🌻Miranda🌻

Series

Among Thieves

An Arrangement

Bambi

Despacito

The Sea Wolf (intro)

Apple of Our Eye

Fluffy/Angst

An Arrangement (prelude)

Too Sweet

Time for a Break

Mountain Man

The Wolf’s Den

Perks of Dating The Chef

Between These Walls

The Baby Said Good Morning

Make It Right

Smut

Prank Call

‘Tís The Season

Show Me

Curves and Curls

Fuck Off

Late Night Call

Opening Shift

Bond Girl II

Obsessed

Mouth

Sugar, Sugar

After Hours

Take a Picture

Open Wide

DILF

Call Me Daddy

Break The Rules

Pink Lines

Team Bonding w/ Remy LeBeau

Drabbles and Blurbs

being walked in on w/ uncle!logan

logan variants x bimbo!reader

ex-boyfriend!logan x your cycle

sexting and size kink w/ worst!wolverine

line cook!logan x waitress!reader

dbf!logan x dry humping

line cook!logan x cum play

old man!logan as a bartender

possessive bf!logan

uncle!logan x doggystyle

being in a relationship w/ old!logan

dark!logan sneaks into your shower

cowboy!logan x brat taming

daddy!logan x doll!reader

ex-boyfriend!logan as a dad

uncle!logan x breeding kink

giving secret bf!logan a blowjob

first bath w/ old man!logan

gas station treats w/ daddy!logan

all five variants of logan x reader

daddy!logan feeding doll!reader

police officer!logan

stepdad!logan x mating press

giving married!logan a blowjob

stepdad!logan being a peeping tom

old man!logan x doll!reader

frat boy!logan x cheerleader!reader

early pregnancy w/ line cook!logan

Pietro Maximoff masterlist

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.

“Bonjour, Monsieur Thomas, vous allez bien?”

Tom, the head bartender at The Cove in Salem Center turns at the familiar Cajun lilt and greets two of his regulars as they take up their usual bar stools. Gambit has a nick on his jaw, but that usual self-assured smile that he carries everywhere. Wolverine looks just fine, large and satisfied no doubt after sparing with the younger man.

“Evening, fellas,” Tom greets them, already reaching for the short glasses. “Same old, same old?” He asks, grabbing a black label whiskey and a robust bourbon off the liquor shelf.

“Make mine a double, Tom.” Logan grumbles, scanning the inside of the bar for potential threats while Remy scan for potential company. “Those kids at Xavier’s ain’t suited for the real world,” He gripes, giving Tom a curt nod when his whiskey glass is slid across to him. “I say duck, they stop to ask why. Never seen anythin’ like it.”

“They kids, homme,” Remy says, handing Tom some folded bills with a tip of a fake hat after taking his bourbon and sipping it slowly, savoring the earthy notes. “We never listened to our professeurs, ou pas? Is what they do, ignore us old men.” He says with a shrug. “Moi, personnellement? I never have trouble with the trainees.”

“That’s cause you flirt with ‘em.” Logan smirks.

“Gambit play to his strengths.” Remy winks.

The night continues with conversation, light banter between old friends. They play a few rounds of pool, bet some petty cash for the fun of it. Logan brings up Rogue and Magneto’s ever evolving bond and Remy shrugs it off, not ready to make a decision on that just yet. Remy, in turn, brings up how Jean’s been spending a lot of time in the garage with him. Logan claims he’s just letting her vent about marriage troubles — Remy doesn’t doubt it. The more complicated qualms of life often take hold of the vibe a few drinks into the night and they find themselves in a secluded booth tucked in the back of the bar. There is a feeling of anticipation quietly simmering between the two men, an impending sense of…thrill.

“Hey!”

They look up and suddenly you’re standing there, grinning at your mentors and teammates. You joined after graduating a years back, stayed on as a TA for Ororo and trained to be part of the X-Men. Now, three years after your graduation, you’ve grown from a coltish young student to a beautiful young woman. The X-Men are all very protective of you given you’re the youngest on the team, but you’ve always felt safest with Wolverine and Gambit.

“Oh, hé petite,” Remy smiles, standing to give you a hug and Logan follows suit, pecking the top of your head and looking over his shoulder at your group of friends. “How’s your night go-”

“Who’re they?” Logan interrupts.

“Friends from college, relax, dad,” You tease, crossing your arms as you realize you’re wearing a tube top under your cropped denim jacket. You wouldn’t usually care, but you do when you’re standing in front of two of your male role models and don’t have a bra on. “You two hanging out? We just came to have a drink, but they’re heading back into town afterwards.”

“You need a ride back home?” Logan asks and you nod. “We’ll be here, go have your drink, kid.” He says and you grin, pecking his cheek and Remy hands you some folded bills.

“Drinks on me, mon ange.” He winks and you lightly shove him with your shoulder while taking the crumpled bills from his hand.

“Thanks.” You blush before returning to your group.

“You really can’t help yourself can you, Gumbo?” Logan mutters as they sit back down. He can see that Remy is still staring at you and Logan gives a low growl as a warning.

“Oh, c’mon, Wolverine,” Remy laughs softly, downing the rest of his bourbon and signaling Tom for another by raising the empty glass. “She not a kid no more, no matter how much you treat her like one.” Logan shakes his head and spares a look over his shoulder at you.

You’ve shed your denim jacket off, the perky mounds of your chest sitting up nicely in that youthful, but undeniably womanly way. Twenty-one full years of life, nine of which he has been personally present for and he’s loved each version of you. This version, however, invites temptation.

“She deserves better than either of us can give her.” Logan turns back to Remy who gives a slow, but agreeable nod.

“Oui, mais…” Remy gives a small shrug as he trails off when his dark eyes find you again, laughing softly as you unconsciously flip your hair off your shoulder. Your eyes find his glowing irises and you smile sweetly, giving him a wave while biting your lip. “If she want it, what’s the issue?”

After your friends depart with hugs and half-made plans of doing this again next weekend, you join the two X-Men in the back corner booth, sitting next to to Gambit who has an arm outstretched behind you. “That boy of yours sure had a starin’ problem, huh, petite?”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” You smirk, nudging him with your shoulder and he chuckles, his hand inches closer to your shoulder. “He’s nice, but…” You pause, noticing yourself just talking to them like friends and not teachers. You like this newfound closeness, this camaraderie between teammates. “I’m not really into his type.”

“What type is he?” Logan asks, trying not to sound as curious as he is by taking a swig of his beer, holding the bottle casually by its neck.

“You know, he’s just a little too shy, always plays by the rules,” You hesitate, fiddling with the straw in your empty cocktail glass as you bite your lip and look from one awaiting facial expression to the next. “My age.” You finally add, taking a sip from Remy’s glass while he grins at you and you blush, looking over at Logan. “Hope that’s not weird to say in front of you now.”

“Nah,” Logan says, sitting back in his seat across from you, arms crossed casually over his broad chest while Remy’s hand is now softly rubbing on your bare shoulder. “You’re grown enough to know what you want.”

That’s what the Wolverine keeps repeating to himself when you’re sitting between him and Gambit in the back of his Jeep. Logan’s tongue is gliding into your mouth while Gambit kisses softly on your neck, his hand holding your jaw to keep your head steady. “Tu as un goût si sucré.” He groans, his nose brushing down your neck as he kisses your bare shoulders, his hand falling from your jaw to your perky breasts. “No bra, bèbè?” He asks teasingly making you laugh.

“Is that a complaint?” You manage to ask against Logan’s lips, who chuckles while his hand on your thigh continues rubbing slowly along the inside. The warmth of both their strong, large bodies keep you comfortable as the doorless vehicle you sit in does little to offer warmth. With Remy at your back and Logan in front of you, you’re plenty cozy.

“Non,” Gambit smirks, pulling the top’s neckline down so your tits pop out playfully. “A gratitude.”

Logan’s eyes fall into your bare chest and you bite your lip teasingly as he watches Gambit fondling your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple until the pebble gardens. “Go on, Lo,” You murmur, your hand running softly through the side of his hair before guiding him down to your chest. “Taste me.”

His mouth wraps around your nipple and you shiver from the suction of his lips and tongue, from the fact that the Wolverine is sucking on your titties while Remy LeBeau is working your jeans off so he can slip a nimble hand between your warm thighs, parted by Logan’s massive torso. “Bet this lil pussy tastes like candy.” Gambit whispers into your ear, making you wet as two of his finger pads slide along your slit to collect your arousal.

“Find out.” You tease, arching into Logan as he bites teasingly on your nipple. “Fuck, please, touch me.” You beg him, your hand coming back to clasp onto Gambit’s nape as his fingers push into your aching core. “Yes!” You gasp, spreading your legs wider as Logan tugs your jeans the rest of the way down.

“Wanna taste, Wolverine?” The Cajun asks with a smirk and Logan pulls back from your breasts to take the offertory of his teammate’s pussy soaked fingers. You watch with lust as Logan tastes you off of someone else and your bite your lip when you feel his cock growing hard against your thigh.

“Tastes like plums.” Logan says with a little smirk after pulling off Remy’s digits and kissing you. You moan into his mouth, letting his tongue slip past your lips so you taste yourself as well while Gambit’s wet fingers return south to toy with your clit. “You sure you want this, darlin’?”

“Yes,” You nod eagerly, looking up at him with clear eyes and then looking up at the man behind you. “Please.”

Soon you’re lying back on top of Remy, who’s playing with your tits while letting Wolverine set the pace above you with his hands on your hips. Their cocks are squeezed together in your pussy, stretching you out more than you’ve ever been stretched during sex. Gambit is sucking and kissing on your neck, thrusting up lazily while Logan is grunting and swearing from the sight of his cock plunging into your gaping little hole, clenching his jaw when his head rubs against Gambit’s own swollen tip.

The sensation is unlike anything you’ve ever felt — two large men sharing you like a toy, like a prize, both getting off on the same pleasure. They move in and out of you in a rhythmic pattern, taking turns bumping into your cervix so that you’re barely getting a moment to catch your breath or have a clear, coherent thought.

“Merde, ça fait du bien.” Remy groans about how good this feels while sliding one hand down your body to play with your clit again. Your eyes roll back into your head and you shudder from the pleasure, digging your manicured nails into Logan’s broad shoulders as he leans down and kisses you messily.

“You like this?” He growls low, barely lifting his mouth from yours as you nod, brows scrunched together in distress from the mix of pleasure and pain. “Tell me.”

“Yes,” You pant, your voice rough and breathless. “So much.” Their cocks keep gliding easily into you now, legs fully stretched out between their large, strong bodies as you let them take over. “‘M gonna cum!” You whine, your head tipping back against Gambit’s shoulder as he moans into your neck, your nails scratching down Logan’s firm chest.

“Fuck,” He grunts, suddenly lifting your thighs a little more to spread you wider and you squeal from the added pleasure the position gives you and them. Remy groans, his fingers pressing harder to your clit to get you over that edge as he begins to throb warningly. You writhe from the way he jiggles your sensitive bud between two fingers, making your walls contract and squeeze them inside you like a vice as your orgasm takes over your autonomy.

“Fuckfuckfuck!” You cry out, punching Logan’s hard pectoral once as Gambit lifts you slightly by your hips to hammer up into you. “D-Don’t stop!”

One of Logan’s hands then comes down to your lower belly to press you back down fully onto Gambit, squeezing both his and his teammate’s cocks while they’re inside you. Remy grunts from the pressure and he hisses as the direct friction from Logan sends him quickly to his own release.

“Asshole,” He huffs a laugh as he spurts inside you, his cum lubricating Logan’s cock further which makes the man’s head tip back in pleasure. “C’mon, bèbè, let’s make the old man blow his load.” Remy murmurs against your damp temple — as if you could do anything at this moment where you’ve succumbed entirely to the ache of ecstasy.

“Takin’ my time, Cajun.” Logan says with a small smirk as he watches himself slide out of you coated in evidence of arousal. Gambit turns your face to look at him and he kisses you slow and sloppy, swallowing your soft whines and murmurings of how good you feel between them.

Finally, Logan thrusts into you one last time, deep and intentional, shooting his load right against your cervix while you tremble helplessly between them. Your mind is dazed and your body sated as you sink into satisfaction from the feeling of their combined fluids leaking down your thighs. Logan swears under his breath, burying his face in your neck while Remy’s kissing you slow and messy.

“Can we go again?” You ask in a breathless, but mischievous voice after a moment of silence and both men groan softly.

“Only I’ve got the stamina to keep up with you, and Gambit’s not exactly at a hundred percent.” Logan chuckles, though he’s still unbelievably hard inside you.

The Cajun tsks playfully, caressing your thighs while adjusting his position behind you. “C’mon, homme,” He winks at Logan, rolling his hips subtly beneath you, making you gasp and Logan groan. “Let’s give it to her one more time, she an X-Man now, non?”

“Yeah, Wolverine,” You tease while playfully biting your lip, your hands smoothing over the hard expanse of his chest before adding, “We’ll just call this team bonding, huh?”

And how’s Logan to argue with that?

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His office isn’t as sharp and cold as Lucien’s. Not so immaculate that you’re scared to knock something out of its place. Remy’s office almost resembles the lounge itself on a smaller scale with comfortable chairs, warm and alluring lighting, the scent of his signature bourbon where it sits in a decanter on his desk. It’s intimate in a comforting way.

“Have a seat, cherie,” Remy says, motioning to one of the chairs in front of where he’s sitting on the edge of his desk. You take a seat, your hands folded politely in your lap as you look up at him with wide eyes.

Lord, is he gorgeous up close, you think as you take in his chiseled jaw, the stubble that tempts you to caress his cheek, his soft and intense red-on-black eyes. He’s chiseled and tall too, which just adds to the inappropriate thoughts in your head. He’s taller than he looks from the distance between the floor and the balcony where he often stands to oversee everything. Agile and limber, no doubt.

“Tony said you wanted to speak to me?” You ask after forcing down the lump in your throat.

“I wanted to check in.” Remy says with a small nod. “Lucien had mentioned you came in today in quite a rush. Something about the bus?” Your cheeks warm as you recall your incident from last week.

The power had been cut off to your building over night and your phone hadn’t charged all the way. You had a late start and having to shower in the dark was not making your day any better. Your hair air dried as you ran to catch the bus to take you to Manhattan and you managed to pin it into a low, elegant bun before it arrived. Once on the bus, you had just enough time to apply a light layer of concealer, mascara, and lipstick before you arrived to the neighborhood where Saints and Sinners is located, hurrying in just minutes after your scheduled arrival time of 10am.

“I did come in a few minutes, Mr. LeBeau, but it won’t hap-”

“Just Remy, cherie.” He interrupts smoothly and you slow down, taking a moment to nod and gather your thoughts.

“Remy,” You correct yourself, tucking a loose strand behind your ear. “It won’t happen again.” Remy studies you for a minute, taking in your wringing hands and the straight line in your posture. He doesn’t like it.

“No need to be nervous ‘round me, belle,” He says, his hands tightening on the edge of the desk to stop himself from gathering you in his arms to show you so. “I only wish to be of assistance to you.”

Your head tilts curiously, your hands stop fidgeting in your lap while his genuine smiles holds steady, not deterred by your wariness. “Assistance?”

“I wish to make your life comfortable.” Your head tilted in mild confusion and he couldn’t help the small chuckle that left him. “If you allow me to, of course.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” You say, shaking your head slowly. “I’m not asking for anyth-”

“Je sais,” Remy says in a much softer tone, now standing straight to step in front of you, dropping to one knee while his hands grab onto the armrests of the chair you’re sitting in. The two of you are so close, you swear he can hear you swallow your words. “I know you not askin’, I offer because I care.”

You want to say no, but you also want to say yes. Your very attractive and successful boss wants you to basically be his sugar baby. It’s definitely not a situation you pictured yourself in, but it could be worse. Yet, you hesitate. It’s unfamiliar territory and the last thing you need is to be taken advantage of.

“Can I think about it?” You finally ask, looking at him almost promisingly and Remy nods, smiling at you as if he’s content that you’d even consider it.

“Bien sûr, chérie,” He says, standing again and leaning against his desk. “Please, think about it.”

A Few Days Later…

Remy had not meant to eavesdrop, truly. He just happened to be in pursuit of a specific bottle of Roi Noir — his personal brand of bourbon — when he heard your voice. That calming, soothing lilt of primness and warmth, but not the usual light tone…your voice is heavy with frustration. Remy looks around the corner and spots you taking a call. You stand in the service corridor that leads down to the cellar, one shoulder resting lightly against the wall, phone pressed to your ear. You’re still in the black sequin dress, the fabric catching stray light every time you shift your weight, but the polish you wear on the floor has slipped just enough to reveal the strain beneath it.

“Yes,” You say quietly, measured. “I understand what the lease says.” There’s a pause as you listen to the other end and he sees your jaw tighten just enough for Remy to register the frustration. “Okay, yes, I’ll take care of it.”

After you hang up, you let out a soft sigh and take a moment to compose your thoughts — how the hell are you going to pay an HVAC guy when you don’t get paid until the end of the week. Your apartment is freezing in mid-February and your landlord refuses to do anything on his end. “Fuck.” You breathe out before standing straight to get back to your shift.

Remy meant to turn around and leave, but he couldn’t move, not before making sure you were okay. Your eyes meet his as you turn to go back to the floor and you gasp softly when you see him standing there.

“So sorry, cherie,” He says, placing a hand over his chest and bowing subtly. “Came for a few bottles from the cellar, didn’ want to interrup’.”

“No, you’re fine, Mist - Remy.” You say, waving it off and standing a little straighter. “I’m sorry for taking a call during work,” You begin to apologize, and he can’t help a small smile at your needless apologies. “It was my landlord, and he can be a bit, well, you know.” You give a small, exasperated eye roll and Remy nods understandingly.

“Je comprends.” He says, stepping closer and tentatively reaching for your free hand. “Do you need help?” He asks in a softer tone, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “You just gotta ask, ma belle.”

You had thought about his proposition from a few days ago, you had thought about it all that night and still couldn’t come to a concrete decision. You wouldn’t consider yourself a gold digger, you certainly wouldn’t consider yourself helpless, but you can deny that the extra petty cash would greatly improve your ability to save and live comfortably. Still, it feels almost like cheating, not really earning it through merit, but instead through something as easy as attention and companionship.

“That’s it?” You then ask, biting your bottom lip anxiously as you look up at him. “I just ask and you make my life easy? That simple?”

Remy grins at your interrogatory tone, and he kisses your hand, making you inhale sharply and he nods. “C’est simple.” Noting the linger hesitation in your posture, he adds, “Wanna try it out?”

Your brows furrow curiously as your boss kisses your other hand now, your grip tight as a vice on your cell phone as his lips leave a too real prickle of energy running up your arm. “How?”

“Gimme your number, an’ I give you $500.” Remy says with such casualness that you actually laugh. Your hand comes up to cover your mouth as your eyes widen.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude. It’s just, well, it sounds too good to be true.” You explain, stilling hiding a grin behind your hand.

Remy just smiles and says, “J’aime ta rire.” Your face warms and you look away from him bashfully and his eyes shine with delight. “You know French?”

“Not proficiently.” You tell him with a small shrug. “I took it through high school.” You bite back a smile and say, “You said something about my laugh.”

“I love it.” He confirms and you chuckle.

“You really just go for what you want, huh?” You say, crossing your arms over your chest and smirking teasingly at him. Remy steps a little closer, leaning down so his nose barely brushes yours.

“Only when the risk as high as the reward.” Remy runs his hand up your arm slowly, his thumb brushing the inside of your arm as he moves an inch closer to you. He smells like something spiced, something strong, and sensual. His hand squeezes your arm once more and he drops it, stuffing it back into his pants’ pocket. “You say stop, I go back to my office an’ we remain friends. No pressure, cherie.”

There are things to consider, such as the fact that $500 would solve your heating issue and get you through the next week with groceries. Or the fact that there is clear imbalance in the power dynamics between you. Worst case scenario? You just block his number.

“Just my number?” You ask and Remy gives you a small nod. You lay your hand out and he hands you his cell phone, watching you with a content smile as you type in your name and number into his contacts. “There you go, boss.” You say playfully and Remy chuckles, tapping on the screen and then sliding the phone into his pocket.

“Non, not for you,” He says just as your phone pings in your hand. “For you, I am only Remy.” He gives you a soft wink and continues his original search for the bottles of bourbon in the cellar. You watch him disappear into the dark room and then check your phone where there’s a new notification from your banking app.

+$500

And the message attached.

For trusting me -R

♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️

Let me know what you thought, kind readers! There is going to be a bit of a time jump for the next chapter just so we can get into the nitty gritty😉

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!

Part II

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🤭

Gambit Masterlist

More seriously though, Pietro Maximoff really is another wonderful character that I wish more people enjoyed writing into fanfic. As a comic relief, as a prankster/antagonist, as an anti-hero, as a well-meaning lovable and imperfect guy that wants to be known as more than Magneto’s son or the Scarlet Witch’s brother.

There is just so much potential to play around with and build on his character as an individual! It finally happened with Gambit, so maybe in the near future Quicksilver will also receive the same recognition and hype. Obviously, I am partial to Aaron Taylor-Johnson’s portrayal of Quicksilver, but Evan Peters is an absolute cutie and very charismatic as well!

My man though?🙈😮‍💨

Like, I just imagine that Pietro is a man that constantly needs to be the best because he has unresolved daddy issues and is basically the glass child??😭

Obviously he is a very jealous partner. The idea of you having exes makes him sick😂 Even though he’s slept around plenty, the idea of someone touching you annoys him. Like, he is not content with being your boyfriend, he needs to be the best boyfriend.

But also he’s the type to need more reassurance that he’s enough so he’s actually very sweet in private though he acts aloof and unbothered around others.

In the flirting stage, he always asks if you’re going to be around when group plans are discussed. If you’re not joining the outing, he wants to be wherever you are. You never notice, but the rest of your friends do and constantly pick on Pietro because he always goes for girls out of his league.

“You didn’t want to go to that skating rink with Jubes and Bobby?” You ask one afternoon after he suddenly speeds into your bedroom at the X-Mansion, now spinning himself in your desk chair.

“Nah, even on skates they couldn’t keep up with me.” Pietro stops and picks up a snow globe, messing with it before tossing it gently at you, making you gasp as you rush to catch it.

“Great, that means you get to hang out here.” You say with playful sarcasm that makes him chuckle as you set the snow globe on your nightstand.

And he spends the rest of the night just watching you during conversation, teasing you by trying to tickle your socked feet, grabbing random trinkets to make you get up and come wrestle it out of his grip.

“Not quick enough, princess.” Pietro pins you to the bed and you gasp, laughing as you end up flat on your back with one of his thighs between your legs.

“Okay, okay, you’re faster and stronger than me,” You giggle, squirming underneath him while he just smirks. “Let me up now!” You whine your cheeks warming up as you realize how he’s looking at you.

“You’re really pretty.”

“…Thanks.” You blush, looking away from him and he leans down to kiss your exposed neck, making you shiver. “Pietro, we shouldn’t, we’re-we’re friends.”

“I wanna be more.”

You know it’s not right. You are friends, it can’t just be this easy. Can it? Friends to lovers? You’d be lying if you said you didn’t think he was attractive, but you never thought he looked at you as anything more than a friend, which you find doesn’t bother you. It seems so taboo and risky for your friendship, but the way his lips softly trail up your jaw and murmur sweet things about how nice you smell and how soft your skin is — he makes it hard to resist this feeling.

“Show me.”

That night you and Pietro make out for the first time and he’s asking you personal questions while undressing you and feeling on your body. “Did he ever make you cum?” His hands cup your bare breasts, thumbs smoothing over the hardening buds while you shiver beneath him.

“Yeah, he was good at that.” You say breathlessly as his lips wrap around your nipple and you run your fingers through his platinum hair, sighing as he licks at the raised nub. “You kiss so much better.”

“Yeah? Wait till you see what else I can do better.”

His mouth finds your pussy and you cry out from how quickly he makes you cum, that tongue basically vibrates against your clit while his thick fingers plunge in and out of your slick hole at a steady speed so as to not hurt you. “Fuck, Pietro! Please, stop, please, just f-fuck me!” And he doesn’t need more than that to get to work.

You thought he was joking before whenever he would brag about how many times he can make girls cum, but it surprises you just how quickly Pietro gets you through two releases before he’s even finished once. Now he’s got you face down, caging you beneath his sweaty, bare chest while he grinds into the curve of your ass, his swollen tip hitting your cervix each time with precision.

“P-Pietro!” You cry softly as you come once again, a third time, a small gush darkening your sheets while Pietro groan from the sight and keeps going. You know Logan will be doing curfew patrol soon and Pietro’s supposed to be with him, but he’s here and nowhere near seemingly done with you.

“Bet he never hit that spot, huh?” Pietro smirks, watching you bite your lip as his hips roll deep into you, giving you drawn out stroke after stroke of his hard cock — the only time he’s ever taken the time to slow down is to watch how creamy his shaft comes out of your slick little hole. “Wanna stop?” His hand is flat on the center of your back, the other has your leg bent up at the knee, spreading you open for himself as he fucks into your trembling body.

“N-no,” You whimper, your voice is raspy from overuse and almost too quiet to hear. “It-it’s-you’re just so deep…”

“You’re so full,” He groans, watching his cum leaking out of your swollen pussy slowly only to get pushed back in by his long, ridged cock. “How many was it that your ex gave you in one night?”

Your eyes well with hot tears as he stops, pushing his tip against your cervix so that the pressure makes you shake with overstimulation as you weakly murmur, “F-Four.”

“Two more then, princess,” Pietro says breathlessly, letting your contracting walls push him out gently so he doesn’t hurt you. You sigh and shiver as his lips press against your back and he kisses up and down your spine while massaging your legs.

You can feel your mixed fluids dripping off his cock and falling in droplets on your plump ass, making you wet at the thought of how it looks. “Aren’t you tired?” You ask with a soft huff as he moves you onto your side so he can spoon you from behind.

“Nah, baby,” He chuckles, following his hand as he smooths his palm over the curve of your hip. “Super speed, remember? Faster recovery time.”

“You’re doing way too much.” You tease, scooting back into him as his arms wrap around you. You tease, but you’ve never felt more relaxed during sex, never giggled or blushed so much while being fucked, it’s different when it’s with a friend — better.

“Not my fault,” Pietro smirks, kissing your shoulder while palming your ass before spreading you open so he can nudge himself back into your pussy. “You’re the one who let some guy make you nut four times.”

“Five’s a more impressive number anyway.” You murmur, reaching back and latching your hand onto his nape as you turn your head to kiss him.

Pietro moans into your mouth as he sinks into you again. “Fuck, you’re so out of my league,” He groans, one hand on your lower belly where he can feel himself fucking you. “Please be my girl?”

“Yeah, okay,” You laugh softly, gasping as his hips start moving again, filling completely as he buries himself to the hilt without hesitation, and your eyes roll back in pleasure. “Just don’t stop.”

At the apartment, he’s so calm and attentive always kissing on you and asking if you’re hungry, which you have been a lot lately.

“Want some of that truffle carbonara from last night’s dinner service?” He asks, caressing your legs which are draped across his lap while you’re reading. Logan can’t help contemplating you whenever there’s a moment of peace. Maybe it’s just because he knows, but he swears you’re already glowing. Secure and confident in the changes your body is no doubt already making to prepare for growth.

“Ooo, can you make that here?” You ask, looking away from the page and at him with hopeful eyes. He nods, kissing your knee sweetly before lifting your legs and sliding out from under them.

“I can make you anything you want, darlin’.” He says, leaning over and kissing your lips as you grin. “Just gotta ask.”

At work, he’s not quite as calm, but still very attentive. There are so many distractions and hazardous situations that could potentially hurt you. Things he’s always been aware of, but now he has to make nothing harms the evolution of life you’re carrying. He wishes he could only focus on you, but that simply can’t ever be the case with a menace like Wade around.

“Don’t!” Logan says, pointing a knife at Wade who had been about to make a humping gesture while you were bent over in the storage closet, grabbing more cloth table napkins. Wade freezes, his hands just inches above your hips when you turn to look up and immediately laugh at him. “Get back to the host stand, Wade.”

“Wow, I’ve never been cockblocked that quickly before.” Wade says, shaking his head while helping you up. “Is he PMSing?” Wade asks you in a whispered voice just loudly enough for Logan to hear whether he chooses to or not.

“Not yet, I think you have 2 more weeks of light treading.” You reassure him, patting his shoulder and dipping your chin to the front where some customers are wandering in. “Go try air humping them, might make you feel better.”

Wade looks over and gives an optimistic nod. “I hope Gammy doesn’t have her good high waisted panties on cause they’re about to get wet.” He says, rolling his shoulders like he’s hyping himself up.

“Gross.” You laugh, lightly shoving him forward to greet the guests while you go check on your still-scowling boyfriend in the kitchen. “You okay?”

“Wade plays too rough sometimes. Just didn’t want him hurting you.” Logan explains with a sheepishly tint on his ears and you smile, kissing the corner of his lips gently. One of his large hands rests on your waist and his thumb light brushes over your soft belly. “You still feeling okay?”

“I feel fine, Logan.” You say, running a hand through the sides of his hair and nodding in reassurance when he gives you a skeptic look. “I’m going to be fine, don’t worry. We’ve got time before I get bi-”

All of a sudden, your mouth fills up with saliva and you get an uncomfortable tightness at the top of your belly. Logan’s eyes widen and you shake your head, trying to ward him off as you hurry to the staff restroom in the back.

“Joey, man the grill and don’t let those lobsters overcook.” You hear Logan instruct while he follows you anyway, heavy boots hurrying behind you as you burst into the thankfully vacant restroom.

Once inside you’re hunched over and puking into the toilet while Logan holds your hair back and soothing rubs your lower back with a large hand. He doesn’t say anything, just watches and offers comfort while your body does what it has to do. As you flush, you groan softly and Logan helps you onto your feet, letting you make your on way to the sink where you wash your hands and rinse your mouth.

“Guess it won’t be long before Wade and the others figure out you’ve gone and gotten the waitress pregnant.” You tease while drying your hand and patting your chin dry, making him laugh softly.

“Still fine?” Logan asks with a small smirk he can’t help as you toss your paper towel and pout, shaking your head at him. That’s his kid alright, already making things difficult.

“No, I wanna go home.” You give him a sigh, feeling exhausted from that ordeal alone, and he chuckles, sliding a hand around your waist and pulling you into a kiss and a tender hug.

“I’ve got you, darlin’, let me take care of you. This is what I do best.”

You know he’s right. He’s always been such a good partner, always thoughtful and respectful of your wants and needs. You have always been able to turn your brain off around him, letting him take care of everything that requires planning or physical effort. Now, with a baby on the way, you shouldn’t feel like you need to handle it all on your own just because it’s happening in your body. You can share even this task with him by letting him worry and care — you know he’s going to regardless.

“Are you nervous?” You ask Logan that night as you are both in the bathroom getting ready for bed. You sit on the counter of your His and Hers sinks, brushing your hair leisurely while he finishes brushing his teeth. “About being a dad?”

Logan takes his time as he rinses his mouth and sets his toothbrush back in its cup next to yours, methodically washing his face and hands before drying off with a hand towel. His eyes take you in where you sit smiling happily at him as you twist your hair into a long braid — you look exactly the same as you did that morning before work. His little waitress with a kind heart and playful smile, but now carrying the potential of new life.

“I thought I would be,” Logan finally admits, moving over to you as you finish your braid and he stands between your thighs. Your arms wrap around his bare, broad shoulders and you look up at him sweetly. “Thought I’d be terrified, to be honest. Raisin’ a kid‘s no walk in the park and I don’t have the skill set.” You laugh softly, shaking your head in amusement. “But with you, darlin’,” He sighs, caressing your cheek softly with his thumb, making you instinctively nuzzle into his palm. “I haven’t been nervous about anything since you came along.”

“Good, because I’m not nervous either,” You murmur, kissing him softly and leaning into him. Logan moans softly as your warm body presses against his bare torso, the thin material of your camisole doing little to insulate the heat of his own body. “Logan, I’m so excited. We’re going to have a baby!” You grin, pecking his jaw and neck, “I wanna make sure.” You whisper against his lips, your hands cupping his face as you kiss him firmly.

“Sweetheart, you’re so warm, smell so damn good.” He groans, easily lifting you off the counter and carrying you into the bedroom. “My sweet girl’s gonna have my baby.” He murmurs, sweetly kissing you while lying you on the bed. His warmth follows, not abandoning you for a moment as the kisses heat up and clothes is blindly displaced.

“Oh, fuck, that’s so hot when you say it.” You groan making Logan laugh, your hands slide into his sweats and you kiss his neck. “You’re gonna be a daddy.”

“Careful, sweetheart,” Logan growls, recapturing your lips while sliding a large, warm hand up your camisole and gently cupping your breast. “You’re gonna be too tender to rough up in a few weeks time.”

“Better take advantage of my resilience now then.” You tease, rolling your hips inviting against his hard cock. “C’mon, daddy, I need it.”

And what his pregnant girl needs, she gets.

Really needed something fluffy and positive to share. It has been a difficult couple of days as someone who wants to both stay informed and has too much empathy:(

And I hope everyone affected by this winter weather on the East Coast has been staying safe and warm!🫶

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.

🏷️: @neeniebeenie @moonlight-dreamer04 @animegirlfromvietnam @cakeofhorrors @imtherain