.”
Frat boy!Remy who genuinely just cares about you, makes sure you’re not falling behind in class or in life. Remy meal preps for you during the week, he helps you study even though he hates studying himself.
Going on late night snack drives with Frat boy!Remy and he wraps his arms around you from behind as you seriously contemplate the candy aisle.
“You know I’ll buy you every piece of sugar you want, mon ange, no need to pick and choose.”
Who carries all the bags, opens your doors, walks on the outside of the sidewalk from the bar to the car with your arm linked through his because he’s still a gentleman.
Frat boy!Remy who once bets you a kiss at a bar that he can guess the next card you pull from his deck and you know he knows his deck like the back of his hand, but fuck it, you kind of want kiss him.
“C’mere, bebe,” He murmurs smugly when you flip your card to show him that he guessed correctly. “Been waitin’ for this.” He says before you register it and you let him pull you into a drunken kiss.
It’s a slow and experimental kiss, at first, until he finds a rhythm that makes you moan in content and lean further into his firm chest. “You’re such a good kisser.” You whisper bashfully, surprised by how normal it feels to kiss him.
And you keep letting him kiss you afterwards. Regardless of where you are.
During late night study sessions in your dorm or in some dark corner of a bar when you’re out with a group, kissing him back shyly and blushing from his flirty lines in between pecks.
You do consider for a moment how this might complicate your friendship, but only for a moment because Remy then lifts you onto the nearest ledge and slips his tongue into your mouth, making you forget everything else except how good he is at that.
It’s college and you’re only hot and young once so why not make bad decisions with a hot friend?
Frat boy!Remy who asks you to be his girl every other week and you playfully say no, insisting you’re better off as friends — even though you wouldn’t be making out with anyone else like you do with him.
“So when we kiss, we kiss as friends?” He asks teasingly with a smirk and you laugh, nodding slowly, your face warm as he walks over and kisses you where you’re sitting on the end of his bed.
“Friends can kiss.” You murmur, cupping his face, his stubble tickling your palms as he moves to hover over you with one hand on your hip and the other by your head as you low back on his bed.
“Hm,” Remy hums against your lips before trailing down to your jaw. “You kiss your girl friends the way you kiss me, chérie?” You laugh, swatting playfully at his chest and continuing the kiss.
Frat boy!Remy who sneaks into your dorm late at night for a make out and stays for a cuddle until you have to quietly shoo him out because he’s being too loud with his talking, making you laugh, and flirting and he will wake your roommate.
Frat boy!Remy who hates when his frat brothers flirt with you at mixers and it doesn’t take much for him to sidle up beside you, offering you a drink, and bringing you into a slow and hot kiss right there.
Frat boy!Remy who starts to say things he shouldn’t when he kisses you for too long or when he drinks too much like how he can’t bear the thought of seeing you with someone else, or how you’re the only girl he can’t seem to stop thinking about.
“You so damn pretty, chérie,” He murmurs against your lips in a celebratory kiss while you’re sitting sideways in his lap long after a game has ended and he won the pot. “Can’t believe you let a fool like me waste your time.”
“You wouldn’t let me fool around with anyone else, Rem.” You giggle, pushing his hair back playfully and caressing his jaw while he laughs because he can’t deny his constant meddling in your dating life. “And I like spending time with you.”
“Mm, ‘m a terrible influence for you.”
“I know, it’s okay, just keep kissing me.”
Frat boy!Remy who takes things further that night in the privacy of his dorm room, unable to pull himself away from you, not ready to move on yet. You’re gasping and moaning his name as he devours your neck, his hands wandering under your clothes.
“Rem, we should stop.” You breathe out, inhaling sharply as his hand slides into your leggings and he feels the damp spot in your panties. Remy groans softly, moving down your sternum and you sigh, tangling your fingers in his hair.
“We should?” He asks, raising your tank top a little to kiss your lower belly and you whine, squirming under him as he smirks. “Or we must?”
“We should,” You say, biting your lip as you lift your hips so he can shimmy your leggings off. “But I don’t think you want to.”
“Non, bebe, I don’t,” Remy licks his lips as he moves your panties to the side, you moan as his thumb rolls gently over your clit and he takes a swipe at your folds with his tongue. “So tell me now to fuck off before it’s too late.”
“Stay.”
Frat boy!Remy who loves to eat pussy and gets so absorbed in the rhythm of it, sucking on your clit and burrowing his tongue into you. You’re crying and begging him to stop an hour in because the pleasure is too much to handle at that point. “Si douce, une si douce petite chatte, bébé.”
So sweet, such a sweet little pussy, baby.
“Remy, please, too much!” You cry out, trembling from head to toe, trying to close your thighs against the overstimulation.
His hands keep your legs spread open and pushed up against your chest. Your fingernails scratch his scalp as you pull his hair and claw at his shoulders trying to slow him down with no avail.
Frat boy!Remy who isn’t afraid to take his time or the lead. He eats you out until you’re spent and dazed with pleasure and then he’s ready for more.
Frat boy!Remy who fucks you slow and hard, keeping a firm hold on your jaw so that you can’t look away from him while he gives you deep and steady strokes. “S-so hard, you-you’re so fucking hard, Rem.” You gasp, brow furrowed in distress because your best friend is inside you and it feels so good.
“You so fuckin’ tight,” He groans against your lips while you scratch down his back and cry his name mid-orgasm. “You always act like you don’t wan’ it, but you do, don’t you, mon ange?”
You can’t help but nod as your lips seek his out again, whining against his kiss as you cling to him. “Can I keep you?” He asks, thrusting hard enough to pound into your cervix and you choke on a moan, nodding helplessly again. “I knew you’d be a good girl for me.”
Frat boy!Remy who makes sure you are loud enough that his frat brothers can hear you down the hall, making it clear that regardless of titles, you belong to someone — him.
My head has recently been plagued by thoughts of Remy as a frat bro and fooling around with him omggg😭 I didn’t know where to begin, but this seems like a good start as I continue to develop this variant of his character:)
do you ever have thoughts of like. being in a relationship with both remy and rogue? like i think about it a lot
Honestly, I am a hardcore Romy shipper🥹 I couldn’t intervene in that relationship. They’re meant to be and I won’t hear otherwise. However…😏…I know what you’re looking for, and I will indulge you, dearest.
A/N: polyamorous relationship, gambit x rogue x reader, fluffy, smut, threesome, clit play, unprotected sex, Rogue edging you and Remy, this is a very self indulgent drabble
Rogue and Remy have always been a couple at the X-Mansion. Even when they’re butting heads, when Rogue is withdrawn and Remy is secretive. Then you come along, joining Xavier’s as a school counselor of sorts. Mainly, you handle the more intense student cases, making sure these individuals are acclimating well and have the support they lack at home to make it through the school year. One could argue mediating and emotional support are your powers, but you’re actually a sensory empath.
Whatever you feel, whatever you taste, whatever you touch, you can mentally transmit those same sensory signals to others. It’s a neat little mutation the later proves instrumental in your throuple, offering them if only a semblance of the truest, most intimate forms of connections which they have always struggled to overcome on their own.
“There ya go, sugar.” Rogue says as she effortlessly moves your heavy oak bookshelf from one side of your office to the other. “Need anythin’ else?” She asks, giving you a kind smile as she sets her hands on her hips.
“I couldn’t possibly bother you any further.” You say, your cheeks warm as you look at her standing tall and beautiful, not even breaking a sweat after moving your furniture around. “Thank you, Rogue.”
Rogue comes over to where you’re setting up your desk and her gentle hands rest on your hips as she leans over and kisses your hairline carefully. “Of course, darlin’, just give a holler if somethin’ comes up.”
There’s a deep and emotional connection that you share with Rogue from the get-go. Easily perceived as womanly friendship and affection. You don’t need to touch Rogue, her company and conversation is stimulating enough. There are moments when soft, careful touches come more naturally to Rogue around you. You’re careful too, patient with her.
Not that Remy isn’t, but he can be far more impulsive and often gets carried away during intimacy.
“How ‘bout dis?” Remy grins from your office doorway where he’s leaning with his arms crossed over his broad chest. A smug smirk graces his face as he watches his two girls in an intimate moment. “No invite for ol’ Gambit?”
“We ain’t defilin’ her office, Cajun,” Rogue smirks, dropping her hands from your waist and watching Remy carefully as he saunters over. “Just decoratin’.”
“Shame,” Remy looks from Rogue to you, and he gently lifts your chin with two fingers, making your cheeks bloom warmth. “Defilin’ so much more excitin’, non, bebe?”
Your eyes flutter close as Remy leans down and captures your lips in a kiss. One of your hands comes to rest on his toned abdomen while he places his own at your waist and the other finds Rogue’s hip, tugging her into his side by her utility belt. Her hand rests on his chest while she watches the kiss and you transmit the feeling of Remy’s lips to her mind, letting her feel his kiss as well.
“Mm,” Rogue hums and closes her eyes, resting her forehead on Remy’s shoulder as she feels the sensation of his kiss against her skin. Warmth, steadiness, Remy’s signature roguish flair when he nips your bottom lip. Her tongue almost feels the tip of his sliding between her parted lips as he does you. “I always knew you were a good kisser, Rem.” She says as you part with a bashful smile.
“I have my first counseling session in a few minutes,” You tell them, stepping back and breathing more steadily when their combined scents and presences aren’t intoxicating you. “I don’t want the students to know me that personally just yet.” You say with a soft laugh.
“Mm, Gambit sure love a cliffhanger.” Remy smirks and licks his bottom lip, still tasting you while Rogue gives you a wink as she guides Remy out.
“Good luck, sugar, you got this.”
In the beginning, the idea of a polyamorous relationship was foreign to you. All you knew was that you liked Remy, you liked how he flirted intentionally and how he made time for you. You were surprised to find that he and Rogue were an item a few days into what could be considered your courtship. Rogue was kind from the beginning, however, always making sure this was an arrangement you were comfortable being a part of. Her sweetness and her strength made you melt where Remy’s impulsiveness and mischievousness thrilled you.
The first time the idea of a threesome came up, you were shy, and with good reason. It wasn’t something you had ever been a part of before arriving to Xavier’s. You understood, however, their side of it. With you, they could feel each other, even if only mentally, and for a couple like Rogue and Remy to never know what their lover’s kiss or touch felt like, well, that alone tugged on your heartstrings.
As a lover, Remy is quite selfish and private in all actuality, but with Rogue, he wants her to see everything. In that way, he can show her all the things he’d to her if he only could. Rogue, on the other hand, is a generous lover. Giving and attentive, always in control because she just has to be in every aspect of her life given her mutation. With you, she doesn’t have to think about it too hard. It comes easy to care for you, especially with Remy’s helpful hand.
Tonight is no different. Rogue is sitting against your headboard, fully dressed while you sit between her legs as Remy’s bare cock is plunging into your glistening cunt. Her gloved fingers are circling your clit expertly, whispering soft praises into your hair while you writhe in her arms. “You take him so pretty, sweetheart.” She breathes against the shell of your ear, her fingers spread your arousal and Remy’s spit around your bud as you whine from the intense pleasure.
Remy has one hand gripping onto the headboard above you and Rogue and one hand splayed over your lower belly where he can feel his cock stretching you out. “Mon Dieu, petites,” He groans, watching you take him against Rogue who is biting her lip while watching as his thick shaft glides in and out of you, coated in your creamy sheen. “Remy gettin’ close watchin’ you two lyin’ there so sweet on each other.”
“Not yet, Rem, make her beg real pretty for it first.” Rogue’s gloved fingers reach out to wrap around him, squeezing gently and guiding only his tip into your pussy, making you and Remy both whine and swear, respectively.
“Merde, Rogue,” He grunts before cupping your jaw in his large, calloused hand. His red-on-black eyes burn into yours and he kisses you sloppily before muttering against your lips. “You beg for it now, bebe. Sois une bonne fille pour nous.” (Be a good girl for us.)
Your body trembles in Rogue’s careful hold as she guides Remy’s tip to rub on your clit and your thighs try to close against the overstimulation. Remy quickly holds your thigh open, his other hand still on your belly to keep you pinned on the bed. “Uh-uh, sugar,” Rogue tsks, her eye catching Remy’s and he winks at her knowingly as he continues his teasing grind against your sloppy pussy, his tip leaking with his impending release. “Don’t run from ‘im now, he’s bein’ so generous an’ good to ya.”
“Please,” You break, needing to feel his cock fully buried in you again. “Please, Rogue, Remy, I want it so bad! I wanna cum for you, please!”
“Putain, une fille si douce.” (Fuck, such a sweet girl) Remy groans, giving in first like he always does, and taking Rogue’s gloved hand from his cock. He guides it to your clit again so he can sink deep into you. “Beg so pretty, don’ she, Cheré?”
“So damn pretty, almost as pretty as when she comes.” Rogue teases, her fingers rubbing on your sensitive bud again while your head tips back against her shoulder as your orgasm crashes over you.
“F-fuck, Re-Remy!” You sob, your legs squeezing his hips as he continues rutting against you, chasing his own release. “You’re s-so deep!”
Your mind reaches out to Rogue’s and you share the physical experience with her, the stretch with each pound, the slick feeling of his cock gliding against your walls, the pressure of his hand on your belly guiding his length straight into your cervix. “Oh, my god,” Rogue drawls out and suddenly tenses up behind you, her hands grabbing tightly onto your waist as she trembles from the same release, yours.
“You feelin’ Remy too, ma belle? Feel how deep he can be?” He coos, touching her waist and holding her down as he continues pounding into you, making her feel it as well. His shaft swells in the confines of your wet pussy and you hear Rogue gasp as you shudder from the feeling of his thick release flooding you to the brim. “Merde, dat’s it, take it.” He groans as you clench around his sensitive head.
The come down is quiet and sweet, Remy’s kissing softly on your neck, Rogue’s running a gloves hand through his sweaty hair while he’s whispering praises for both of you. His cock slips out of you with a squelch and you groan from the feeling of it. “Mm, I’m definitely more relaxed now.” You say in a dazed state, making Remy chuckle and Rogue giggle.
“You know we’re always gon’ take care of ya, baby doll. Through good days and bad days, hm?” She says, carefully tilting your face towards her with two sheathed fingers. You give her a little nod and then Remy turns your face back to his and kisses you.
“You share this with her, bebe.” Remy murmurs against your lips and you do, one of your hands slowly reaching back to cup around Rogue’s nape where her hair sits as you mentally share the kiss. “Remy love you both, you know dat? Couldn’ imagin’ a life without either one o’ you pretty girls.”
“Always a flirt,” Rogue shoots back with a fondness in her voice, but her gloved hand comes up to caress his cheek lovingly. “I love you too, Cajun.”
“I love you,” You murmur, still resting limply against Rogue who is caressing your scalp while Remy kisses and rubs on your thighs. “Both of you.”
you heard of uncle / family friend! logan…. now get ready for uncle / family friend! remy lebeau.
like listen. i would immediately be smitten. and my daddy issues would be FLARING UP because he’d be more fatherly than my own father and he’s also really hot???
A/N: uncle!remy, 18+f!reader, very taboo AU, fauxcest, mild smut, oral f!receiving, mentions of fingering, semi-public (car sex) MDNI
Honestly, Remy is Fun Uncle™️ without a doubt. Uncle!Remy would be such a menace in the sense that he’ll look after you with his life, but he also knows where to get a fake ID and half your birthday presents were likely swiped from the mall.
It does loom over him how young you are, the taboo of his growing interest in you when you return a young lady, but he approaches the situation slowly so as to not overstep. You are after all his brother Bobby’s little girl. Maybe $20 for lunch here, a late night ride home from the bar there, he feels out where your head is at now that you’re older and he’s not technically family.
“You’re always around, huh?” You ask teasingly as you fall easily into his passenger seat. Remy agreed to pick you up from brunch with your friends because you had one too many peach Bellinis. “Almost like you’re just waiting around for me to call.”
“An’ if I am?” He asks with a grin that makes your face heat up and you bite back a smile.
“My dad wouldn’t like that.” You say, clicking on your seatbelt and fixing your makeup in the visor mirror to make yourself busy. “You’re basically his brother.”
Remy watches you tug on the ringlets of hair falling out of your updo and he swears he almost throws caution to the wind and kisses you. “Oui, mais…” His red-on-black eyes meet yours, intentionally trailing down your little romper which has a deep V cut between your breasts, and he tilts his head coaxingly. “You don’ really see Gambit as an uncle, do you, petite?” He asks, smirking softly at you as if he knows you better than you know yourself - and he kind of does.
You would tell Remy everything when you were young. It was often easier than telling your dad when you weren’t quite sure if your feelings for a boy were true enough to be “talk with dad” serious. Remy made it less of a big deal, which you appreciated in your adolescence.
Uncle Remy didn’t judge you when you asked him to teach you how to play cards because you wanted to impress some senior or talk you down when you wanted to sneak out to meet some friends for a bonfire. Remy made sure that while you were off being young and reckless, you had someone safe to trust with your bad ideas, and Lord knows Remy’s past is full of bad ideas.
“Remy, that’s not appropriate,” You say in a bashful tone, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Don’t make me blush.”
“Mais c’est trop facile, mon amour.”
But it's too easy, my love.
Your eyes roll but you can’t hide your smile as he calls you his love and drives you back to your father’s house. You can see his hand twitching like he wants to move it off the steering wheel. “You nervous around me lately, Uncle Remy?” You ask with a teasing smirk.
Remy chuckles, shaking his head and running that restless hand through his auburn hair. “Non, petite, Gambit just thinkin’.”
“About?” You coax, leaning back in your seat and looking over at him with that darkened hue on your cheeks that tells him you’re still buzzed.
“Somethin’ inappropriate an’ foolish.”
Your chest swells with anticipation, you’re shifting subtly in your seat because you know you’re slightly tipsy and dressed to tantalize and you know that your hot uncle is sitting right there trying not to think about it. Just like you’re trying not to think about how his mouth might feel on your skin, how his built frame would blanket you with ease since he’s so damn tall. You blame it on the remaining alcohol in your system making you bolder as you take his hand and place his palm on your thigh.
“Oh, oui?” He asks with a surprised, but mischievous grin that makes you laugh softly.
“Just drive us somewhere.”
Remy sneaks you away for a few hours, parking at some overlook he knows the path of too well, and before you can even ask how many women he’s brought up here, he’s on you.
“You wan’ this, mon amour?” He asks, his tongue already finding its way into your mouth and you moan, nodding your head as you pull him closer by his shoulders.
“Please.”
Without missing a beat, he reclines your seat back as he settles on top of you and you end up making out with the man that once let you eat a whole box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch when he was watching you after soccer practice. Now the same man is whispering how beautiful you’ve grown up to be and how he never imagined this, but now he can’t imagine it any other way. There’s something so twisted about it that makes you crave it even more, the depravity of getting the affection and attention you lack at home from a family friend. Your father’s brother, even if they’re not blood.
“Ma dulce fille,” Remy murmurs against your lips, one hand gripping your thigh as it wraps around his waist and the other cups your cheek as the kiss deepens. “You want it, petite? Want Uncle Remy to be sweet to you?” His tone is playful and teasing, his lips are soft as they trail down your neck to pepper kisses along your collarbone.
“I’m-yes, but-ahh-out here?” You manage through breathless moans, glancing out of the window to your surroundings, your hips seeking him out in betrayal. Remy nods, nuzzling into your neck and licking a line to your earlobe where he tugs on your good hoop with his teeth, promising you won’t get caught in a whispery tone that sends butterflies swarming through your belly. “Remy, this is so wrong.” You moan as he sucks on your pulse point while grinding his stiff erection against your mound.
“I know, petite, I know,” He groans as your thighs squeeze around his hips and you arch into him, your body begging for more friction as his hands make quick work of the buttons on your romper. “Just a little taste, then we go, oui?” He kisses you once more on the lips before getting you out of your romper so that he can go down on you. Your seat slides back on its track as Remy moves it and you gasp in surprise, giggling at yourself while he kneels more easily on the floorboard. “You look so damn pretty like this, bebe.”
Your mind spins as his long fingers part your folds with a few caresses, a subtle shock shoots through your core that makes you squeak and he winks. His tongue follows, tasting your sweet arousal, circling your clit slowly while he watches you writhe in his passenger seat from the adrenaline and lust. His lips press a kiss to your clit before he sucks on it gently and you whine, lifting your hips greedily for more. His hands are firm on your thighs, keeping them spread for him as he has a tasting of you.
“Mm, Rem, I-I’m-oh!” You can’t find enough words to form a coherent sentence - and usually you’re a talker during intimacy - because this same man who has his tongue in your pussy once tended to your scraped knee with a Tom and Jerry bandaid he had found in his bathroom by sheer luck. The man that once signed you out of third period because he needed to pass a drug test for a job so your father would get off his back is finger fucking you in his car. This man rubbing on your clit and biting the inside of your thigh used to get high and come cheer at your soccer matches, and you like it.
You gave me a thread, dear anon, and I couldn’t resist the urge to follow it😭
Omfggg i js read your gambit x innocent reader fic and my god your blessed. It got me thinking about a younger reader whose not so innocent and it drives him crazy😝😝
Crushing II (Remy Lebeau) nsfw
A/N: this is an expansion/continuation of Crushing, age gap, smut, taboo AU, not-so-innocent!reader, 18+f!reader, virgin!reader, voyeur!remy, descriptions of female masturbation, fingering, oral f! & m!receiving
As far as Logan knows, you’ve never been with a guy, and you haven’t — not all the way, at least. While your sexual knowledge is vast, you have not yet put any of it to practice. The fun begins when Logan jumps to draw that line in the sand between you and Gambit. The Wolverine should have known the Ragin’ Cajun can’t ever resist a challenge, a forbidden prize, and you are more mischievous than your caretaker believes you capable of being.
It’s only a few days later, after secretly making out with him in the rec room after hours, when you kiss Gambit again. This time in the kitchen, just as a thank you for making the coffee which turned into a make out on the counter. His hands are on your waist for a little bit, but he can’t ever help taking over when you get all pliant for him. His palms knead at your breasts and he slides one hand around your neck. You have your arms around his waist, nails digging into his bare back as he begins to nip and lick at the sensitive spots he previously discovered.
“You say thank you like that to everyone?” Gambit asks, kissing your neck when you have to pull away to catch your breath. He holds your jaw now, keeping you in place while you softly rake your manicured nails up and down his back.
“Maybe,” You gasp when you feel his teeth nip at your pulse point, one of your hands tangles in his hair to gently pull him back. “Makes me more popula-ow, Remy!” You laugh as he bites a little harder, not amused with your answer. “Logan’s gonna kill you.” You moan while he sweetly licks the sting away.
“Over a kiss? Un peu dramatique, non?” He jokes, making you giggle, but he stops because he doesn’t want you to get in trouble.
Gambit can understand Logan’s aspirations of keeping you untouched, but he also sees how unrealistic that is of the Wolverine to expect. You’ve grown in the last years into more woman than child, and it is not a beauty that goes unnoticed. Of course, Gambit knows the risks of messing around with a girl still attached to her father figure. Especially a teammate’s — dare he say, a friend’s — daughter. And yet, he can’t bring himself to discourage you when you approach him with wide eyes and inappropriate questions. How could he when you come to him so brazenly curious and eager to learn?
The night it goes too far to turn back, Gambit had been heading to your bedroom out of habit with the intention of kissing you goodnight for a little bit. Unaware of the soft noises inside, he ends up getting more than he bargained for when he opens the door and sees you pleasuring yourself on your bed.
With a soft yelp, you quickly sit up and then relax when you realize it’s just Gambit. “Thanks for knocking.” You say sarcastically, panting softly and biting your lip as you watch how his red-on-black eyes focus on your pussy.
“Ma faute, petite,” Gambit closes the door behind him with a definitive click of the lock as his eyes scan your spread out figure and his cock stirs in his pants. You sit in just your camisole and panties which are pushed to the side, showing off a little as you shift your legs to bring your knees up higher, and give him a better view. “I see you started without me.”
Your cheeks warm up and you slowly resume your task at hand, humming contently as you sink back into your pillows. “Not too late to join.” You twist the dildo a little and moan softly. “Want a closer look?”
“Oui, s’il te plaît, bébé.” He says, already moving towards you and moistening his lips as he kneels at the end of the bed. You let him watch up close as you bob the toy in and out rhythmically, whining as you gush subtly from the added arousal of him watching.
“Tu es si jolie.” Gambit murmurs, caressing your thighs and pressing soft kisses along your soft skin. You watch him kiss and worship you as you keep fucking yourself, and then his fingers send subtle kinetic waves through your skin, making you moan his name. “May I?” Gambit looks at you for consent to continue, and you give him a quick nod before he removes his shirt, claiming he’s a messy eater.
In a matter of minutes, the toy is set aside and you find out what that means exactly as his mouth latches onto your pussy. You’ve heard him talk about going down on women before, but it feels so much better than he described. His tongue burrows deep in your hot little hole, two thick fingers plunging in and out, curling every third stroke to bring you closer and closer to the edge. “Fu-fuck, Rem! I’m gonna cum!”
And when you do, it is with a subtle squirt that makes Gambit groan in appreciation, lapping up your release and sucking on your sensitive clit. He chuckles softly as you writhe and instinctively try to close your legs to the intense pleasure. “There we go, mon ange. Better when you got some help, non?”
“That was so hot, show me how to do it again?” You plead, breathless, but energized and eager to learn more, try more, especially with him. And who is Gambit to refuse the acquisition of knowledge?
The next few nights are filled with Gambit sneaking into your bedroom so you can make out in secret. Sometimes he fingers you, sometimes you stroke his dick. Mostly, you make out and touch a lot. You love grinding on him while convincing him that he’s only being a helpful friend, and that it’s safer for you to learn from him than some other guy.
“Hard to argue with your reasonin’,” Gambit smirks against your neck, listening to your breathy whimpers and soft moans as he kisses you there. “You gon’ keep quiet for me?”
“Yes, I’ll be quiet, please.” You beg, looking down at him and moving to slide off your panties and your camisole, fully exposing yourself to him for the first time since these heated little lessons began.
“Putain, bébé,” Gambit groans as you cheekily toss your panties at him and he chuckles, shoving them into his pants’ pocket and then lifting you up so you’re straddling him again. “You a bad influence.”
“Let me suck you off.” You whisper mischievously, kissing him slowly, grinding your bare pussy against the hard bulge in his pants. His hands guide your hips, a soft groan vibrates in his chest beneath your palms as you chase that delicious friction.
Gambit is unable to hide an amused smirk at your bold request. “You don’ know how to do that.” You’re always trying to jump ahead into new things you’ve seen in porn, always getting him to cross more lines for you. “You not gon’ like it, petite.”
“You don’t know that!” You counter, already moving down the bed to kneel between his long, stretched out legs when one of his brows lifts in curiosity. “It’s not a big deal, I’ve practiced with my toy, I wanna try it for real.”
Gambit doesn’t make a move to stop you as you determinedly unbutton his pants and cautiously fish his semi out of his briefs. You cutely kiss his swollen tip, giggling to yourself as your hand delicately wrapping around his long shaft and he hisses from the inappropriate pleasure.
“You gon’ get me in trouble with your papa, chérie.” He groans, one hand petting your hair while the other caresses your cheek.
He lets you lick at his cock anyway, guides you by your nape to run your tongue from the base to the tip and then tells you to suck him into your mouth. You bob your head a few times, gagging when you go down too far and he coos at you, reassuring you that it’s okay when it happens. His hips thrust upwards subtly, chasing the pleasure in your salivating mouth, and you taste a little salty bead of precum spreading over your tongue.
“Mm, tastes good,” You murmur, popping him out of your mouth and kissing his tip. “Am I doing okay?” You ask even though you know you are — you just like to hear it.
“More than okay, bèbè,” Gambit says with a grin, bringing you up to kiss you and you settle into his lap again. “Tu me rends fou.” You keep making out slow and sloppy with the faint taste of his cock lingering your mouth before he says, “Let me take over now.”
There will be one more part to this mini series where Remy and Innocent!Reader go all the way🤭
A/N: club owner!remy x cocktail waitress!reader, 18+f!reader, sugar daddy/baby dynamics
The mutant-friendly jazz lounge is located in Manhattan, Upper East Side. A place you have no business being because you know couldn’t possibly afford a spot on the curb to park on. Fortunately, you don’t even have a car, so it’s easy enough to take the bus.
During economics, one of your classmates and now friend, Tabitha, had mentioned a jazz club that is low on staff and currently hiring cocktail waitresses because not a lot of human women apparently feel safe enough to work in an openly mutant-friendly establishment.
At that, you simply had to roll your eyes. It made absolutely no sense to you that someone would turn down a perfectly good job opportunity just because of who they might have to work next to — how ignorant, you had thought to yourself as you jotted down the name of the lounge.
Saints and Sinners. Tantalizing.
“Mr. Bellerose will be with you momentarily. Feel free to have a seat while you wait.” The hostess smiles at you as she takes the questionnaire you completed and then guides you to an open seating area.
“Thanks.” You say appreciatively as you duck your head and make your way into the waiting area. It’s an open room that doesn’t obstruct the view of the lounge itself, like a teasing invitation that makes the wait before getting to lounge in luxury worth it.
Where you stand, you can see the large, curved booths that line the perimeter of the floor. On the floor itself, in neat rows facing away from you and to the stage, there are high-back leather chairs coupled to a mahogany table each, all neatly topped with cigar trays and cutters. There are two or three private lounge areas for businessmen and lovers obscured with sheer tapestries off to the sides. There’s a slightly lifted stage ahead where a live band is playing a sultry and slow piece. You’d never thought much about jazz, but you certainly don’t mind it when it sounds this full and alluring.
Then you spot a cocktail waitress, and then another. They are beautiful with their makeup done and hair styled. They are dressed in similar short, black sequin dresses. One woman‘s dress is strapless while the other has an off-the-shoulder neckline. Different styles, but the same material. You notice the sequin is glittering, the light from the chandelier hanging above the middle of the room catching on the gold detailing with every step the women take as they keep the liquor on the floor moving. With the dim light in the lounge, the choice of material makes the girls themselves nearly invisible unless one is actively searching for them. Like searching for stars at night.
Seeing those women suddenly makes you self conscious and incredibly aware of the little thought that you put into your outfit. Jeans and a blouse. Fuck, you think as you regret not dressing up a little more. This is an interview after all, or maybe not an official interview, but you are here to inquire about a possible job opportunity and you chose jeans?
“Dumbass.” You mutter to yourself as you finally sit down with a huff and cross your arms.
As you begin to wonder if you can even handle all of this — if you would even fit into a place as luxurious as this — a thin, tall, and impeccably dressed man approaches you with an expressionless face. His aura gives no nonsense and he walks with military precision. You quickly stand up, intimidated by his pressed, three piece suit and slicked-back hair. Definitely French, you think as you shake the hand he offers you.
“Miss…” He trails off as he takes in your outfit and you quickly offer up your last name with a kind smile, hoping to brush your attire under the carpet with charisma. “Yes, bienvenu,” He says, dropping your hand and looking down at his tablet. “I am Lucien Bellerose, I am the business manager of Saints and Sinners, and I will be conducting your interview and hiring process, if all goes well.” You nod, making sure to remember his name while wondering if he’ll ever blink. “Now, s’il vous plait, follow me.”
As you follow Lucien past a wall lined with framed pictures of important patrons posed with whom you assume is the owner, you notice a large staircase leading to a second floor. The area looks closed off, leading to a VIP lounge or private offices, no doubt. And then you catch sight of a tall, broad shouldered man standing on the second floor balcony.
You can’t see his face with very much detail given the distance, but those eyes. Even from the first floor you can see the red glow in them and you feel them on you as you slip into the small, private office that Lucien opens the door to for you.
“Before we begin,” Lucien says, taking his seat behind the large oak desk and motioning for you to take one of the short leather chairs across from him. “I must disclose up front that this is an establishment that serves humankind as well as mutantkind.” You nod quickly and he continues. “Do you think that could be an issue for you?”
“No, no,” You say, shaking your head. “Not at all. That isn’t an issue whatsoever.” Lucien gives you a small nod and makes a note on his tablet. Your mind is wandering and you find yourself asking before you can stop yourself, “Are you a m-I mean, I don’t mean to pry…”
You’re not sure how to ask someone if they have mutant abilities, but it would explain why his face hasn’t changed at all.
“No, I am not a mutant.” He answers, not looking up as he adds, “But the owner is and he won’t work alongside anyone that cannot…play nice with others, is that clear?”
“Of course.”
“And I see here you have experience waitressing, is that right?” Lucien reads off the questionnaire you had filled out and you nod when he looks at you. “That is good, how long?”
“I started working at fifteen so about six years now.”
“Great, and did you happen to work behind the bar at all?”
“Not very much,” You say a little sheepishly. “I wasn’t twenty-one at the time so I couldn’t pour alcohol, just serve it.” You explain, wringing your hands nervously in your lap.
God, interviews are so demeaning, you think while Lucien nods, makes another note, and then continues.
“Not an issue, one of our ladies will train you in mixology. Tell me about how you might handle a conflict with a co-worker.”
“Oh, um,” Your mind races for an example, but you never had any issues with co-workers, you mainly kept to yourself at the local eatery you worked in. “I-I’d-uh-talk to the shift manager and seek conflict resolution? It wouldn’t escalate to anything more than a verbal confrontation, if I can avoid it.”
Atta girl, you mentally pat yourself on the back for that safe answer as Lucien gives you an approving nod and the interview process continues.
Shortly after what you feel was an adequate and successful interview, Lucien stands to walk you out and you follow. “You should expect a call later this week. You will come in and meet with the seamstress before you start to be fitted for a dress.”
“Thank you, Mr. Bellerose.” You say, stepping through the front door he opens for you and he gives you a curt nod before returning to the lounge.
Now, all you could do is wait.
Six Months Later…
As you clock in for your shift, you smooth down the skirt of your short, black sequin dress and make sure that the halter top neckline isn’t crooked before heading to the bar. Tony, the lead bartender looks at you and pulls your tray out of reach when you walk up.
“Wha-”
“Boss asked that you go to his office when you got here.” He tells you.
“Oh, thanks.” You say before heading towards the staircase that leads to the second floor.
Mr. LeBeau’s office is at the end, the corner office where no one except Lucien has ever gone in. Your heart pounds in your chest as you gently tap your knuckles against the thick oak door and you startle when it opens suddenly.
In front of you, Mr. LeBeau stands in a clean, white suit, a red scarf is neatly draped over his shoulders, his hair pulled back in a low ponytail. His eyes, warm and glowing, take your breath away and then he smiles and says your name. “Oui?”
“Yes, sir, that’s me.” You say, smiling politely and clasping your hands in front of you like some schoolgirl with a crush. You quickly readjust to clasp them behind your back instead. “Tony said you wanted a word with me?”
“Please, come in, chérie,” He says, stepping aside to let you into his office. “Let us have a chat.”
This is the intro, if you will, to an AU I have been working on since November of last year😅 Now that the foundation is laid out, we can jump in!
A/N:~1800s period piece, outdated social norms, virgin!reader, reader is innocent, but a lil freaky🤭, taboo AU, unprotected sex, fluffy, smut
Had a thought about Gambit back in New Orleans, but in a period piece setting. Like, 1800s era where he and the Thieves rob corrupt noblemen and clergymen for other corrupt men — their loyalty is to highest dollar and the Theives’ Guild alone. Meanwhile Assassins’ take private killing contracts on the other side of the Bayou, but there is a more reverent societal approach to the way everyone conducts themselves.
There are obvious distinctions between social classes. The Thieves’ Guild are considered rogue mercenaries and a stain on society due to their lawlessness of making money through thievery. The Assassins simply hide the same corrupt behaviors behind a crown. They are not openly prosecuted, however, because they have a function, as do the Assassins. Often times men in higher, wealthier positions require personal, sensitive information or items stolen and that’s where the Guilds come in.
Duels must be negotiated and honored. There is no fighting in public as it is considered animalistic behavior beneath men and the penalty is a hefty fine and imprisonment for 10 days or so. Ladies are highly respected, but ultimately seen as lesser than. They are admired in a patronizing manner. Considered too fragile to take strolls on their own, too gentle to use crude words in their presence, too faint hearted to witness a brawl or join a hunt, etc.
Very outdated social norms and strict laws, overall.
That’s what makes Remy’s affair with you so taboo.
Your hand is to be promised to another in marriage when you come of age to join court and begin to host suitors in your father’s home. Marriages are often adjacent to politics in high society of which you are, regretfully so, a part of given your family name and wealth. This is a known duty for young debutants as they become a part of the social fold.
When Remy first spots you it is in town during the market’s barter day, the perfect kind of day for a pickpocket like himself to stroll about and collect expensive pieces to pawn for coin. It never occurrs to him that he might be leaving with more than he bargained for until he sees you. You are promenading alongside a maid, chatting happily and perusing the various texts lined up neatly on display in a bookshop’s window. Remy is already making his way towards you before his mind can tell his feet that a girl like you is a foolishly bad idea.
How could a man resist such a sight? The sage green of your gown makes your skin look soft, your hair is neatly brushed, two braids crowning your head while the rest falls in soft waves under a white lace bonnet, and your eyes — kind and bright with vitality and innocence.
“You a big reader, petite?” Remy asks, as your eyes meet his where he leans against a brick wall by the entrance of the store. Your face warms at the sight of such a man speaking so directly to you. Men usually approach the father or male escort, but neither your father or brother is present. Any man of high society would be deterred by this fact, but this man is definitely not of high society given his muddy boots and dirt stained trousers. And his eyes — dark coals with a glowing ember in the middle.
A sign of mutation.
“I do enjoy to read, sir, yes.” You say, not paying mind to your maid who clears her throat subtly at your side. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, but we must be on our way.” You say with a dutiful curtesy that your maid quietly mimics, Remy returns it with a bow of his head and watches you pass him. You turn back over your shoulder and see him lighting a cigarette, still watching you, and you find yourself hoping to see him again.
And when you do, it’s in your estate gardens.
“Pour vous, petite,” He says, smiling kindly when you freeze at the sight of him sitting leisurely on a stone bench by the gardenias. “I didn’ mean to en’ your promenade so abruptly the other day.”
Your composure returns and you give him a small courtesy as you take the book and hug it to your chest. “No worries, sir, I had only the intentions to browse. I am not supposed to be reading as much.”
“Debutant like you must be learnin’ the piano, non?”
You shake your head softly. “The harp.”
“How angelic, chérie.”
The affair is quiet, but intense.
Both of you are aware of the rules. It is unlawful for a man with no family name to touch a girl still living in her father’s home, unmarried, unsullied. Your duty is to marry the man your father chooses, and you intend to uphold that duty, but right now? You are still outside of court, unbetrothed, unsupervised by maids or your father’s guards.
So you hide in the garden and you wait for him to arrive. Every night he returns, sometimes with a stolen trinket or a warm beignet still wrapped up from the bakery, sometimes with more heat. Every night, you share a few sweet words, a few kisses, and stolen touches as you let him explore the shape of your body against the lattice overgrown with wisteria. The garden becomes your sanctuary, your safe haven where you can forget about your duties and the laws that should be fearsome enough to deter you from falling in love with one another.
“Chérie,” Remy murmurs one night while you read him poetry on the stone bench, he has an arm around your shoulder as he whispers against your cheek, “Read that last line once more f’me.” Your cheek warms and you go over the line again.
A line that talks about the rush of a strong sea, the pressure of the weight of water alone, the release of a wave washing over skin. Your chest swells like the waves in imagery and you look up at him through your lashes long enough to see the intent and wanton desire in his dark eyes. And then his lips are on you. On your lips, on your cheek, on your jaw as you gasp and drop your book of poetry in the grass at your feet. You hold instead onto his strong shoulders, closing your eyes as he shifts to kneel in front of you while peppering your neck with open mouth kisses as he speaks informally to you.
“You make a madman out of me.” He groans, his hands tight on your waist, threatening to rip the silk materia with such a strong hold. “Forgive my behavior, mademoiselle.”
“Don’t stop.” You beg in a breathy voice which is completely unrecognizable to yourself. Your palms explore the plane of his broad shoulders and back as you draw him closer. The heat of his chest warms your pert bosom and you moan in delight as his tongue glides over your skin. Your thighs press together bashfully beneath your silk skirts and Remy’s mouth finds yours once more. “Je suis à toi.”
Remy stills, his lips moving slow over yours and he pulls away, brushing your plump bottom lip with a calloused thumb. “Don’ tell me that if you don’ mean it, petite. I am not a man to be teased.” Your cheeks warm, but you nod, parting your lips and inviting his thumb into your mouth. Remy eyes widen at the sight and he slides it in further, watching your eyes close as you suckle around his digit. “Merde, bébé, you ain’t as innocent as you look.”
After that night, Remy begins to sneak into your bedroom. His mere presence in your chambers would alone be enough of an offense on your father’s name for Remy to be hung in the dungeons. You remind him of that fact each time you let him, elated to see him but always aware of the risk he takes for a few hours of lovesick secrecy.
“Je sais, princesse,” Remy insists with an amused smirk at your widened eyes and tense shoulders, kissing your forehead as he cups your delicate face in his gloved hands. His skin runs a subtle current of kinetic energy through your cheeks and you smile from the tickle. “Please, don’t be afraid. Not while we together, I protect you, I keep you safe,” Remy kisses you softly and melt into him, letting him gather you in his arms and he carries you bridal style to the bed. “You trust me, oui?”
“With my life,” You tell him honestly as he moves on top of you, caging you beneath him with a look of adoration in his eyes that makes you wet. “And with my heart.”
It is dangerous and downright foolish, this affair of yours, you know this and you curse your status and the law thar forbids you marrying outside of said status. You simply consider this your rebellion against the system put in place by the patriarch. You’d simply never tell. Never divulge to the ladies in your sewing circle about the way a Thief of the Guild explores your womanhood in the darkness on your bedroom. Never let slip how wonderful it feels to have a release so strong you cry silent tears while your lover speaks sweet praise. Never share even in the private pages of your diary how when he first took your virginity he did so while cradling you, holding you so tenderly and securely in his long, strong arms that even when you fell apart you felt put together — complete even.
“That’s it, mon ange,” Remy murmurs with such reverence as your body trembles in his arms, your walls contracting around his member as he pulls your first ever release. One hand is holding the back of your skull and the other gripping firmly onto your thigh wrapped around his waist. “Let Papa make you feel good, I got it from here, petite.”
His hand slides down your thigh, along your calf, and he holds onto the delicate arch of your foot, keeping your legs firmly locked around him while he continues rutting into you, intent with marking you from the inside out. Remy would be a damned fool to finish in you, much as he would adore to make you round and visibly taken by him. The moment you calm from your release, Remy slips out of you gently and jerks himself to completion on your belly, growling softly and kissing you sloppily. Your hand finds his to replace, slowly stroking his sensitive head as he spurts out his release onto your skin.
“Petite, don’ stop, juste comme ça.”
His eyes bore into yours as you look up at him with admiration, watching his large frame shake with pleasure at your hand. “You are the only one,” You whisper, seeking a needy kiss from his lips. Remy swallows your moan as you feel his tip brush against your sensitive folds. “Remy,” You sigh, scratching softly down his shoulders as he holds your face in one hand, admiring your dazed expression. “I don’t want to be married to another.”
You look so young just then, so vulnerable in his arms as you beg him to spare you from a life of imprisonment disguised as matrimony.
How could he ever consider letting you go after you have trusted him with every piece of you?
“You won’ be long as ‘m alive, petite.” He promises, his kiss soothing seen as he slips into you once more and you gasp at the subtle sting, his cock strokes deep and intently now that he has no release left, intent on making you feel him long after he’s sneaked off and left you content and sleeping. “No man will touch you, no man can have you. You mine, bèbè.”
Remy knows he has sealed his own death by ruining you for any suitors, but if the law won’t allow him to marry you then Remy will do what a Thief does.
