A/N: Oh, how I love 50's love songs! This song was inspired by "See You in September" by The Tempos. My last TWST fic was a hit, so I figured I'd write another. I hope you enjoy it; I had plenty of fun writing this.
1.1k words | Safe!
Prince Malleus Draconia looked outside his window in the Briar Valley Royal Palace. As his grandmother ruled the nation, his mind was clouded with thoughts of only one person: the Housewarden of Ramshackle.
He wondered what you were up to, who you were with. Were you staying at the College with that dire beast, or maybe with one of your friends at their home? The Prince wishes he knew. He thought of your hair, how it frames your face and your effervescent smile. He considered how your kindness has shaped the school into a better and safer environment. He thought of your gentle humanness. He almost had no way to put it—being human was different from being fae. Yet, your humanness made you shine. It’s like how Silver’s humanity made him who he was, but for you, you were a different kind of human. You weren’t from Twisted Wonderland. Your humanness didn’t make you inherently magical in the sense that you could use magic, but it made you magical in the sense that your presence was magnetic.
Something about you stirred something in him. You made his heart beat faster and his breath hitch. You made his cheeks flush and made his mind race. At first, Malleus thought that you had cast a spell on him, but after talking with Lilia, the type of spell you cast was purely chemical. It was something that transcended all known logic. He was infatuated with you. Dare he say he was in love with you?
He wondered if you thought of him the way he thought of you. He had given you a letter encouraging you to write to him, and if he was honest with himself, he was really, really hoping you’d write him back. He wanted to hear all about your summer. He wanted to know how you were spending your days and who you were spending them with. As much as he wished you were kept company, he also hoped it wasn’t just the ghosts and the meddlesome direbeast. If he indeed had its way, you would spend your summer here in Briar Valley, where it was relatively temperate. He knew Ramshackle’s air was something to be desired, so he had hoped you weren’t in discomfort with the weather.
But what if you were with someone? What would you be doing with them? Malleus did not know what most “average” teenagers did. Most of the students of Diasomnia were far from average. Most were fae who lived in Briar Valley, and a good came from the nobility or were the children of members of parliament. He had heard some students in other dorms talk about their summer plans as he prepared to transport back to Briar Valley, and those plans involved places like beaches and vacations to lands they’d never been to. Is that what average teenagers do? To his knowledge, average teenagers did not sit in their castles and ponder what their object of affection was doing.
He still remembers seeing you moments before the mirror and how rushed you seemed to see him.
“Malleus!” you called, rushing over to the Mirror Room.
“Yes, Child of Man?” he responded, a smile growing. Malleus had to admit he was excited to see you. He would have to go three whole months without seeing you—and although that was the blink of an eye for fae, it suddenly felt like a relatively long period of time.
It was then a loud voice came from behind him. “Lord Malleus! You shan’t let his human address you without your royal title!” Sebek Zigvolt boomed.
“Nonsense,” Malleus chided. “They are a friend, Sebek; they can address me however they see fit.”
Sebek huffed, gathering the rest of the luggage, and wandered off to find Silver and Lilia Vanrouge. Meanwhile, you skittered up to Malleus.
“Oh, Child of Man, I have something for you.” Malleus dug into his breast pocket and found what he was looking for: a brilliant ivory letter. He handed it to you with a smile. “Read this when you have the time.”
You returned his smile. “Thank you so much, Malleus.”
“Now, what did you rush over here to tell me? What matter of tale will you weave for me today?” The Prince asked, his curiosity now piqued.
“I wanted to wish you a good summer vacation, and I can’t wait to see you soon.” you got on your tippy-toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I’ll see you soon, Malleus!” Within seconds, you scurried away back to Ramshackle.
For the first time in his life, the Prince was stunned into silence. However, it was a good kind of stunned. The type of stunned someone is when they receive a surprise present or when an old friend comes over without an invitation. Your ability to stupefy the Prince was astounding.
Malleus touched his cheek, recounting the memory with a smile. It was like he could almost feel the kiss you placed. The more he thought about it, he loathed his royal duties. Must he be kept cooped up in a castle with nothing to do? It wasn’t often he was invited to the senate, nor was he invited to the gatherings the townsfolk held, so there he sat. Alone.
His mind wandered back to something Lilia had said right after he had witnessed the small act of affection. Lilia said, “It seems the human returns your feeling, Lord Malleus.” Hopefully, you did. If you returned his affections, he would court you immediately. There was no purpose in not. He would make you his own for the rest of your life. The adjustment would be hard, but you had adjusted to Twisted Wonderland with relative ease, and he hoped that the same attitude you held adjusting to your school life would be the same as how you’d adjust to your life as a royal.
How Malleus started counting the minutes and hours until he could see you again. Would he see you when school came back in session? His worst fear would be realized if Headmage Crowley had found a way to send you home. No, he wouldn’t allow you to go home to your world. He would do the entirely un-princely behavior of groveling on his knees and beg you to stay in this world. Malleus could already see poor Sebek attempting to pull Malleus to his feet, but when it came to his love, any groveling was a plausible behavior.
Or worse, could he lose you to a summer love? There is danger in the summer moon above, and Malleus couldn’t stand to lose you to someone else. Who could it possibly be that he could lose you to? Would it be one of your underclassmen or maybe one of his fellow upperclassmen? Or what if it was a random civilian? Malleus wasn’t sure he could live with either option. He was barely half alive in his struggle to survive without you around him.
For now, there was nothing he could do. He could only pray to the Great Seven that he would see you in September.
DESCRIPTION: On a stormy night, your husband helps you chase your high.
CONTENT: Smut, Wife!Reader, Erik being a good husband(TM), mentions the reader being younger than Erik.
A/N: Well folks, I have returned! To be honest with you, I started work recently and I haven't been able to write. I managed to churn this out in thirty minutes or so. As much as I'm on the Gambit train, the Magneto train has been calling me. Please join me in thirsting for this old man. Also, Erik speaking German. Awooga.
709 words | MDNI!
Being Erik Lehnsherr’s wife had many perks. He’d make you metal flowers just about every day; all your needs came first, he was very protective over you, and he was a passionate man. The latter may have been an understatement. Erik Lehnsherr, or as the rest of the world knew him, Magneto, was fervent in all he did. Whether it was mutant activism, his battles, or his love for you, his fervency carried.
Never did you doubt Erik’s love for you. You may have been many years his junior, but not once did you doubt the older man’s love or his dedication. The ring he made and engraved for you was a symbol of that. The matching meteorite wedding bands you both wore were symbols of your eternal love—and nothing could ever change that.
Another manner in which your husband was passionate was during intimacy.
Erik, being older, you expected his sex drive to diminish. You were very incorrect in that notion. Your body and mind lit a fire in him that neither you nor he ever expected. You lit an inferno in his soul that could never be extinguished—something that burned inside his chest like nothing he’d ever known. At least once a week, in the private quarters that you shared, Erik’s hands managed to find their way to your beautiful body. Hands running up and down your sides, Erik would press kisses into the sensitive spots on your neck, causing you to melt into his touch.
Tonight was another night you found yourself at the mercy of Erik’s touch, magnetic as ever. As the rain poured and the clouds thundered outside, your candlelit room illumined the image of you straddling one of your husband’s large and muscular thighs, your arms around his neck.
Erik smiled at you, bouncing his leg intermittently as you found yourself chasing another orgasm. As you rode his thigh, you could feel his hands exploring every inch of you—territory he’d already mapped out perfectly for years. From your breasts to your waist to your arms to your hips, Erik found every inch of your body enchanting. He almost couldn’t help himself; your womanly curves were inviting, and your body was his sanctuary. You brought him peace in a world that offered him no such thing.
Your hips bucked at a steady pace, the fabric of your panties providing a delightful sensation on your clit. His thighs provided a strong base for you to thrust against, the strong muscle grounding you and inadvertently guiding you toward another orgasm.
“Meine Schönste,” Erik’s deep baritone spoke, “how are you feeling?”
“Heavenly.” you mewled. Your head fell back as you continued to roll your hips.
Erik began to bounce his leg at a steadier pace, which, in turn, caused you to meet his pace. You let out a moan as each roll of your hip met the bouncing of his leg.
“You look so beautiful, Liebling. You’re doing so well.” He smiled, pressing a kiss to your lips.
As you deepened the kiss, you felt the impending wave of an orgasm begin to hit you. The tightening of the coil in your stomach began to feel overwhelming. One of the hands that was settled on your waist found its way to your hair, pulling it back, the other finding its way to your clit, now rubbing tight little circles.
With a crash of thunder outside, your orgasm came similarly: with a loud bang. You let out a loud moan as a strong wave of pleasure hit you. Your husband helped you ride out your high, as although your hips stopped moving, his fingers did not. Continuing their ministrations, you almost screamed as you slowly began to come down from your high.
After what felt like an eternity of pleasure, Erik’s fingers started to slow, and eventually, his hands went back to your hips, now effortlessly picking you up and placing you sideways on his lap.
“Oh, mein frau, you did so well for me.” he shushed, your breathing slowly beginning to even out.
Your hands began to run through his hair, and you pressed a feather-light kiss to his lips, a content smile growing on your face. “I love you, Erik.”
DESCRIPTION: You're having an anxiety attack, and Remy finds you and helps you calm down.
CONTENT: Anxiety Attacks, Can Be Read as Platonic/Romantic, AFAB!Reader in mind, but no actual pronouns are used.
A/N: I wrote this in forty minutes, so in all honesty, it's probably not very good. I had this idea last night after I was having some serious anxiety. Gambit is truly a comfort character for me, so I hope that you can find some comfort in this too.
552 words | Safe!
Remy’s arms were tight around you as your erratic breathing was nowhere close to beginning to steady itself. He found you only two minutes ago when you had dropped to your knees in the middle of one of the winding hallways of the mansion. Anxiety was flooding your body in a way that felt overpowering—like the crashing waves of an oceanic storm. You trembled and shook, and the only thing keeping you tethered to this planet was the arms around you.
“Shh, it’s all gonna be okay, chérie; Gambit’s right here.” he cooed, rocking you both gently back and forth. Your chest was tight, and your brain felt scrambled. Nothing was right, and nothing felt okay. Today was a long day, and now it was ending with an anxiety attack.
Tears streamed down your cheeks as you tried to steady your breathing. Your arms were wrapped around Remy’s arms, attempting to keep him as close to you as possible. He was your current lifeline, and you’d be damned if you were going to let him go. With your head pressed against his chest, you tried to listen to his heartbeat. If there was one thing he was good at, it was keeping calm, and his heartbeat reflected that. Slow and rhythmic, his heartbeat gives you a more relaxed rhythm to focus on.
His grasp around you tightened as you let out another plaintive cry. “Oh, sweetheart, I know. Keep tryin’ to match my breathing; you’re doing so well. I got ya, and I ain’t letting go.”
You try to steady your mind and listen to his breathing; his chest’s gentle rise and fall gives you an anchor. “I’m sorry,” you sputtered out. Part of you felt guilty for all of this. Remy didn’t need to be here comforting you; he could be off doing God knows what with God knows who, but here he was, spending his time with you. Attempting to bring you back to Earth.
“Nothin’ to be sorry for, darlin’.” he smiled. “You just keep focusin’ on my breathin’. Gambit’s not leavin’ until you feel better.”
It took a few minutes, but you could feel your breathing begin to slow. Remy still rocked you both back and forth and kept his breathing slow. This didn’t go unnoticed by the man whose arms were keeping you safe, and he pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head. “Great job, chérie, keep breathin’ with me. You’re doin’ amazing.”
What felt like an eternity later, and your breathing finally returned to normal, you shifted to face Remy. He showed you a gentle smile. “You did so good, and I’m so proud of you.” he unwrapped his arms from you to wipe the remnants of your tears. With another gentle movement, he helped you back to your feet. “Let’s get you to the med-bay; you can lie down there.”
“Please don’t go,” you muttered. “Please.”
“I’m not goin’ anywhere.” Remy grabbed your hand and walked you toward the medical wing of the mansion. He was true to his word; he didn’t leave your side the whole time. He kept you grounded and steady the entire walk there and helped you lie down on one of the beds, tucking you in gently.
Inevitably, he was right. Things were going to be okay.
DESCRIPTION: You find out about Bella Donna Boudreaux, and you are not happy about it.
CONTENT: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Threats of Breakup, Mentions Remy's Past (*Using the Original X-Men Animation Series as Ref.)
A/N: This is not my favorite Remy work I've done, but I think it's still pretty good. This is pretty heavy hurt/comfort, and the ending is a little rushed. TBH I wanted to just write this and get it over with. WIPs can only have such a long shelf life! I may eventually update this later.
848 words | Safe!
"Remy…" You walked cautiously into your and Remy's shared bedroom in his apartment near the school, anger bubbling inside you. In your hand, you held a letter from some woman named Bella Donna Boudreaux. The letter was old, at least five years old. You found it while cleaning out one of Remy's closets, finding it in a box on the top shelf when it came tumbling out of the closet. "What is this?"
Remy, who was reading, immediately shot up. His black and red eyes looked at you with so much shock. He looked like a man who got caught. “Ma chérie,” he started.
"What is this, Remy?" you shot, effectively cutting him off. "Who the fuck is Bella Donna Boudreaux?"
"Chérie, it's not what you think." Remy stood up from the bed and began slowly approaching you.
You weren't stupid; you could read what the letter said, and that letter painted a rather different story than your current reality. "I think it's exactly what I think, Remy. What the hell does 'I'll forever be your wife' mean, then? Remy, we've been dating for three years, and this letter is five years old. Are you married?" you roared, your anger almost unmanageable.
Your mind was racing with every possible answer that Remy could've given you, and none of them were positive explanations. Your relationship with Remy was the best you ever had; he was kind, generous, and giving, and overall, he was a spectacular partner who always put your needs first. You loved Remy more than you could fathom; this letter was heartbreaking.
Before he could answer, you began to read some of the letter to him. "Remy, mon amour, I miss you every day. Every day you are gone is like a stab in the heart. I still remember the day I last saw you; you looked handsome as ever, mon cœur." you stopped reading the letter and threw it on the bed. "What the fuck is this?"
"Darlin', that's all old history, Bella Donna is…"
"Your wife, apparently, Remy." you began to tear up. Nothing shattered your heart like reading that letter did. You had read through the entire thing before you confronted your boyfriend, and you knew a love letter when you read one. You started shaking your head, putting your palm up to your forehead. "I can't fucking believe this."
Without even noticing, he got closer, Remy turned you around and gently pulled your hand from your head. His face portrayed an emotion of hurt. As much as you wanted to scream at him, tear him apart, something in you knew that he had some proper explaining to do. "Darlin', listen to me. Please."
You sighed roughly, continuing to shake your head. "Fine. You better have a great explanation for this, Remy. Or I'm done."
He sighs. Remy knew this day would come eventually—whether it be when filing for marriage paperwork or when his past eventually bubbled up to the surface. If he was honest with himself, he completely forgot about that letter; it was shoved in that box with the rest of his past in the Thieves's Guild. Looking at you, his heart was breaking. The last thing he ever wanted to do was hurt you.
"Well, darlin', it starts back in New Orleans. The long and the short of it is that Bella Donna Boudreaux was a member of the Assassin's Guild, and I was a member of the Thieves's Guild. We were arranged to be married in an attempt to unite the guilds. Gambit didn't love her, so he walked away from the altar. Bella Donna wrote me that letter as a last-ditch effort to get me back. I don't know how she even found my address, but she sent it. I forgot that I even kept it. I promise I didn't marry her, mon amour. I don't love her. My heart does not belong to another; it only belongs to you." He held you steady in front of him, and he watched how the tears forming in your eyes began to roll down your cheeks.
Remy pulled you into a tight hug as you cried. "Shh, don't cry, chérie, Gambit's right here."
"Don't ever fucking scare me like that." you cried. Right now, you hated yourself. There was no way you could deny what you read, but you trusted your boyfriend with every word he said. Remy wasn't one to tell you a lie. Ever since you began dating, he has been nothing but honest and upfront with all that he said. "M’sorry, Remy. I'm really sorry."
Gently letting go of you, Remy cupped your cheeks and placed a kiss on your forehead. "No reason to apologize, mon amour. You were scared, and that situation seemed nasty. I understand."
"I was just so worried that you were keeping something from me, especially something that would change our relationship."
"I know, chérie, I know." He cooed, pulling you back into the hug.
You sighed, letting the anxiety go. “Please forgive me.”
He smiled. “Gambit forgives ya’, chérie. Of course I do.”
DESCRIPTION: Imagine being "Red Hair" Shanks' wife.
CONTENT: Angst (Shanks losing his arm, talk of infidelity), Fluff (Weddings, Falling in Love)
A/N: Shanks my beloved. While I work on an ideally long Sanji fic, I needed something to post. Hence, this Shanks imagine. This can be read as OPLA!Shanks or Anime/Manga!Shanks. My friend Claudia always tells me being Shanks' wife would be a rather depressing endeavor, but to that I say, bring it. Enjoy bbys!
653 words | Safe!
Imagine being Shanks’ wife.
You’re not a pirate; you’re far from it. You worked at Party’s as a barmaid; you just happened to be the lucky lady to catch Shanks’ eye. Red Haired Shanks, a feared pirate, was nothing but a man with his hat in his hand asking to marry you. You had feelings for the pirate for a while, so of course, you accepted his proposal. You still remembered his words: “Would you marry me, darlin’? Make me the happiest man alive?” His words made you melt. Everything about him made you melt.
The wedding was nothing special in the grand scheme of things; it was what would be considered a “courthouse” wedding. It was held at the very bar you met, and you dolled yourself up nice: your nicest dress, your best available makeup, and you did your hair the way you like it. Shanks wore his Sunday best—which frankly wasn’t much, but you were always a sucker for the rugged look. The rest of the Shanks’ crew and all your friends were there too. Your officiant was the town elder, who looked at you and Shanks with a smile. He grabbed your hands, wished you eternal happiness, and told the pirate that he better not let a single tear slip down your cheek. Shanks promised.
There were two days he couldn’t keep that promise, the first being the day he lost his arm. As he and Luffy came to shore, you noticed the blood draining from the lost limb and screamed. You screamed so loud you were sure they could hear you around the East Blue. As Makino ushered Luffy away, you practically threw yourself at your husband. You were sobbing, grabbing at his shirt, asking what the hell had happened. He shushed and cooed you quietly, telling you what happened. You wanted to punch him, scream at him for his recklessness, but he was protecting a child that he cared for, and you couldn’t fault him for that. As you ushered him to the medic, you continued to cry. You loved your husband more than anything, and nothing would ever change that.
The second time he made you cry was when he left for the Grand Line, telling you that you couldn't come with him. You were enraged, and you showed it with tears. Thoughts raced of him with a hoard of different women, him getting hurt, or getting betrayed, or worse, his death. You couldn't stand any of those things; you needed to be there with him. You rarely got angry at your husband, but today was the day you became livid at him. Instead of screaming out of sheer horror, you screamed in sheer anger. How dare he? How dare he find it acceptable to leave you here forever? Alone. Alone, without the man you promised to spend the rest of your life with. Beck Beckman and the rest of the crew watched this unfold; you were not one to make a scene, but you weren’t going down without a fight. Beckman had approached Shanks, saying he was more than welcome to bring you.
Shanks shook his head and said: “I couldn’t live with myself if she got hurt.”
You fell to your knees. You weren’t going to beg. You had to accept this fate, the fate of a wife with a husband out at sea. Until you feel Shanks lift your chin and help you return to your feet. He kissed you with passion and pulled you into the tightest hug he could: “Where would I be without my wife by my side? You can come along, darlin’.”
From that day forward, you were on the sea with the Red Hair Pirates. More importantly, you were on the sea with your husband, the feared pirate Red Haired Shanks. Your souls in the ocean together would be, and that’s all you needed to be happy.
Please like, reblog, and comment! I love to hear from readers!
I'm Just Half Alive (In my Struggle to Survive Without You) - NSFW
Remy LeBeau (Gambit)/ AFAB!Reader
DESCRIPTION: It's your first night as Mrs. Remy Etienne LeBeau, and your new husband cannot wait to show you how much he adores you.
CONTENT: SMUT, Protected Sex (Always Wrap it Before you Tap It), Praise Kink (?), M!Overstimulation, AFAB Reader, She/Her Pronouns Used, French Used
A/N: This was a labor of love! I wrote this over two days, and I've only been in the X-Men fandom for three days. I immediately fell in love with Gambit and then found out there were so few fanfics of him. I decided to change that. My two song inspirations were "My Way of Life" by Frank Sinatra and "Life Eternal" by Ghost. Enjoy bbys! If you like this fic, reblogs are very much appreciated, as are likes and comments.
3.3K words | Minors DO NOT INTERACT
You smile as you look in the mirror. Today was arguably the best day of your life—you just became Mrs. Remy Etienne LeBeau, and nothing made you happier.
Your wedding was exquisite. It occurred in one of the most beautiful venues in the French Quarter of New Orleans; the hall was rather large and historical. The hall was decorated with your favorite flowers—those your now husband had given you on your first date. The chandeliers in the building were all lit with candles that perfectly illuminated and complimented the ceremony. Your dress was similarly exquisite, and your closest friends were helping you pick it out. It was exactly what you wanted, and it fit absolutely perfectly—all with the help from the tailor’s shop, but that was beside the point.
A majority of you and Remy’s coworkers and friends were there, even a sparse few from his days in the Thieves Guild. You were thrilled: everyone who loved you and Remy supported you on your big day.
The ceremony was gorgeous. Filled with tears from both the guests and the wedding party, you two exchanged your vows. You spent about five minutes saying your vows to one another, making the other sob in the process. You did your best to speak some Cajun French in your speech, making Remy cry harder. Your husband wasn’t one to let his bravado falter, but seeing him in happy tears made you melt. You looked at your guest when he began to cry, and some of the toughest X-Men you knew were similarly in tears. In your vows, you both promised to share the rest of your beautiful, chaotic lives with each other, and come what may, your love will never falter. You two were bonded in holy matrimony; nothing could change that.
Your first kiss as husband and wife was something you’d never forget. You both had practiced that dip for the past three months and had pulled it off perfectly. Of course, your husband, being your husband, kissed you harder and longer than you anticipated, which made your head spin and your heart soar. Walking back down the aisle, nearly dancing the whole way down, had suddenly made all the stress of planning the wedding worth it.
The reception was a mere two hours ago, and it was a whirlwind of laughter, happiness, dance, and minor chaos. Your first dance was to “My Way of Life” by Frank Sinatra, and if the two of you weren’t looking lovingly at each other while dancing, one or the other was murmuring the words under their breath. That song perfectly encapsulated how you two felt about each other: you were each other’s way of life. Each day, you awoke to live, eat, and breathe each other. In some ways, you felt you were made for each other. As you were dancing, your bodies fit together like puzzle pieces, your arms wrapped around his neck and his around your waist.
After your first dance and the further rupture of applause and tears, Remy and you began to socialize with family and friends. Ever the charmer your husband was, recounting the stories to your family and friends of how we knew you were the one the moment your eyes locked. Some of the telepathics in your reception had told you not a single lie was spoken by your husband; he meant every single word he said.
Now, there you were, looking into the mirror of the hotel you two stayed at. The two of you spared no expense regarding your honeymoon, and you both wanted to make sure it was as memorable as possible.
The black velour robe you wore kept you comfortable as you took all the pins and accessories from your hair. The kind ladies doing your hair certainly knew what they were doing, but they sure had put a lot of bobby pins in your hair. As you recounted the night in your head as the final pin came out, a satisfied sigh escaped your lips.
As if right on cue, your husband walked into the room, two champagne glasses in hand. “Joie de vivre,” he said to himself. You turned around to face him, a large smile growing on your face. Remy looked divine, with a white suit that fit him perfectly, your favorite flower on his lapel, and his hair tied back. You always thought your husband looked wonderful but particularly good in a three-piece suit. “Ma chérie, you look as beautiful as always.”
“Thank you, my dear.” you smiled as he handed you the glass of champagne. As you sipped, you watched your husband remove his jacket and put it in the closet, placing the flower on the bed’s side table. His movements were smooth like his words, and you heard him sing one of the songs from the reception under his breath. “How’s it going, sweetheart?” you ask him.
Remy responded in his native tongue: “C’est tout un sucre, chérie. Happier than I’ve ever been.” He waltzes over to you and presses a kiss to the top of your head.
“I love you, Remy.” you place your hand on his cheek, stroking it gently.
“I love you too, darlin’.” he smiles.
This was happiness—absolute happiness. Nothing felt more right than this; this was perfection. Here you were with the love of your life, and he was with his.
“Now, chérie, you look absolutely stunning,” his charming timbre weakens your knees. His hands fell to your shoulders and ran up and down your arms. “And I think I need some alone time with my wife.”
You show him a coy smile. “Your wife? Hmm…I think I can make that happen.”
As you sit up from your chair, Remy guides you to the large bed against the wall’s middle. The bed was easily a California King with beautiful black sheets and a duvet cover. Remy guided you to lie down, and you looked at him with a dorky look. Remy was gorgeous, with his red and black eyes, chestnut hair, and body built like Adonis himself.
“What you smilin’ at, ma chérie?” he laughed, his hands finding your waist.
“You!” you gush. “You’re just so handsome, and kind, and brave, and…and really fucking sexy.”
He laughs again and begins to fiddle with the tie of your robe. “You think Gambit is sexy? Well, you’re a sight, too, doll.”After a look of silently asking to undress you, you nodded. As he undid your robe, he smiled when he saw what was underneath—a breathtaking lingerie set. The set was a bit more expensive than you were willing to spend, but you knew that some sacrifices needed to be made for your wedding. “You’re tryin’ to kill Gambit aintcha?”
“Maybe.” you laughed, propping yourself up to fully strip yourself of the robe. You watched as your husband began to unbutton his dress shirt, slowly and precisely, and never breaking eye contact. You knew your husband too well at this point—he was teasing you. He attempted to test your patience, and simultaneously, he gave you a show. You could feel your cheeks flush. Something about your husband made him impossible to resist—whether it was that Louisiana charm or his general personality, something about him beckoned you like a siren song.
As the dress shirt hit the ground, Remy reached for your hands, helping you stand. He spun you around gently, getting a good look at your body in that clearly expensive white set. He wolf-whistled, which made you giggle. “Damn, chérie, you’re gonna be lucky if I don’t rip that off of ya.”
As you finally faced him, you wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed your husband. These types of kisses felt like fireworks—maybe it was the slight kinetic energy that always radiated from Remy, or perhaps it was just the product of your love. If you had to guess, it was probably a mix of both.
His hands fell to your waist, and he swiftly picked you up and placed you back on the bed. His lips traveled from yours to your neck, kissing at the crook of your neck to that sensitive spot he learned early on. Letting out a quiet moan, you could feel his smirk on your neck as he continued pressing kisses there. His hands explored your body freely, from massaging your perfect breasts to gently squeezing your thighs. The journey of his hands ended at the hem of your panties, a silent plea to let him take them off of you. Your response to that silent plea was another nod, and suddenly, your husband was off your neck and on his knees.
Your husband did the hard work of spreading your legs for you, giving him a perfect view of your pussy. He licked his lips and smiled. “Bon appétit.” He pressed a lingering kiss to your knee before working down your thigh. Wrapping his arms around your thighs, he began to lap at your cunt with the vigor of a man starved. You let out a loud and staggered breath as your husband pulled his tongue from your entrance to your folds. He continued this movement until your breaths became ragged enough to where he decided it would be a good time to suck at your clit.
“God, you’re so fucking gorgeous.” He paused for a second to say–almost as if he were saying it to himself and dived back into your core. You let out a deafening whine as he lapped at your clit, then sucked it particularly hard.
He noticed your hips begin to buck at no discernible rhythm, and if there was one thing your husband was during sex, it was a talker. His thumb replaced his tongue, rubbing your clit in tight circles. “You like that, ma charmante?” your hips bucked against his fingers, and you let out a loud moan. “That’s it. Show me what you got, chérie. Work yourself on my fingers.”
“Shit!” you moaned. Your movements were becoming jerky—you were close. Remy immediately went back to lapping at your cunt, his finger making its way into your walls. Within seconds, you let out a moan you were sure the other patrons of the hotel could hear.
You were practically dry-heaving, and within seconds of removing himself from your thighs, you pressed a heavy kiss to Remy’s lips. Your hands cupped his face, and one of his hands went to the small of your back.
“God, Remy…” you heaved. Part of you couldn’t even form a sentence. You felt euphoric. Remy was always good with his tongue, both in his words and in his skills.
“Yes, chérie?” Remy smiled. He was thoroughly enjoying this. You learned over the years that his pleasure came from your pleasure. You saw that in the way he’d do anything to make you laugh, you saw that in the way that he would cook for you, and you saw that in the way that sexually, your pleasure came first.
“Remy, I need you.”
“Then take what is yours, darlin’.”
You stood up carefully—your legs feeling like jelly—and pressed hard kisses to his lips. Dropping to your knees, you began to expertly unbuckle the oversized belt buckle of your husband’s belt. You place one hand on your husband’s large thigh as if to keep yourself steady. You could feel your mouth water at the thought of sucking his cock. You look up at him, your eyes meeting his. You begin to toy with his erection, palming him over his dress pants. As you finish unbuckling this belt, Remy slides his pants and underwear down to his ankles, swiftly kicking them off.
You begin to move your hand up and down his shaft, hearing him let out a groan. A few strokes later and you lower your mouth onto his cock. You use your tongue to lick around the tip of his cock, and you lower yourself and take more of him into your mouth. He lets out a moan as you bob your head up and down on his shaft, taking as much of him as you could. You hollowed your mouth to create a light suction, which made your husband see stars.
Remy finds his hands in your hair, letting you set your own pace. As you continued to worship his cock with your tongue, he began to blab. “Tu te sens si bien, chérie. So fucking good. Keep going…just like that. Fuck, keep going.”
As you swirl your tongue around the head of his cock one more time, he ruffles your hair. “Ma charmante et talentueuse femme, I need to fuck you.” he groaned.
With a pop, you remove yourself from his cock with a devious smile on your face. “I’m all yours, Remy.”
He guides you to the bed again and smacks your ass playfully. You turn to swat at him, and he laughs gently. You almost want to cry; you’re so happy. You are married to the love of your life; it’s your wedding night, and you are spending it with the man you love more than anything. Now, you were having your first night as husband and wife—you couldn’t be happier. As you find the headboard, you lean back and bend your knees, spreading your legs. You were on full display for your husband; by the looks of it, he certainly wasn’t complaining.
“Hold on, ma chérie, one moment.” Remy started to search through the side table drawer, where he found what he was looking for: the box of condoms. You watched as he rolled the condom onto his cock, and you smiled to yourself. Remy had always been one for condoms; even times when you just wanted him to fuck you raw, he would kiss your hand and promise to always take care of you first.
Crawling onto the bed, your husband towered over you, moving to hover above you. You looked up at him, your eyes full of need and lust. He pressed another kiss to your lips as he guided the head of his cock to your entrance. He moves his hips forward, and inch by inch, you begin to take him. You both moan at the feeling of euphoria.
Remy continues to push his hips forward, beginning to rock in and out of you. He moves his hips slowly and deeply, as he prefers, to feel all of you as you take him. For the first time since your first dance, you feel your eyes well with tears. Remy is quick to catch onto this and stops his movements entirely. “Oh babydoll, what’s wrong?”
“I’m just,” you start, “so happy to be yours, Remy.”
“Oh, these are happy tears!” he coos and places his hand on your cheek and the other on the headboard. He continues his ministrations in your cunt, feeling how you take him so, so well. You feel so full, and despite being with Remy for this long, you don’t think you’d ever get accustomed to this feeling. His cock is nestled between your walls, and each thrust urges you closer to an orgasm.
Heat coils in your lower stomach as Remy thrusts into you, and for not the last time that evening, he talks you through the feeling. “Oh, ma femme, ma magnifique femme, you take me so well. And I love you, I love you so fucking much.”
“I’ve only been yours, love, and I’ll be yours for the rest of time.” you moan, repeating his sentiments out loud.
“Damn straight. It sounds good coming from your lips. Gambit was gonna make you his, even when he first met you.” he groaned, the smirk on his face returning. “And I’ll be yours for the rest of time.”
You wrap your legs around your husband’s waist, letting him hit that spongy spot inside of you. His thrusts are starting to become faster, and with each thrust, he bucks his hips to ensure he is fully sheathed inside you. You’re close, so, so incredibly close.
You yelp, “Fuck, Remy, I’m close, I’m really, really close.”
“Me too, darlin’.” he groans. His hand falls to your waist, and he begins to thrust far more erratically. He fucks you into him, slamming into you, causing you to moan his name. Loud.
You’re nearly dry-heaving again as he fucks you. That heat in your stomach that had turned into a coil had started to unwind. You were coming close to another orgasm.
“Fuck—I’m coming, shit!” Remy groans. Although, his pace doesn’t relent as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm.
Your legs tighten around him as that coil becomes completely undone. “Remy, shit, God, I love you. I love you so fuckingmuch. I am so fucking happy to be your wife! I can’t wait to make you a family!” you pant, your finish further slicking the space between you.
“I love you so much. More than you know…and, and, I’ll love you forever, chérie!” His voice was shaky and erratic as he overstimulated himself to rock you through your orgasm.
As you both begin to still, your breath erratic, you grab hold of him and just let his weight crash onto you. He buries his face in your shoulder, and you hear him let out a sigh. He mutters something to himself in his native tongue and presses a light kiss to your neck. You can hear him mutter one thing as he pushes himself upwards: “I love you.”
He nearly projects himself to your side, grabbing your hand and gently kissing your palm. “You’re my world. You truly are.”
“I mean every word I said,” you murmured, so breathless you could barely speak, “I am really so happy to be your wife.”
“And I’m happy to be your husband.” he smiled, turning to face you. You pressed a gentle kiss to his lips and smiled. You were happy, and now you get to look forward to an eternity with the man you loved. Come what may, no matter how big or small, you would have Remy by your side. And that was going to be your way of life.
The Criminal Minds Men While You're On Your Period - Headcanons
CHARACTERS: Dr. Spencer Reid, Aaron Hotchner, Derek Morgan
DESCRIPTION: Headcanons for the Criminal Minds men while you're on your period. Characters mentioned above/AFAB!Reader.
CONTENT: Discussion of Periods, Discussion of Feminine Hygeine Products, Romantic Relationships w/ Aforementioned Characters
A/N: I've been on a Criminal Minds binge recently (when am I not), and I really wanted to write this. I only included the aforementioned characters because I'm only on season three. So, unfortunately, there is no Luke Alvarez since I have yet to learn his character! I hope you enjoy!
- Dr. Spencer Reid
This poor bastard, as genius as he is, would have such little clue on how to handle your period (at least when it comes to being a partner).
That’s not to say he doesn’t try, nor is he clueless.
He’s definitely worked with his colleagues when they are on their periods and has probably been good at support, but in the relationship department, he’s a little…inexperienced.
Spencer is incredibly observant (it comes with the territory of both the job and being a partner), so needless to say, he knows what brands of period products you use.
If this man isn’t the type to dote on you while you’re on your period, I am calling the Bureau myself and filing a report.
All that is to say, Spencer is still spitting period facts at you while you lie together.
“Did you know that almost half of American women crave chocolate on their period?[1]
“Over ninety percent of women experience premenstrual symptoms; that’s three in four women...”[2]
Oh, sweet summer child…we know (it comes from a place of love).
Now, back to the doting.
I want to think that the kind Dr. Reid is a cuddle monster who is absolutely giving you a shoulder or back massage if you’re sore.
He will also absolutely read to you while you’re on your period to help you distract yourself from any cramps or anything else that may bother you.
- Aaron Hotchner
Out of the three men I present here, Mr. Hotchner knows how to handle a woman on her period like it’s a science.
Incredibly sweet and patient, and doesn’t have to be asked for anything.
Do you want something you’ve been craving? He’s on it. He knew twenty minutes before you started craving it. Have mood swings? Aaron can take all the punches. Need space? He can take Jack out to the movies.
If he’s home, he’ll lie in bed with you and Jack and watch as many Disney movies as you want.
If he’s out on the job, he’ll call you so you can listen to him talk about his day (and he totally will send flowers to the house to brighten up your day).
An absolute gentleman at all times when it’s your monthly; he’s never grossed out, and he’s never not what you need him to be.
Let’s say you accidentally get blood on your favorite pair of panties. Aaron will be the first to take them and clean them by hand without question.
He’s seen a lot of gross shit, so your period blood is nothing.
- Derek Morgan
His sisters and mother have taught him well: this man can absolutely handle you on your period.
He may not know your preferred brands or preferred size, but he’ll absolutely buy four boxes of tampons and pads and then ask which ones you like
Okay, more realistically, he’d call you at the store, but he’s unafraid to buy them for you.
He will also bring your favorite snacks without having to be asked.
Chocolate? Done. Candy? Already accounted for. Water or a sugary drink? Derek Morgan on the job.
Derek has absolutely seen his sisters experience PMS, so your PMS is nothing. Absolutely has patience and is willing to talk it out with you.
Super considerate if you don't want to go out! Want to instead have a movie marathon? Sounds good to him. Want to order instead of go to a restaurant? Sounds solid.
If you're clingy on your period, Derek adores this. He is absolutely okay being smothered by you. Comes with the territory of being a partner.
References for the Facts:
[1] Hormes JM, Niemiec MA (2017) Does culture create craving? Evidence from the case of menstrual chocolate craving. PLoS ONE 12(7): e0181445. https://doi.org/10.1371/journal.pone.0181445
DESCRIPTION: A lonely evening without your husband causes some positive reflection, that is until he comes home again.
CONTENT: Pure fluff, brief and minor allusions to sex, mentions of Haley Hotchner's death, mentions of loneliness.
A/N: Aaron Hotchner, my beloved! Initially, this fic centered around another song, but then I reworked it to a song that fit much better. I apologize for not posting, I've been working on other fics and preparing for my new job. I wanted to make this fic realistic to what it would be like to be married to Hotch, so prepare for some angst. All that said, I hope you enjoy it!
1.9k words | Safe!
Evenings with your husband were usually tranquil. Evenings without your husband were far more tranquil, at least for the most part. As you cared for your stepson, who you loved with all your heart, he kept the house lively. He came into your room and showed you his drawings, or you helped him with his homework, eventually tucking him into bed at night. It was those moments you cherished with Jack. The moments where you could read a story to him about faraway lands and slain dragons or the defeat of monsters or hear him talk about his day at school. However, no matter how much you loved that little boy, there was always a space in your heart missing from your husband’s absence.
You worked during the day, picked Jack up from school, and then returned home to a relatively clean house. Then you cooked dinner, ensured Jack got cleaned up for the evening, tucked him into bed, and watched television until it was time for you to sleep. That was consistently the hardest part of the day, where you fell asleep next to an empty side of the bed. Almost every night and every day, like clockwork, before you sleep and before you wake, you reach out and put your hand on Aaron’s pillow, feeling the soft material under your hands. Some days, you spray his cologne on his pillow to trick your brain into thinking he’s there.
You learned rather quickly that it’s very hard to be a wife to a husband who rarely comes home.
In some ways, you don’t feel like you have ever a right to complain. His not being home was the same thing that brought the demise of his marriage to his late ex-wife. The solitude and the silence can be pleasant, but your husband is your other half. You miss him like any wife would. However, when he was home, it was like he never left. He was still the kind, silly, dedicated, and wonderful father and husband he was before he left. When he was home, he always made time for you and his son. He’d take you three out to dinner or the movies and spend plenty of time with each of you in ways where it matters. He’d take his son to school and back, take him to baseball games, and watch Jack’s favorite shows with him. He’d spend time with you in the mornings and at night, ensuring you were happy and all your needs were fulfilled. He’d cook dinner for his family and spend every waking moment with the both of you.
This week was another week Aaron was gone. He was supposed to return by the weekend, and then he’d return to your arms again. Until then, it was you and Jack. Except for the rest of the week, based on his wishes, he was with his Aunt Jessica. He wanted to see his cousins on the Brooks side of the family. You and the Brooks family got along fine, which is very fortunate for you. You had no ill will towards Haley (nor the rest of the Brooks family, for that matter); in fact, often, as a family, you would visit her grave.
Needless to say, the Hotchner household was very quiet with your husband or your stepson. As you made dinner, funny enough, one of Jack’s favorites, fettuccine alfredo with broccoli and chicken, you turned on one of your CDs, an assorted mix from songs of the 1950s. Aaron got one of his coworkers, Penelope Garcia, to burn the CD for you. It was a mix of songs that both you and Aaron enjoyed and ones that made Aaron think of you. Songs like “Everybody Loves a Lover” by Doris Day, “Can’t Take My Eyes Off You” by Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons, “Please Mr. Sun” by Tommy Edwards, “Fortune Teller” by Bobby Curtola, and so on and so forth.
One of Aaron’s favorite tracks on the mix was “The Twelfth of Never” by Johnny Mathis. Aaron said it was one of his favorite love songs from that era; the slow melody and beautiful lyrics really spoke to him. In fact, he loved the song so much and associated it with your relationship and marriage entirely that it was your first dance song at your wedding. It was one of the first tracks on the CD since Aaron found the song so representative of your love.
The music from your CD player blasted throughout the house, with no worry of waking any sleeping children or husbands. Currently, the second track of the mix was playing, “(I Got Spurs) Jingle Jangle Jingle.” Although the lyrics no longer applied to you, you had told Aaron it was one of your favorite songs in college.
“'Cause I got spurs that jingle, jangle, jingle (Jingle, jangle)
As I go ridin' merrily along (Jingle, jangle)
And they sing, "Oh, ain't you glad you're single" (Jingle, jangle)
And that song ain't so very far from wrong (Jingle, jangle).”
You sang along with the track from nearly the top of your lungs. You danced around your chicken as the pasta was cooking towards al dente. Your broccoli was also being steamed, and the chicken pieces were already cooked. Your hips swayed to the rhythm of the song, the funky orchestra carrying the tune of the music while Kay Kyser sang the lyrics.
You always preferred to cook with music on. There was nothing like a dull life, you thought. You needed music to carry you through the good times and the bad, the lonely moments or the otherwise not. You twirled by the counters, imagining that your sleep shorts gave you the same twirl as a skirt from the early 1950s.
“…Oh, Lillie Belle (Lillie Belle)
Oh, Lillie Belle (Lillie Belle)
Though I may have done some foolin'
This is why I never fell.”
You laughed a little to yourself as you sang along to that last lyric. You remember that promise you made in college: never fall for a man who stole your heart. Of course, that all changed when you met Aaron. Upon meeting, the attraction was instant. You met through a mutual friend of your father’s, and even though he was noticeably older than you, that didn’t seem to matter too much. You were a grown woman; you could make your own decisions. You didn’t expect that decision to be falling in love with and eventually marrying Aaron Hotchner, becoming a mother figure to a beautiful boy in the process. Still, you wouldn’t ever regret your heart’s desire.
“… Oh, I got spurs that jingle, jangle, jingle (I got spurs that jingle, jangle, jingle)
As I go ridin' merrily along (I go ridin' merrily along)
And they sing, "Oh, ain't you glad you're single" (And they sing, "Oh, ain't you glad you're single")
And that song ain't so very far from wrong (And that song ain't so very far from wrong).”
As the third chorus came in with a woman’s voice, you found yourself totally entranced in the music. You did the twist as you stirred your pasta, singing your heart out. Some of you wished that Jack or Aaron were here to enjoy this moment with you, but concurrently, you were having a great time with yourself. The music kept you company, and the gentle hum of the stove fan kept you grounded in reality.
“… Oh, Lillie Belle
Oh, Lillie Belle
Though I may have done some foolin'
This is why I never fell
'Cause I got spurs that jingle, jangle, jingle (I got spurs that jingle, jangle, jingle).”
You kicked up your feet and continued to sway around the kitchen. While you were by no means a professional dancer, you knew how to dance well enough that you could carry your body to the melody. As the last chorus kicked in, you huffed out a sigh with a smile. All that dancing knocked the wind out of you. You went back to stirring the pasta, finally tasting it to see if your pasta was fully cooked. It was. After draining your pasta, you put it back in the pan to add the sauce as the next song begins.
Part of you stopped to smile when you heard the opening notes of the next song on the tracklist: “The Twelfth of Never” by Johnny Mathis. Part of you wanted to skip to the next track, avoid the slight twinge in your heart when you heard the song and thought of your physically absent husband, but that’s not what Aaron would want. If Aaron were here, he’d grab you to slow dance, singing along to Johnny’s baritenor with his low baritone.
“You ask how much I need you; must I explain?
I need you, oh, my darling, like roses need rain
You ask how long I'll love you, I'll tell you true
Until the twelfth of never, I'll still be loving you.”
You sang along under your breath, your eyes closed as you stirred. You sang along to the following verses, swaying gently from side to side, imagining Aaron’s big arms wrapped around you. You wished you could feel his arms wrapped tight around your waist, kissing your neck as you cooked. One of his favorite things to do when he was home was cook together. You kept singing until you felt a presence and heard a familiar voice sing along to the song.
“Hold me close,
Never let me go,
Hold me close,
Melt my heart like it will snow.”
Your eyes shot open as you turned to the sound of the voice, and there stood your husband in the flesh, leaning against the doorway, looking at you like you were a fresh drink of water in the scoring heat. Such love was apparent in his eyes; it almost made your eyes tear up. You nearly dropped the spoon, placing it quickly on the counter and almost sprinting into your husband’s arms.
Opening his arms for you, Aaron immediately pulled you into a tight hug, pressing kisses to the top of your head. “I’ve missed you, my angel.” he pressed another kiss to your forehead. “I’ve missed you so, so much.”
Tears were beginning to brim in your eyes as you looked up at Aaron, a smile growing on your face. “I didn’t even hear you come in! When did you get home?”
“A few minutes ago. I heard our mix playing, and I had to come to see what you were up to.” his arms grew tighter around you, one of his hands slithering up your back to cradle your head. “I see that you’re cooking.”
“I’m sorry; if I knew you were coming home, I would’ve made some for you too.”
He smiled. “Not to worry, sweetheart, I ate on the plane ride back.”
Effectively abandoning your dinner, you let yourself melt into your husband’s touch as the last verse of the song began to play, the two of you singing along and swaying to the rhythm.
“I'll love you 'til the bluebells forget to bloom
I'll love you 'til the clover has lost its perfume
I'll love you 'til the poets run out of rhyme
Until the twelfth of never, and that's a long, long time
Until the twelfth of never, and that's a long, long time.”
At your wedding, you promised to love each other for the rest of your lives, come what may. The song currently ending perfectly encapsulated your relationship with your husband; you two swore to love each other through the hard times and the good, regardless of what life threw your way. You and Aaron would always have each other’s backs, and that is what this song meant to you: that you would love each other until the twelfth of never—which, indeed, was a long, long time.
