#Pick A Card || Remy Ask

[amischiefofmuses]

How we feeling about these?

[stormyelliotwritez]

reader who had a anxiety attack when like out w friends or smth and has to like shakily call remy to pick him up and is doing so bad at explaining bc hes just like sitting in a corner somewhere shaky or wtv

ill silence now. (until later…) 🦕

hehehehehehehehehehe angst timeeeeee hahahahahahaha *evil laugh goes here*

Calling him.

Getting drinks without Remy holding your hand was going fine. It was going great. Everything was fine. You and your friends were chatting. You talked about how you had a boyfriend now and how happy you were being his boyfriend. Your friends talked about their lives and bought more drinks. Everything was great.

Then someone started shouting in the kitchen and then a car backfired outside. Your heart started to speed up but everything was fine, right? Right?! You did the breathing exercises Remy had gone over with you last time but then one of your friends started yelling at some guy nearby. You didn’t even know what had happened.

You were fine though. Everything was going to be okay.

And then someone dropped a glass.

That was it.

Your heart rate started speeding. Your hands got clammy and it was so stupid. You couldn’t breathe and you just needed out. Tears were falling down your cheeks. You clambered up from your chair and rushed into the bathroom, bumping into everything that was in your way.

You stumbled into the bathroom and slipped into one of the cubicles, locked it and sat down on the toilet lid. What were you meant to do?

Call Remy. He always said to call him.

With shaking hands, you pulled your phone out of your pocket and managed to dial his number.

Ring, ring, ri-

“Baby, baby, whats wrong?” He asked over the phone.

You breathed a sigh of relief and tried to talk. You cleared your throat and tried again.

“Need-need to get-,” you tried to say as your throat closed up again.

“Cherie, what’s wrong? Cherie?” He pushed gently.

You could hear the twirling of his favourite card, the King of Hearts. He always did that when he was nervous. You hated when you made him nervous.

“Nee- need to ge- get picked up,” you managed to mumble out.

That same split second, you heard him picking up his keys and rushing to the door. You could hear his footsteps running towards his car.

“Baby, stay there, okay? Pandye an ladann ti bebe a!”

You heard his car start and you nodded before remembering it was a voice call.

“Ye-yes, I’ll stay put,” you said quickly.

“Bòn,” he said quickly before hanging up.

You turned your phone off and started rocking back and forth as you waited. You hadn’t gone too far from home so he hopefully wouldn’t be long. You tried his breathing exercises again and they started to slowly work but you just wanted to be in his arms.

A few minutes later, you heard familiar yelling. You couldn’t make out much but you heard where’s my boyfriend, asshole! You tried to make a sound but you just couldn’t, too scared you’d start crying again.

Eventually, the bathroom door was slammed open and he knocked on your cubicle door.

“Cherie? You in there, my love?”

You scrambled up and unlocked the door. He nudged it open and then pulled you into his arms. He felt so safe. He was always safe.

He led you outside and to his car and into the passenger seat. You curled up and wiped your eyes.

“You’re safe now, ti bebe.”

[pandapetals]

Poker

You and the X-Men play poker.

a/n: Inspired by @sixwingedholy art. This is my first time sort of writing for remy so hopefully it’s not out of character.

professor logan howlett x professor fem!reader - married couple, cute, fluff, teasing, no y/n used, no reader description, your an english professor, logan is a history professor - imagine days of future past logan with the white streaks in his hair

a/n: Inspired by @sixwingedholy art. This is my first time sort of writing for remy so hopefully it’s not out of character.

read on ao3 or find more parts for the series: here

divider credit: @enchanthings

"Sugar, you sure you wanna play with us?" Rogue asked with a playful smirk, her eyes sparkling with mischief as you settled into the empty chair next to Logan at the poker table.

You arched an eyebrow, matching her smirk. "I know how to play poker if that’s what you’re getting at," you shot back, already reaching for the deck to shuffle it.

Hank chuckled from across the table, leaning back in his chair with an amused expression. "I don’t think that’s what she meant," he said, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Let’s just say things can get a little… unpredictable around here."

"Unpredictable?" Remy scoffed, shaking his head as he started dealing the cards. "You mean downright chaotic, mon ami. Especially when some people don’t know when to fold." He shot a pointed glance at Logan.

Logan grunted, leaning back in his chair with a half-smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You talkin’ about yourself, Cajun?" he drawled, picking up his cards with a lazy flick of his wrist. "Because last time I checked, you were the one who lost his shirt—literally."

"Hey, that was strategy," Remy shot back, narrowing his eyes as he threw a chip into the pot. "Keepin' you all distracted, non?"

Rogue rolled her eyes, reaching over to give Remy a light shove. "Sure, if 'strategy' means gettin’ beat by a bunch of amateurs," she teased, glancing over at you with a wink. "Though I gotta say, sugar, you’ve got Logan as your partner in crime here. Don’t let him lead you astray."

Logan’s eyes flicked to you, a glint of challenge there as he took a slow sip of his beer. "Oh, don’t worry about her," he said, setting his drink down and shooting you a sideways glance. "She can handle herself just fine. Question is, can you all handle us? "

Hank snorted, arranging his chips in neat little stacks. "Bold words, Logan. But I do recall you losing quite spectacularly the last time we played. If I’m not mistaken, you blamed it on the 'damn cards.'"

Logan shot him a glare, though there was a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "They were bad cards. And that was a fluke."

"Uh-huh, sure," you said, trying to suppress a laugh as you threw in your own chip to call the bet. "I’ll believe that when I see you win a hand without growling at the cards."

Remy leaned over the table, eyes twinkling as he dealt the flop. "Let’s make it interesting, then," he said, grinning like a cat with a canary. "How ‘bout a side bet? Loser has to do something… embarrassing. Like serenading the winner."

Rogue clapped her hands together in delight. "Oh, I like that idea. I’d pay good money to hear Hank belt out a tune."

Hank’s cheeks flushed slightly, and he cleared his throat. "Well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I happen to have an excellent poker face."

Logan snorted. "Yeah, Hank, your poker face is about as good as Remy’s ability to stay quiet."

"Hey, now," Remy protested, holding his hands up in mock defense. "My mouth keeps the game lively, mon ami. Otherwise, it’s just a bunch of serious faces sittin’ around waitin’ to lose."

You glanced at your cards, then at Logan, who gave you a barely perceptible nod. "Well, I’m all in," you said, pushing your chips to the center. "I guess we’ll see who’s serenading who."

"Big words for a rookie," Rogue teased, but there was a flicker of surprise in her eyes as she glanced between you and Logan. "You two got a plan I don’t know about?"

"Wouldn’t you like to know," you replied, feeling the adrenaline buzz through you as the chaos of the game unfolded. The cards were turned, chips were thrown, and the banter flowed as easily as the drinks.

Remy grinned, throwing in a stack of chips. "Let’s see what you’ve got, chérie. I’m feelin’ lucky."

As the final card was revealed, you and Logan exchanged a knowing look. He leaned in slightly, his voice low. "Ready to show 'em how it’s done, darlin'?"

You smirked, flipping your cards over to reveal a winning hand. "Looks like someone’s gonna be doing a little singin’," you said, your gaze landing on Remy, whose jaw had dropped in mock horror.

Rogue burst into laughter, clapping her hands together. "Oh, this is gonna be good. What song are you takin’ requests for, Remy?"

Hank joined in, a grin spreading across his face. "I’ve got a few suggestions if you’d like to start with something classic."

Remy held up his hands in surrender, shaking his head with a rueful smile. "Alright, alright. I’ll sing, but I won’t promise it'll be pretty." He looked at you and Logan, shaking his head in disbelief. "You two been plannin’ this all along, huh?"

Logan grinned, a glint of mischief in his eye. "Let’s just say we make a good team."

As the table dissolved into laughter and arguments over which song Remy would butcher first, you felt Logan’s knee bump against yours under the table—a subtle, wordless acknowledgment of your shared victory. He shot you a look, one that was equal parts pride and amusement, and you couldn’t help but grin back, feeling like the luckiest player in the room.

[romana-after-dark]

Our Gentle Sins: Chapter 8

Thank you so so so much to @plasticbabies for making this beautiful header!!!! we finally have a good one!

Dark!Logan Howlett x fem!reader

Series Masterlist : Main Masterlist : Logan Masterlist

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Chapter summary: Past. Logan and you dance. Present. Your admit your issues with doctors.

Warnings: This fic features non con, pregnancy, and themes of religous trauma. I will not be saying everything that happens to warm you, by clicking read more you are prepared for extremely dark themes and that you at 18+. You are responsible for your own media consumption.

3.0 words

Before

You were beautiful. No, no, beautiful wasn’t enough. Radiant. Ethereal… Fuck, Logan was struggling to find words as he watched you in your dress, confidently striding around the dance with a spring in your step. You wore a yellow, floral dress that vaguely resembled regency era, everyone around you wearing the best they could get. Charles had put money towards allowing the teens to get nice dress clothes, believing knowing how to dress properly was important, so when you and your literature class planned a school ball, they were prepared. Everyone came, because of course they did. You were the favorite teacher.

Being the favorite teacher meant Logan hadn’t hardly seen you all evening, watching you float like a butterfly around the hall talking to everyone. You had enlisted him and Remy, as well as a few others like Scott or Emma to help chaperone, but you and Remy and him had spent the week setting everything up. Logan never saw himself as the type to hang up streamers, but for you he’d do it all. Sometimes, he’d catch you glancing towards him even while chatting with another, and that made him happy.

You made him happy.

“She’s beautiful, Logan.” Kurt appeared next to him, but Logan didn’t stop watching you. The way you looked tonight, he needed to make sure you didn’t suffer unwanted attention. He’d protect you. 

“Yeah, she really is.”

“You make a move yet?”

Logan rolls his eyes. Kurt was nosey. “No, Kurt. You know I can’t.”

A chuckle beside him. “No, I actually don’t. Charles didn’t actually say you couldn’t. I think you just like to wallow in self pity. Remy agrees.”

His head whips towards his friend, tearing his eyes off you for just a minute. “The fuck you talking to the Cajun about me for?”

Kurt remained playful. “Besides you and her, no one wants you together more than Remy does. Now, for fucks sake Logan, go get your girl.”

*

You were talking to Hank, discussing the struggles of making the most period accurate dance you could with one of the few people here who could understand.

“Can I cut in?”

Logan.

You turn to see him, and god, he was beautiful as ever, but incredible in that dapper suit. He slaps a friendly hand on Hank’s back, and Hank gives him a knowing look, politely excusing himself to go get some food. Logan smiles down at you, holding out his hand. “May I have this dance?”

Heat warms your skin, heart picking up as you try and fail to hold back a smile, taking his hand. “My dance card is very full, but I think I can squeeze you in.”

It was perfect. Logan, being the man 200 something years old, knew how to dance. Remaining chaste, somehow you still managed to feel like he was burning a hole through your clothes when he touched you. His hand on your waste felt indecent, salacious… but his touch on your shoulder was downright lewd. Logan had never seen your shoulders, always covered up even that night, and a few nights after, you came to his room as he tossled in the throws of a nightmare. Not that he had seen the waist he touched so lightly either, but you imagined him slipping off the dress with the hand on you, heat beginning to pool in your stomach.

 Logan had never mentioned catching you masturbating, although he’d certainly heard you calling his name as well. The window was nothing to his hearing. He was polite enough to leave it be, and that’s one of the things that made you fall in love with him. He was better than you deserved. Logan was good, Logan was kind and gentle and you didn’t care what other people thought of him. He was better than you.

“You look beautiful, Dolly.” Logan spoke earnestly, thumb caressing over the material on your collar bone, making you wince in pain, his large hand splayed over you. 

The compliment made you blush, casting your eyes away. You knew how to take a compliment, even if you weren’t convinced of its truth. “Thank you.”

“Hey.” His hand, smooth and soft from the regenerative cells in his body, cupped your face, coaxing it up to look at him. “I mean it.” When your eyes avoid his, he presses further. “Why don’t you believe me?”

You swallow hard. How to explain it without sounding like a jealous or catty bitch. You didn’t hate other women. You were jealous of many here, yes of course you were. Jean, Emma, Kitty Storm. Of course you were jealous, you weren’t an idiot. But it wasn’t the sort that made you dislike them. All the women here had been wonderful to you, but still, you struggled to connect. You felt out of place in womanhood, often feeling as if you were a perpetual teenage girl on the outskirts, no idea how to be a woman correctly. It wasn’t that you were a virgin, but you hadn’t had any idea what they were talking about with sex. Your husband made you feel dirty for wanting to try anything new.

You didn’t know how to do make-up or how to dress like them, do hair and fuck and kiss and maybe kiss each other? You didn’t know. Did friend kiss all the time like in college movies? What was normal? Getting married at 16 certainly wasn’t. You couldn’t really talk to them about interests because you didn’t really know what interested you. You liked reading, but the books Emma read were…. Well, far from the Jane Austen and Agatha Christie you read. Part of you wanted to read those books… but you was scared.

It was a big world out there, and you didn’t know how to navagate it.

“Dolly, talk to me.”

“I just… sometimes I wonder why you spend so much time with me… there are far prettier women here-”

“Dolly-” 

“Who don’t cry when they try on pants, who don’t dress like grandmas, who can drive a car-”

Who can give you children.

“Hey-”

“You should be spending your time chasing someone who can give you what you want. I’m not an idiot, Logan. I know you feel what I feel for you but…” Tears prickled at your eyes. “But I can’t… I can’t be what you need or want, Logan. I can’t.”

For a long moment, you danced in silence, Logan leaving you in a waltz as bodies blurred around you. Scott and Emma, Remy, student couples of yours who you’d suspected were together… all of it surround you, filling the air with lust and love and friendship. In the middle of it, you and Logan, some combination of all three.

“I’m not who you think I am, Logan.”

“What do you know of what I need, baby doll? I don’t need what others have. I need what you have. I need you. You. You are my dolly, nothing else matters.”

Your next words blurted out. “I can’t get pregnant.”

Another pause. “I guessed that.”

Your head whips up, finally looking at him in shocked confusion. “What?!”

“Fundamentalists don’t believe in birth control. They don’t even believe in um… natural family planning. You were married several years. So, either you didn’t get pregnant either because of you or him, or you left children behind.”

“I’d never leave children with that monster.” You spat out your words.

“I know. I know you wouldn’t. I figured it was either you or him.”

His trust in your character touched you, but there was something else that stood out. “What do you mean him?” Logan narrowed his eyes, brows pinched together.

“Him? If he didn’t have enough…” He hesitated to find the polite words. “Well, if the issue was on his end.”

Your skin, if it was burning before with Logan’s touch, was on fire in a rage. “You mean the issue could’ve been him?”

*

You were absolutely livid. All those years, all those years he blamed you, said you were barren, and it could have been him! Your beliefs at the time didn’t allow for medical intervention for women who struggled with infertility (natural only!) so you never went to the doctor for help conceiving. For years you were miserable, wanting a child, wanting nothing more than to be a mother, told all you were worth was your potential motherhood and since you couldn’t live up to it, you were nothing.

And it might not have been because of you.

Logan watched with concern as your eyes filled with tears, burying your head in his nice shirt to hide your crying as you explained it all. Every negative pregnancy test, how badly you wanted it, the nights you spent on your knees until the bruises begin God to be worthy of a child.. How every time one of your siblings or church members announced a pregnancy you rejoiced for them but felt a punch in the gut, how your husband beat you for your failures. 

“Did Logan make you cry?”

Scott pulled you out of your thoughts. Not long after you and Logan danced, Scott asked for one and you happily obliged. Scott was very kind. Remy was a good friend, Logan was… whatever was happening with Logan. But Scott checked in on you regularly. See if you needed anything, if you were settling into the school well, if you were having any trouble or concerns with the teens. When you were sick, he checked in late that day much to Logans annoyance.

“What?” You snap to attention. “Oh! No, no… I was just… other stuff, you know.”

You couldn’t see Scotts eyes, so reading his face was harder than with most. Over the years, you’ve gotten good at reading men's body language and facial expressions, the only way to survive in the male dominated world you grew up in. Scott was an enigma. 

“Are you sure? Because Judith,” His use of your pseudonym threw you off. “If anyone here is harming you, we won’t protect them. I know the life you had, but you can just us. We won’t choose Logan over you.”

What on earth was he talking about? “Logan wouldn’t hurt me, Mr. Summers.” You insist, eyes searching for Remy, hoping to get out of this conversation.

Scott’s thumb pulled at the top of your dress, moving it aside just a single inch, but you knew what it revealed. You gasp, swiftly covering it up again, hoping no one saw. “What-”

“If he is hurting you, you need to tell me. I promise, I can he-”

A large, hairy hand clamped down on Scotts shoulder, a subdued cry of pain escaping Scotts lips. 

Logan spoke, a dark, low voice in Scotts ear. “The only fucking reason I’m not tearing your arm off is because my baby doll spent months planning this dance and it would be rude to spray blood all over her guest. So I suggest you take your hands off her, and we handle this outside like men.”

*

“LOGAN STOP!” You scream, crying against the wall as you watched Scott and Logan fight in the parking lot. Well, fight wasn’t the right word. Scott could probably have killed Logan if he was really trying, but he wasn’t. Scott was far more rational than Logan was, especially now.

The two men battled it out, leaving you all but forgotten as you sob on the floor.

Then, an explosion. It wasn’t big, nothing and no one was damaged, but enough to make Scott and Logan stumble back and pause, chests heaving in their torn and dirty formalwear. 

“For fucks sake!” Remy appeared from the purple cloud, gesturing towards you. “I leave for 5 minutes and I come back to find my friends fighting like teenage boys! And I do say boys, cher, because a man,” He reached a hand to you, helping you up. “Wouldn’t leave a lady crying on the floor!”

“Take her inside.” Scott instructs. “I’ll handle this.”

Logan’s ‘fuck off’ went unnoticed. 

“And what, exactly, are you handling?”

“I dunno, Remy, maybe something to do with the claw marks on her!”

All eyes turned to you, including Remy. “Pistache,” His voice was gentle. Did something happen?”

You melt under the pressure, slinking away behind where Remy stood. “I can explain, Mr. Summers.”

And just like that, eyes were back on Scott. “Are really out here trying to kill our brother in arms before you even ask the girl what happened?”

Scott looked embarrassed. “She won’t say anything about him! She’s clearly scared! Besides, I wasn’t trying kill him…”

“Ah, just maim him then.”

“Dolly.” Logans voice called to you. He looked so worried, so sad, his eyes wide and desperate. “Did I… hurt you?”

You nod. “But Logan… It was the nightmare.” You turn to Scott, a hint of indignation you couldn’t help for him accusation to Logan, but a softness because someone, someone cared enough to notice. “He was having a nightmare. He scratched me in his sleep when I tried to wake him.”

Once again unreadable, Scotts voice was careful. “You don’t have to defend him. You can-”

“Respectfully, Mr. Summers,” You said, letting go of Remy in favor of approaching Logan and taking his hand. “I’ve survived abuse once. I told people then, they didn’t believe me but I told them. I would do it again if Logan did that. But from Logan’s point of view, you were pulling at my clothing. So I think its best both of you sweep this under the rug as a misunderstanding.” You walk away, taking Logan with you. “Logan and I are about to miss the last dance.”

After

“You’re missing the dance.”

“Can’t wear anything that won’t show them I’m pregnant.”

It was prom, and you had organized another dance for it. Months of work, and you couldn’t even see your students dresses. Everything nice enough to chaperone would be too tight, thanks to the slight bump. You didn’t know Logan would be back so soon, but him and Kurt returned this evening. Under the blankets, you feigned sickness to Remy, asking him to attend the ball in your stead, show your students the love you wanted to give.

Your first year here was almost done, and you were sure once the pregnancy came out you’d be fired. You couldn’t expect Charles to put the baby through daycare.

The room was dark, but the glow of the TV illuminated Logan as he sat on the chair with a heavy sigh.

“How's the girl?” You ask.

“She’s gonna need a lot of rest and food and she’s on an IV but… she’ll make it. Seems happy to be here. Kurt and her got along well.”

“Good.” The Tv drowned out the quiet, Bobs Burgers again. “You know, I don’t understand half of this show sometimes. Pop Culture references I don’t get. Like, who is queen Laytifa? Who is Bruce Springsteen? I don’t know.”\

A beat. “If it makes you feel better, I don’t get a lot of the jokes either.”

You give a small chuckle. “It kinda does. At least I have an excuse.”

Logan gives you a moment before asking. “How are you been since i left.”

You try to think of an honest answer. “Morning sickness is terrible. Nightmares are worse than ever, but Remy’s helped me. I’m too fat for some of my clothes already. Not going great, honestly.”

“Dolly,” He huffs, “We need to get you into a-”

“A doctor. I know. School’s out in two weeks.” You take a deep breath and release it slowly. “I’m teaching a few summer classes and the literature club is meeting through the summer but… I’m free at noon every day. We can go, I guess.”

Logan’s heart leap, relieved to finally get you and his baby medical care once again. He knew this was difficult for you, you never went to doctors for anything this whole school year.

“Is it a naturopathic thing? Like you guys didn’t believe in science.”

You groan, covering your face with a blanket. “Why do you think we’re friends, Logan? I’m not talking to you about my life like this!”

Frustrated and tired, he tugged the blanket back down. “”I just wanna take care of you, dolly!”

“After you raped me!” Your words hung in the air, bitter on your tongue, but more spilled out. “I- I was pregnant once. I think. It was too early to test but I just… knew. And then he beat me. It was… it was so bad, Logan. I’ve never known pain like that. And then I started bleeding. I tried to tell a doctor I was being abused…” You willed yourself not to cry this time. “But he told me…”

You think back to that night, your eyes pinched shut as you recounted it to Logan. Everything hurt. You wanted a female doctor but your husband insisted on seeing a family friend. When you were alone you tried to say no, you didn’t fall that he did this too you. You tried to say that you made you miscarry!

‘Do you know what the laws are for abortion here, ma’am?’

His question stunned you.

‘Uh… illegal?’

You didn’t really know.

‘Legal in some circumstances, unfortunately. But illegal outside of medical performance, and we don’t know how far along you are.’

‘I’m only-’

‘Whose to say. My point is, how are we to know you didn’t try to skirt around the law and end your own pregnancy?’

You couldn’t take the TV anymore. Too loud, too bright. You turn it off, getting up to open the window for fresh air. Through the crack, music from the prom spilled in, Glitter in the Air. 

Logan’s arms wrapped around your waist, burying his hair in your face and you wanted to pull away. You wanted to scream. But you also wanted Logan to just be your Logan again. Maybe he was? You had missed him, even now after everything you missed him. You wanted to be with him. 

“Dance with me, Dolly. Even if it’s our last.”

So you danced with him. And it was not the last.

But Charles returned for graduation, and you needed to make a choice what to do.

WOW THANK YOU SOSOSOSOSOOSOSOSOSO much!!!!!

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[she-wolf09231982]

Chapter 1-Black Penny

Summary: You grew up in the hustle and bustle of a city most of your life, so you packed your few belongings and headed straight to New Orleans. You hoped to live a simpler, quieter life on the Historic French Quarter. By day during the week, you helped manage Marie Laveau’s House of Voodoo Shop and by nightfall you tended bar at Black Penny on the weekends.

You were aware mutants existed, and believed them to be just as ordinary as you but only with extraordinary abilities. After living a few years in NOLA, you had a knack of picking them out in a crowd and treated them no differently than you’d treat anyone else. You had many run in’s with mutants on Bourbon Street, but none as impactful as the day you ran into Remy LeBeau.

A/N: Character Intro, She/Her Pronouns, GambitX!FemaleReader, GambitX!NonMutant, RemyLeBeauX!FemaleReader, Mutants, Post Deadpool and Wolverine, Post Void, New Orleans, Alcohol, Pining, Creole/French to English Translation

(c) - Creole

(f)- French

*I just want to disclose I am not a comic expert. Gambit/Remy LeBeau is very new to me and I’m doing my best to stay genuine to what I’ve researched online or from what I’ve seen in the D&W movie. I’m aware there was a HUGE controversy over his heavy accent/dialect and over his eye color in the movie, so I tried to incorporate both versions of each in my stories to satisfy everyone’s preferred Gambit/Remy style. (Personally, I loved Channing Tatum’s accent in the movie ☺️) I’m also cognizant that Gambit and Rogue are an item in the comics, but for sanity sake, Rogue will be a pastime only mentioned in passing if absolutely necessary so I don’t have to study in depth another character I’m unfamiliar with. (I need some brain space for real life stuff, too 😅) Anyway, I’m doing my maximum effort over here writing for Gambit/Remy, so when I do post my developing Gambit story, please, if you have comments or criticisms that don’t benefit anyone else’s appreciation of these fanfics, keep them to yourself and let the rest of us enjoy it. Thanks so much*

♠️♥️♣️♦️

It was a particularly busy night at Black Penny. As live bounce music and jazz blared from the stage, patrons dance and socialize carelessly with each other while you hotfoot from one end of the bar to the other serving up shots and beers.

You approach a man waiting patiently, his face downward hovering over a stack of playing cards.

“What can I getchya?” You ask him.

He began twirling an ace of spades between his fingers.

“(c) Kisa mwen ka jwenn pou ou?” You repeat.

The man lifted his gaze to meet yours with a mischievous grin stretching across his face. An eerie magenta glow softly radiated from his irises causing your jaw to drop. Your stunned reaction spurred him, causing his smile to widen and his eyes to glow brighter as the whites of his eyes began to blacken.

“….woah.” You say under your breath.

The man chuckled, “(c) Ou dwe padone Gambit, cheri (You must pardon Gambit). When his eyes see somethin’ so (f)dulcet (beautiful), it be hard to hide it.”

You shook your head to refocus, “No need to apologize. This is a safe space for everyone. Just caught me off guard is all.”

You flash him a smile and a wink as he returned one to you, the whites of his eyes returning to ‘human’ version of normal and his irises became a shade of icy green.

“Nobody be lookin’ at me like dat wit’out runnin’ off. You weren’t scared?”

“Of course not. Takes a lot more than a pair of flashy eyes on a handsome face to scare me away.” You state.

He laughed as he adjusted in his seat.

“Dats good, dats good.” He said as he leaned forward on the surface of the bar.

“What are you drinking, Gambit?” You ask again.

“Sazerac. (c) Mèsi, cheri. (Thank you, darling).”

You bring the gentleman a rocks glass fixed neat with the amber-red reserve bourbon. He gingerly raised the glass to his nose, inhaling the oak wood barrel scent with hints of cherry, caramel, apples, and tobacco.

He hummed with satisfaction, “(c) Manyifik (Magnificent).”

You nod, then turn to walk away.

“Remy.” You hear him call to you.

“Pardon?” You say as you turn back to him.

“The name’s Remy LaBeau.” He reiterated cooly after taking a sip from his glass.

He averted his eyes to you, awaiting your name. You grin back.

“Y/F/N.”

“(c) Kontan rankontre ou, Y/F/N (Pleased to meet you).”

You feel your face go red as you laugh nervously.

“Same.” You managed to say before scurrying to the other end of the bar to wait on other customers.

♠️♥️♣️♦️

Remy sat quietly in his spot at the bar the entire evening, only ever looking up from his deck of Mavericks to catch a glance of you as you pass him. The crowd started to thin out as last call was announced.

“One for the road, Remy?”

He beamed at you, “Oui, cheri. If you join me for one.”

You smile coyly, “I gotta close up, chief. How about this; I’ll bring you another Sazerac on the house, and I’ll take a rain check?”

You see the magenta glimmer in his eyes again.

“I like the soun’ of dat, cheri.”

You smile and nod then turn to the counter behind you to prepare his drink. You set it in front of him as he placed a $100 in front of you.

“You only had two. That’s too much.”

“(c) Pran li (Take it). For your generosity an’ da company.” Remy insisted.

You beam at him, “(c) Ou twò janti (You’re too kind).”

He stood up from his stool, and fixed his collar on his leather trench.

“Until next time, mon cher.” He said smiling while standing tall opposite you.

“Orevwa, Remy. I’ll see you around.” You reply sweetly as you feel your cheeks heat up again.

“(c) Mwen pwomèt ou pral (I promise you will).” He purred in his heavy honeyed Cajun accent.

He bowed, then turned on his heel to exit the bar. You released a deep exhale as if you hadn’t taken a breath since having met him that night.

♠️♥️♣️♦️

*I know this was a short one and I plan on a chapter 2. I’m just dipping my toe in the water here to see what feedback I get* 🥰

[awkward-walking-potato]

Can I request a one shot for how Remy showing off his magic tricks to his gender neutral crush who is genuinely fascinated by it please?

Sleight of Hand and Heart

Remy LeBeau, with his signature cocky grin, held out a deck of cards between two fingers, shuffling them with practiced ease. His red-on-black eyes never left yours, enjoying the way your eyes followed each flick and spin of the cards.

“Pick a card, any card,” he said in that smooth Cajun accent of his.

You tried to suppress your smile, knowing full well he was showing off, but you couldn’t help it. It wasn’t just the charm; there was something about the way Remy handled the cards that genuinely fascinated you. It was like the cards were an extension of him, moving fluidly as if they had a life of their own.

With a hesitant grin, you reached forward and picked a card from the deck, holding it close to your chest.

Remy’s eyebrow arched, his grin widening. “Now, don’t be shy, mon ami. Show me whatcha got.”

You flashed the card toward him quickly — the seven of hearts — but pulled it back just as fast. Remy’s expression remained unreadable, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

He spread the deck in one hand, face down, and tapped the cards. “Slide it back in.”

You slipped the card back into the middle of the deck, eyes glued to his hands as they moved with practiced precision. He shuffled the cards again, tossing them in the air, catching them effortlessly. You watched, captivated by how smoothly his fingers danced over the cards.

He winked at you and snapped his fingers. “And voilà.”

Reaching behind your ear, Remy pulled out the seven of hearts, holding it up between his fingers with a triumphant smirk.

Your jaw dropped. “How did you…?!” You couldn’t help but laugh in disbelief. “Seriously, how did you do that?”

Remy chuckled, clearly pleased with your reaction. “A magician never reveals his secrets. But maybe…” He tilted his head slightly, his eyes studying you as if he were considering something. “Maybe for you, I can make an exception.”

Your eyes lit up. “You’d teach me?”

He grinned, clearly enjoying your fascination. “Course I will. Ain’t often I find someone as curious about the art of deception as me.”

Remy motioned for you to come closer, holding out the deck of cards. “First thing you gotta know ‘bout magic is that it’s all ‘bout misdirection. Keepin’ their eyes on one hand while the other’s doin’ all the work.”

You stepped closer, your shoulder brushing his as you watched his hands move. His touch was gentle as he adjusted your grip on the cards, his fingers guiding yours.

“Now, shuffle,” he instructed, his breath warm against your ear.

You attempted to mimic his fluid movements, but the cards slipped awkwardly from your hands, falling onto the floor in a messy heap. You groaned, crouching down to pick them up, feeling a flush of embarrassment creep up your neck.

Remy laughed softly, crouching down beside you to help. “Don’t worry, it takes time. Ain’t no one started out a master.”

You glanced at him, cheeks flushed, but his expression was kind, not mocking. For someone as skilled and charming as Remy, you had expected a little more teasing, but he seemed genuinely invested in teaching you.

Once the cards were back in your hands, he guided you through the process again, showing you how to control the deck, how to palm a card without anyone noticing. You watched his hands closely, trying to memorize every flick of his fingers.

“Like this?” you asked, holding the deck in one hand and attempting a shuffle.

Remy nodded, a proud grin spreading across his face. “There ya go, now you’re gettin’ it.”

You beamed, thrilled by the progress you were making. It wasn’t just about learning card tricks anymore — it was about the way Remy’s patience and encouragement made you feel like you could do anything.

“Okay, now the real fun starts,” he said, taking the deck from you again. “Lemme show ya how to pull off that trick I did earlier.”

You leaned in closer, eager to learn, as Remy walked you through the sleight of hand. His explanations were clear, but the way he kept glancing at you from the corner of his eye made your heart race. You couldn’t help but notice the way he seemed more focused on your reactions than on the cards.

After a few tries, you attempted the trick, and while it wasn’t as smooth as Remy’s, you managed to pull it off. You grinned triumphantly, holding up the card you had just ‘magically’ revealed.

Remy clapped, his smile wide. “Look at that, you’re a natural!”

You laughed, feeling a warm rush of pride. “I had a good teacher.”

Remy’s gaze softened at that, the teasing tone fading as he looked at you a little longer than usual. “Maybe,” he said quietly, “but you got more talent than ya think.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, and for a moment, the cards and magic tricks were forgotten. There was something about the way he was looking at you, something more than just the playful banter you were used to. You swallowed, suddenly feeling nervous under his gaze.

“I… I’ve never really been good at stuff like this,” you admitted, your voice quieter now. “But with you… it feels different.”

Remy tilted his head, his eyes never leaving yours. “That so?”

You nodded, feeling the tension in the air shift, the playfulness between you giving way to something deeper. “Yeah… I guess I’m just fascinated by you.”

Remy’s smile softened into something more sincere, his voice low and intimate. “Guess I’ve been fascinated by you too.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, the world seemed to slow down. There was no magic trick to distract you, no cards to hide behind. It was just you and Remy, standing close, sharing a moment you hadn’t expected.

And as Remy took your hand, guiding your fingers through one last trick, you realized that maybe, just maybe, you had found something more magical than any card trick he could teach you.

[studiogrimm810]

Speak of the Devil > The Truman Show Parallel // part 9

pairings: (established) sam winchester x gn!reader, destiel is there :D

summary: you are taken by lucifer for over a week and sam damn near looses his head. when you are finally rescued, the trauma of what was inflicted on you has left it's mark and it's up to sam and dean to keep you put together. lucifer is finally gone but your fear isn't

warnings: ptsd, paranoia, sexually suggestive, pretty tame given previous parts

word count: 5,377

A/N: please check out my end note, thank you all for reading <3

read other parts here

———————

Sweetly sour strawberries and the richly biting aroma of freshly brewed espresso swirl around you like Remy trying new combinations from ‘Ratatouille’. The chilly idle air left over from the hotel AC unit nibbles at your exposed skin comfortably as you pick up yet another berry to stain your lips. You couldn’t remember the last time you stayed at a place of lodging that actually fed you fresh complimentary fruit.

“I can’t get over this place,” you mumble past the bursted blackberry that waters your mouth from the confident taste.

“Just shows you how used to lower class we are,” Sam jokes lightly, bringing over two small cups of coffee with a thick and smooth layer of crema.

“That’s our karma for stolen credit cards, but Nespresso, Sam? This is luxury we don’t deserve,” you chuckled and emphasized with a delighted moan as you took a sip, washing away the inky berry.

“Still not good enough for you,” he admires, plopping a few blueberries in his mouth.

“You’re so cheesy,” you scoff a light chuckle, licking the small line of crema stuck to your upper lip. Sam watches drunkenly.

This week. This room. This state. Your paradise.

The sun warms the horizon as it pokes fully out from the distant mountains. Sam opened the blinds wide and proud first thing this morning and you weren’t grumpy enough to complain- it was quite odd too, given your lack of sleep last night thanks to the dizzy-gazed giant gawking at you.

The sun washes over him like honey. It highlights the caramel in his hair and shimmers his hazel eyes- bringing out the green. It illuminates his skin like he’s a shimmering piece of gold.

Although the coffee is delectable, it comes in disappointing portions and you’re quickly finished with your cup. You set the empty paper cup on the breakfast cart and grab a piece of bacon as you rise to your feet and snatch Sam’s flannel. You stick the bacon in your mouth like a cigar and slip the cloth over your skin, making your way to the window framing a picture perfect landscape.

Sam follows, wearing soon-to-be discarded sweats, and places his hands on your hips. He brushes away some stray hair or cloth to kiss your neck.

“Why’d you have to go and put that on, hm?” He asks, stealing the tip of your earlobe. Shivers tickle your skin and you lean back into his touch.

You stay silent because you have no real reasoning to offer.

His hands roam down your sides, lifting the lengthy cloth of the flannel and pressing you into him. His sweatpants are really a waste of cloth- especially if he isn’t wearing boxers- and even on a completely unbothered sex drive you would feel him flush to your body. But holy fuck, with the thoughts running rampant in his mind accompanied by the memories of last night- images of you- he’s completely prepared to bury right back into you.

You meet his need, running a hand up through his hair and he brings up his own palm to lock your jaw in his hold and forcefully invite your lips to his- your back still pressed into his chest. His free hand folds around the hem of his pants and he starts to pull them down, freeing himself and letting him slide right between you. As you gasp from the twitch of his cock, he slips his tongue along your teeth and lets out a low moan that you feel reverberates on your back.

Montana… you truly will never be forgotten.

———

Comfortable inky black- it’s reminiscent of a certain berry that haunts your taste buds and not of a distant inky hall- subconscious correlation is on your side today. That’s the first wave of relieving victory that washes over you.

The comforting and lonely black wraps around you like welcome arms.

Lonely.

Your chest buzzes with exciting honey-warmth at the idea. How deviously selfish of you to think you’re truly alone. You’re never alone because of him.

Him

Right? Him. He’s here… right?

Your bones feel hollow like a birds and your blood flows under your skin unnoticeably. Your back doesn’t itch with perception and you float in this obsidian black like it's a sensory deprivation tank. You feel nothing but light- like a feather.

You could stay here forever.

The peace brought on by absence of angelic presence buzzing through your veins like adrenaline is addictive and consuming. You could die happy. Your heart feels slow, like simply beating is difficult as if doused in molasses.

But it’s welcoming.

Sweet honey and molasses- the taste is dissolved by the tang of berry dropping like acid and the warmth of espresso melting it like silky chocolate. You swallow, the ghost of flavor washing away as your muscles work. You start to settle like dust, resting over plush cloth puffed up with feathers and stuffing. It feels like you’re placed in a marshmallow.

Rough, calloused hands have been holding your hand for longer than you can register. A thumb caressing the back of your hand. The same hands that have held your neck and cradled your hips as their owner took you right there against the glass- against the Montana scenery.

Sam.

Your memory runs like rewinding a VHS. You see the glowing entity, shimmering voided tile, crystal doorknobs, crackling lightning, the cage, Sam.

Your emotions catch you up next, though, as the tape winds back through. The dread followed by the anger and then curiosity and fear- finalized by relief that makes you feel weightless again.

You’re reminded that you’re alone. Maybe not physically, but mentally. Your skull rattles with only your thoughts.

A deep breath snakes through your nostrils and fills your lungs, starting you fully awake like a switch. Your eyes are sore with sleep and mouth dry, now void of flavors you’re starting to miss.

Sam stumbles your name past his lips, landing in your ear like a desperate plea. He shuffles closer, if even possible, and he’s the first thing that focuses in your vision. His eyes are rimmed with red and puffy skin and his hair falls past its tucked space behind his ears. He’s glowing like gold as he smiles down at you.

“Sam.?” His name rubs past your parched vocal chords and he reaches for a nearby bottle of water, screwing off the cap.

“Here, love, drink,” he helps you sit up and brings the open bottle to your lips. He’s careful and doesn’t let any water drip down your chin.

The water revives your mouth quickly, and as Sam takes away the bottle, you just watch him. He looks exhausted and his hair is a mess but his hopeful eyes light up his face like a beacon.

“How’re you feeling? You’ve been asleep for a while but Rowena said you were just drained. She said Lucifer is gone, is he?” He rambles and you’re a little overwhelmed but you level with him with a soft chuckle.

“I’m good, it’s just me,” you sighed a breath of relief and Sam’s lips twitched in another quick smile. “How long have I been out?” You ask.

“About,” he checks his phone on the side table, “33 hours.” Your eyes widened, “Rowena said it's to be expected, you went through a lot.” His eyes soften and his hold on your hand returns- he massages lightly.

“How did I end up in our room?” You look around, surveying the familiar walls.

“Those cots in the clinic have nothing on the duvet you got us,” he runs his free hand along the fabric. “Couldn’t stand seeing you in there anyways. Needed you here.”

The air is light with free-thinking, and Sam looks like he has a gush of words to spill but he holds them back.

“Are you hungry?” He asks, running his free hand through your hair.

“Mm-hmm,” you nod, closing your eyes in the simple pleasures he rains you with.

“C’mon, let's get you out of bed,” he said, pulling some blankets off of you and helping you to your feet. Sam does everything for you. He gets you a fresh set of clothes, he brushes your hair and smoothes it back, and he makes the bed back up.

You feel a little on auto-pilot. You can’t help but think of how fast everything happened. I mean less than a week ago you were still missing and at the complete mercy of the Devil. The memories flash across your mind and make you cringe.

Sam looks up from his hunched position as he tucks the sheets under the mattress to find that you've wandered to the bathroom and are staring at yourself in the mirror. Your gaze is a little hazy and he knows exactly what's happening but he can’t help the paranoia that creeps up his spine like the tickling touch of Lucifer.

He finishes his task, while keeping a closer eye on you, and slowly approaches you when he’s done. He doesn’t tip toe or brace his hands, he simply walks in as if his aim was to brush his teeth. He stops behind you, gently resting his hands on your hips. You startle at his touch but he doesn't seem to react. He reaches up to brush away some cloth or hair and places a warm kiss on your cheek.

Silence clears the air and you two just enjoy this moment. You can feel his eyes on you through the mirror but it’s comforting and secure unlike what you’ve grown exhausted of when Lucifer was present.

Sam looks over your features as you rest back into him with your eyes closed. Soft, plush skin calls for his lips or hands but he remains in place, keeping his steady grip on your frame.

“You ready?” He murmurs against your shoulder in between kisses. You hum simply, trying to just enjoy the emptiness behind your eyes. You turn to face him, resting your arms on his shoulders and hugging him close.

“So warm,” you mumble past squished lips that you can’t be bothered to move correctly. Sam chuckles softly, running his hands up your back and one continues up to cradle the back of your neck.

“Let’s get you some food, my love,” he remains locked around you for a moment but pulls away once your grip loosens enough to signal that you’re ready. He takes your hand and leads you through the halls.

Everything is so much brighter and airy now, almost like it's in slow motion. You take the time to watch the tile in the hall as you pass- tracing the grout with your eyes and watching the reflected light run along the tile like the moon in a car ride.

Muffled voices carry from the kitchen- tense and agitated. You can tell the sound of discussion ruffles Sam as his pace slows and a heavy exhale cracks open his lips. He glances down at you and a small, reassuring smile lifts his lips against his will.

As you two round the corner into the kitchen, the voices hiss into silence and both Dean and Cas whip their eyes to look over at you as you enter, Dean watches you closely as if he’s expecting you to slam him against the wall telekinetically. Cas simply looks beyond relieved.

“Some iced tea?” Sam asks, looking at you with a warm gaze.

But now they’re all looking.

So many eyes perceive you that you can’t check them all for a red glint. Too many empty corners in the room and unoccupied space in your skull. Paranoia rips the words out of your throat as your mouth goes dry at the thought of- what kind of storm will this serene calm invoke?

“Hey,” Sam repeats, stepping in front of you so that you’re basked in his shadowing guard that deflects unwanted eyes. “Want some tea?” He repeats, watching you closely.

You force a nod to bob your head. Sam waits for a moment to read you- trying to catch any subtle tells that you need out now- but he sees no give so he leads you to a stool so he can go get your favorite glass that is decorated with simple stamps of your second favorite fruit.

…“Oh look at this one!” You gleam, picking up a thin drinking glass with hand painted fruits freckled over the surface.

“That’s a pretty one too,” Sam agrees with an amused chuckle, gently taking the offered cup from your outstretched palm. “Is this the one you want?” He asks.

“Yes! They’re my favorite. Maybe there’s a matching plate?” You turn around to skim through the shelves of mugs on the opposite wall.

A small shop in the town you were staying in in Montana attracted your attention from the Town Square’s Farmers Market. That, and the want to seek shelter as rain dampened the market and made any tent too humid to enjoy. It was meant to be a casual peruse of local farmers and their products- maybe even some independent craft vendors too- so you slipped on a simple outfit that held no pockets for your wallet or phone. Sam was kind enough to offer to carry your personal items, but he used the opportunity to ‘forget’ about your wallet so he could purchase the products you wanted. Like this delicate glass that you’d decided you couldn’t leave without…

Your fingers feel the slightly raised paint of the fruit on the glass and it’s soothing. An idle sensory task that gives you something to focus on.

Sam works around the kitchen, putting together a plate of assorted snacks. It’s eerily familiar as he grabs containers of fruit from the fridge- espresso hints across your tongue like a breath of LaCroix.

“S’he gone?” Dean’s gruff voice cuts through like unfinished paint on a glass that isn’t yours.

“Dean.” Sam glares, grabbing a box of crackers from the cupboard.

“I gotta know,” a chair skids back as he stands quickly and the scrape makes you flinch.

“If the answer was ‘no’, you would have known by now,” Sam’s voice is tight, his patience worn thin. He can’t allow anyone or anything to get in the way of your recovery. He has to step up. He has to make you okay again.

The room is void of speech but sound is rumbled by the crinkle of the box of crackers and their wrapper.

Dean calls your name and Sam looks at you but you try to act normal and just look back at Dean with an expectant expression for him to continue.

“You feelin’ okay?” He asks, his eyes looking over your body like he does to Sam when he’s worried but forced to bite his tongue. Like he’s avoiding your gaze to feel the impact of your trauma less. It doesn't work for him, it never does.

You nod simply.

It’s quiet.

It’s tense.

A plate slides across the counter and the sound prickles your skin but you don’t noticeably react.

You pick at the assortment. You’re hungry as hell but you can only get your body to do so much under the observant gaze of your family.

It’s just your family, you have to remind yourself

You can still feel the boiling pot of unspoken words.

Sam takes the stool next to you and he steals a few bites off your plate. You like his commitment to being casual.

Dean can’t stay still.

“I gotta ask.”

“Dean-,” Sam warns, fed up with Dean’s ‘have-to’s.

“No, Sam. We need to be prepared when Satan come bangin’ at our door lookin’ for them! We need to know if they know where this damn ‘entrance’ is or whatever,” Dean interrupts, looking back at you. “So do you?”

…“How does this even happen?” You scoff, pacing the small area like a lion in a cage. “I thought this was a good hotel,” you let your fear come out in bursts of agitated anger.

“There’s a storm and the power just surged, just give it a minute to start back up. We’re okay,” Sam assures, his own anxiety awoken not from the claustrophobic elevator frozen between floors but rather the strikes of lightning that rattled the hotel with echoes of thunder.

“God, I hate this,” you stop, running both hands over your face and through your hair.

“I know, just give it a moment,” he repeats, reaching out to rest a hand on your shoulder. When you don’t shy away from his touch, he pulls you in for a hug. As soon as he does, the motors whirl and the elevator jerks as it resumes it coarse and swiftly gets you both to your desired floor.

You’re welcoming of Sam’s embrace anytime and even stingy with letting go, but not now. The second the elevator dings, you squeeze past the metal doors and stumble onto a solid floor that you swear you can still feel the unstable ground through.

“Jesus,” you sigh heavily, chuckling embarrassingly at your reaction. “Sorry, I just- god. I really did not want to fall in that damn thing,” your nervous laughter rattles out some heavier breaths.

“I got that,” Sam scoffs sarcastically with a lighthearted smirk. “Feel better?”

“Very much so,” you start to calm and breathe normally and Sam leads you both through the halls and to your room with his palm on your lower back.

He pulls the keycard from his pocket and goes to use it on the door but the building shudders with another crack of violent storm and Sam drops the card as he tenses and his eyes glaze.

Your brows furrow at the unexpected response, and your just idled engine of anxiety starts right back up with concern and not claustrophobic fear.

“Sam?” Your subtle call makes him flinch and he hisses more in muscle reaction and not audibly.

Another crack makes his eyes screw closed and he takes a small step back, dropping the paper bag with your fragile glass. You hear the shatter through the wrapped layers but don’t give it a second thought.

You take a simple step closer but braced hands stop you. You freeze, allowing him a moment to collect himself.

“S-sorry, just-,” his voice is unsteady and thick with haze.

“Take your time,” you assure, reaching down for the keycard and unlocking the door, opening it wide. “Wanna go inside? It’s safer,” he gusts past you like wind and you’re a little shocked at his speed but you keep up.

You’re too focused on him to retrieve the shattered glass contained in tissue and it’s soon discarded by a hotel worker…

Sam’s stomach churns with a gut punch of paranoia. He knew to expect Lucifer coming back in a physical sense, he’s not stupid. Sam also knew that important information being left with you would soon be common knowledge of any and every creature roaming the earth.

But god, he could clock Dean a pretty shiner for speaking like that in front of you so soon.

Sam pushes to his feet, being cautious of the scraping of his stool, and faces Dean fully.

“We can talk about this some other time, man. Now is not it,” Sam heaves, fists clenched.

“It’s simple yes or no,” Dean defends, and you know what he’s doing- he’s scared and deflecting. Maybe if you can offer him some peace in a single worded answer then you should.

“Yes,” your voice is weak and unsure, not like the hunter they’re used to. Sam’s head drops just a bit, as if relinquishing his puffed up defense and Dean looks past Sam and at you.

“You know where the entrance is?” Dean’s voice is tight. The answer didn’t ease his fear.

“Yes,” you repeat, still a simple croak. “I know how to access it and how to lock it. I know everything there is to know about it,” you look down at your colorful plate, lively with nutritious, cold fruits. You find it insulting in this moment.

The room stills like just about frozen water and it even sends a shiver up your spine.

“We aren’t discussing this right now,” Sam says to Dean as he opens his mouth to ask another question.

“I think they can speak for themselves,” Dean scoffs. You can’t- not right now at least.

“What Sam said,” you grab the plate with a shaky hand and your cup with the other, rushing out of the kitchen and down to your room. The closer you get to the door, the more panicked you feel- like being chased- but you keep your grip on the glass tight, not wanting to go back for a cup with your third favorite fruit on it.

…The mini fridge in the hotel room hosts half a dozen water bottles, some single-use spirits, and left overs from housekeeping from the past few days. The tray of fruit from this morning sits in the middle shelf. You pull it out as well as a water bottle.

Sam is sitting hunched over on the edge of the bed, bouncing his leg with his latched hands in front of him, resting his elbows on his knees. He almost looks like he’s praying.

You set the fruit and bottle on the rolling tray and bring it by him, kneeling in front of him, letting your hands rest on his once assuring he won't flinch away again.

“I’ve got a snack and some cold water?” You offer. You have no idea what he’s experiencing but you do know that cold snacks help you with panic attacks.

Perhaps your mind will change its stance on the comfort of cold one day.

Sam sighs, dipping his head further if that's even possible, and moves his mouth as he tries to find the right words.

Just as you think he’s about to speak, another crack of angry weather lights up the room and shakes through the space like a mini earthquake. He curls up into himself and a small whimper breaks your heart.

You don’t know what to do or how to help, so you hover pathetically, waiting for an opportunity to step in and help out.

“We’re okay,” you blurt, settling a little closer. “It’s just a bad storm and that’s it. It is scary and loud but we’re okay. This is still the same room we’ve learned so much about each other in,” you attempt to reach up and brush away some hair. He stiffens at the touch but doesn’t flinch away. You continue. “This room is not ruined by whatever memories you’re reliving. This is still our space and our time. You and me,” your palm settles against his cheek and he leans into the touch.

“You and me,” he echos, eyes still screwed closed.

“That’s all that’s here.”…

“I’m sorry about Dean,” Sam sighs, sitting next to you on the bed.

“I know he’s just scared. I expected him to be brash, I just still wasn’t ready for it,” you look down at your intertwined fingers.

“You shouldn’t have to make yourself ready to be around him.” Sam shakes his head, watching you idly trace his fingers.

“Agreed,” you sigh, resting your head on Sam’s shoulder and glancing over at the fresh fruit and iced tea that sits on your nightstand. “I am scared though.”

Sam’s heart cinches and his lids fall closed to absorb the hit. “Of him?” He asks.

“Mh-mm,” you nod on his shoulder, “of him finding us, he won’t stop until he finds me and gets that info,” your throat constricts with a suppressed sob and your eyes sting. “He’s gone but he still haunts this bunker. He’s ruined my sense of security. He’s even managed to weasel himself in Dean’s paranoia.”

“Dean will always be the first to overthink and panic in the form of misplaced anger,” Sam nudges you softly, hoping to lighten the tension just a bit.

“I’ve only been consciously rid of him for an hour but he’s still everywhere,” the words are whispered in fear of being heard.

Sam knows this feeling all too well. He knows the stain Lucifer leaves in his wake, he’s been expecting it when you woke up. It didn’t make the reality of it any easier though.

When Sam struggled with his hallucinations, at least he didn’t have the bunker to be ruined for him. He remembers how long it took him to comfortably drive the Impala again, he couldn’t imagine dealing with his ghost in his own home like this.

“I knew he wouldn’t just vanish from our lives but I didn’t want to waste any mental energy planning for how it would be once he was gone, yaknow?” You ask, hoping you’re making sense. You’re so mentally spent that you can’t take the time to draft your words before speaking them.

“I’m sorry, my love,” Sam speaks thickly. “I know it feels unsafe, but he’s gone and the warding on the bunker is still activated. He’s not getting back inside of this building, I can promise you that,” Sam hopes the facts will help settle your anxiety. “This is still our room and our home. This place won’t be ruined by him forever. Right now, it’s just you and me,” Sam says, repeating the words that you have often told him when he’s struggling with his PTSD.

“Just you and me,” you whisper, looking up at him while still resting on his shoulder. He smiles back with shimmering hazel green eyes.

…The hotel bed is a mess of blankets and piled pillows. Sam lays comfortably, watching the movie he selected- The Truman Show. It’s one of his favorites, only if you knew the subconscious reason why.

You’re sitting up somewhat, resting against the bedframe and Sam is using your lap as a pillow. You play idly with his hair, running your fingers through his locks that you’re admittedly jealous of. He didn’t open up much earlier but what he did say is that thunderstorms remind him of his time in hell- his centuries. You felt nauseous at the empty interpretation, not knowing was always scarier than knowing. Living it was beyond worse.

You listened and you didn’t speak much while he had stuttered out the words. You had never seen him as small as he was as he explained himself. Even with how well you had claimed to know him before making things official, it was still jarring to see him like he was today.

After that incident, the rest of the night was calm and he forced himself to stay awake to finish the movie so he could watch Truman walk out a free man and no longer be a caged zoo animal for people's voyeurism. Only then did Sam curl into your torso like a body pillow and let his eyes close for an attempted night's rest.

He flinched a lot in his sleep and murmured a few times, he even started shivering at one point, but once you resumed a soft brush through his hair he would settle back to sleeping like a rock.

You had a hard time sleeping that night, though, so you watched whatever was on. It was a little hard to avoid the many good channels you’re not used to getting anyways.

That week in Montana accomplished more than a spoiled ‘honey-moon’-esque trip of mindblowing sex and bougie restaurants, it opened both of your hearts to deeper levels of each other you didn’t know really existed.

Sam got to see the short fuse you had in early mornings and the way you would fall mute after an overly social day out and about town. And you got to allow Sam a safe space that let him come down from internalized fragile masculinity that his father instilled in him as well as Dean’s exhibit of such shows as a reminder of.

Even in a week of pure bliss, you both had challenging moments that showed who you both really are on a vulnerable level and you still checked out of the hotel more bonded than either of you could have hoped for…

“I’m sorry,” Dean rubs a hand over his face as he and Cas occupy a pair of seats in the library with a crystal bottle of whiskey that he and his beloved often share. Dean sighs your name with aching emphasis of his guilt and continues, “really, I didn’t mean to freak you out. There was definitely a better approach to asking you that. Besides, I shoulda’ trusted you and Sammy,” he looks up at you sheepishly but his face is still a stone mask as he tries to hide his admission of guilt.

“You should have,” you agree unbiased, trying to keep harsh tones out of your voice. “But you were just worried and I can understand that. I’m scared too,” you admit, taking a seat at one of the middle tables. Sam sets a grounding hand on your shoulder and you reach up to hold it. “I’m just so damn tired of him controlling the last month of my life,” you know it’s been less than that in their preception, but they can deal with confusion in your story if they need to, “that I want to at least pretend like he doesn’t exist for today.”

“I can understand that,” he nods, probably thinking back to what it felt like for him to experience life after Hell.

You catch Cas’ warm smile as if he’s watching his child make friends on a playground. His eyes hold so much accomplished empathy for him as an angel and emotion melts his face. You can’t help but smile back at him- a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes like his does but that still provides wondrous relief for him.

“What would you like to do?” Cas asks, hoping to supply you whatever it is you need.

“Movie night?” You suggest with a questioning shrug, looking between Dean and Cas. Dean nods, finishing his glass of whiskey with a refreshed hiss.

“You’re pick. Cas, let’s order a pizza,” Dean stands, putting the request into motion and downing the rest of Cas’ whiskey as well after it’s offered to him. The couple leaves the room with mild discussion of food choices for the movie.

“I’m thinkin’ Truman Show,” you say, leaning back to look up at Sam and he scoffs a smile back down at you.

“Yeah?” Sam says, coming down to kiss your forehead gingerly.

“Mh-mm,” you hum, closing your eyes and basking in his kiss. “I get it now.”

“It’s always been a comfort watch for me and I never knew why until watching it after Cas took on my hallucinations,” his tone is grim but accepting. He always knew.

It was quiet for a few moments and you had to ask. “What if he’s out looking now, what if he’s sending everything he can right now?” You nibble on your lip, dropping your head down to watch as your fingers trace the pattern in your pants.

“Then we’ll handle it, but like you said, Lucifer doesn't exist tonight, okay? The warding will hold and Rowena is out now deterring Lucifer’s trail,” you feel a little guilty that you haven’t thought to ask about her whereabouts yet. But it’s the first hopeful thing you find blind faith in, at least for a few hours. You’re safe now, you’re free from Lucifer's manipulation here in the bunker. It’s your safe haven, and that’s all you need right now.

The cozy nest formed in the movie room with pillows and blankets is warm and inviting and you take your usual spot to the far right, away from the door, and set up the movie as Sam retrieves your snacks from your room and Cas teleports to quickly and stealthily pick up the pizza. He insisted on ordering from a pizza place in Detroit so as to not be spotted around the area.

Tonight is simply a movie night, and you’re thankfully able to shut off your brain as Sam hands you your replacement glass of your second favorite fruit from the week of paradise that you will forever hold dear to your heart.

———————

end note: good lord i cannot believe this series is finally over. this SO didn't start out to be this long, i fr only meant to do like maybe 3 parts T.T,, buuut i'm so glad it continued to an end!! special thanks to @blossomingorchids for being sooo supportive and hype for this series- you fr helped me finish this w how excited and passionate you are about it :] also special thanks to @internallysalad for being the first person ever to ask to be on a taglist of mine, you made me feel so accomplished when you commented hehe :] thank you all for your support, i hope you enjoyed ^.^

p.s. if any of you have requests for this specific series, i will be taking them!! like if you want to see a oneshot of reader when they were possessed and got the info in the first place or want more fluffly (or smutty) montana time (hehe) or even more hurt/comfort w reader or sam's trauma, i will gladly oblige!! love this series too much to just give it up tbh :,) may even rewrite it one day to fully round out this work,, but that's for another time!!

thank you all a million times over muah muah <3

>pictures are not my own, i have the originals linked here (pinterest) >>check out my other works here

>tags: @internallysalad @blossomingorchids @bobbdylan @areswasneverhere @mostlymarvelgirl

[autisticrosewilson]

what would be cathywillis' favourite dates? do they like picnincs, movies, dinners etc

Cathy seems like the kind of gal to go thrifting for dates while Willis's is more of a dinner and a movie kind of guy. Regardless the content of the date and the conversation is more important than the activity itself. Whether they're browsing secondhand stores, stumbling across new holes in the wall, or watching a bad horror movie to make fun of it.

After Jason was born they tried to go for more family oriented dates like park picnics and museums but it's Gotham so those typically ended in disaster. They decided that those kind of dates should be saved for summers in Virginia with Cathy's family.

I'd like to present an incomplete list of dates that CathyWillis have been on:

Urban exploration - Willis's idea, he tried to do parkour to impress her, but the banister he was backflipping off broke, and Cathy had to help him reset his shoulder

Hiking - Cathy's idea, she took him up one of the family trails in her hometown and Willis who has lived in Gotham his whole life and never experienced a hill or direct sunlight almost passed out from heat exposure

Renting a movie - Willis's idea, he was recovering from a job gone bad but still managed to make dinner. They watched a cheesy romcom that Willis SWEARS he wasn't crying from and then he pulled her into a slow dance in the kitchen while she was trying to do the dishes.

Axe throwing - Cathy's idea, she was much better at it than Willis who bragged insistently about that fact.

Dancing - Willis's idea, showed Cathy how to waltz and tango and all the other shit Ma Gunn made him learn to impress mob daughters and the like. Catherine adored it, and Willis decided that all those years of lessons were totally worth it for her delighted laughter.

Apple picking - Cathy's idea, she brought him to her great aunts orchard. She pointed out which ones were ripe enough to pick and he lifted her on his shoulders so she could grab them. She correctly guessed that he did this mainly to feel her up, but the apple fritter he made afterwards more than made up for it.

Pottery making - Willis's idea, he was actually pretty good at it. Unfortunately, he tended to rush through the smoothing process, so they tended to explode in the kiln. Cathy, try as she might, was absolutely horrendous at it, but somehow all of her creations survived the heat.

Wine tasting (and karaoke) - Cathy's idea, it started out as a double date with Gilda and Harvey but when everyone wanted to drink something with a little more kick they ended up at a bar that happened to have a karaoke night. If asked Harvey would deny ever participating but if you can find her Gilda will gladly show you the video.

Valentine's Day Dinner - the most money Willis has ever spent on a dinner reservation, and he got the dirtiest looks for refusing to take off his novelty tie. Crashed by Calender Man.

Picnic at the park - their first date out of the house after Jason was born. Cathy forced Willis out of the kitchen so she could recreate the afternoon tea platters she's always reading about while Willis desperately tried to wrangle his adorably chubby baby into nice clothes that said baby did NOT want to wear. Crashed almost immediately by Ivy.

County Faire - Jason's first time on a roller-coaster, Willis's first time bobbing for apples, and Cathy's 34th time riding a horse. The pictures still exist somewhere (Tucked inside Willis's cell mattress, along with his wedding ring and a handmade birthday card from Jason.)

Bowling - they both sucked so bad <3 The teenaged employee quickly got tired of rescuing their stray balls. Catherine complained about them calling their tea Sweet Tea ("What are they sweetenin' it with? Hope and prayers?" "Anymore sugar would kill a diabetic honey.") But they still had fun.

A drive in theater - they were showing old sci-fi movies Cathy used to watch as a kid and Cathy spent more time rambling about the themes and what books they remind her of than actually watching, Willis brought up the idea mostly to show off the passion project of a car he'd been fixing up on and off, but found himself more interested in staring at his wife adoringly.

[fandomzwriterk]

Another part of F.R.I.E.N.D.S please!! I loved the story. I really wanna see what’d happen if we ended up with Remy:333

A/N: hey I’m glad! I don’t think I’m a good writer at all but I’ll try my best on this👍 (FYI I was listening to Poison sooooo… 😅) Also I apologize for taking so long I got caught up in stuff 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

F.R.I.E.N.D.S pt3 Finale

“You fucking-“ Jean started

Scott kicked Jean’s chin, sending her neck back while some of the roof held her down. Logan desperately tried to claw his way out to Jean, but his body from the shoulders down was crushed under the rubble. Morph was unconscious, not moving a single inch as Logan and Jean tried to fight their way out. Scott was smiling all the while, seeing you on your knees with all of your friends helpless to save you. He had you right where he wanted you. You turned around, feeling Scott’s presence behind you as he walked up put an arm around your waist.

“I swear mon amí you are not gonna like it when I-“

Scott kicked Remy in the ribs, who was still tied down to the chair at your feet.

“Let him go Scott. Let them all go.” You begged

“Shut up my darling you’re really starting to get on my nerves.”

Scott picked you up and threw you behind him, straight into a brick wall as hard as he could. He wanted you alive, so he had to incapacitate you any way he could.

“You son of a bitch!” Remy yelled, his accent getting heavier the more Scott laid a hand on you

Your body hurt, every limb and bone sore from the impact. It was like everything was crushed inside you. You couldn’t stand, falling right back to the ground with a grunt. Scott rendered you immobile, your vision just starting to blur as you watched Scott walk slowly up to Remy.

“Hands off of her Scott.” Logan grumbled

“This isn’t y-you.” Morph silently added

Morph was alive, and Logan seemed to be okay as well. You could hear their voices sound like you were underwater as the last thing you saw before you closed your eyes was the fear on Jean’s face.

You aren’t dying that easily

Your eyes snapped open, your body slowly repairing itself as you could feel every fiber in your own body get stitched back together. Your bones becoming whole again, your muscles growing stronger as everything came back together. It was a matter of mere seconds. What had just happened?

“What the-“

“Ha! That’s my cherié for you!” Remy teased at Scott

You felt anger in your heart, staring at Scott with all the hate you could muster. You felt… stronger?

“Take this you son of a bitch!” You screamed

Hot beams of energy shot from your eyes, directed right at Scott. It was as if Scott’s own move had been used against him. You aimed again, making Scott dodge each one. You fired at the rubble holding your friends down, which opened the opportunity for Logan and Morph, who was now turned into Beast, to get Scott under control. Your attention turned to Remy, his shit eating grin smiling at Scott.

“You are, as they say, fucked mon amí.”

A card flew from Remy’s pocket, going straight to your dominant hand. You could feel Remy’s kinetic energy flow through not only the card, but through you as well. The card duplicated itself, making a pair. Your hand flicked the cards away, sending both cards right at Remy. They cut into the rope holding him to the chair, now having freed everyone. Remy was smiling at you, he couldn’t be more proud of you in this moment.

“What’re we gonna do ‘bout him?” Logan asked having himself and Morph hold Scott down.

“You mother fuckers when I get my hands on you I swear I will get my revenge!”

Scott swore into the air, struggling to get away but Logan was stronger, having fully recovered from the injuries earlier.

“You okay Y/n?” Jean asked as you slowly walked up

Your body was shaking as you walked, almost as if you were drunk. Your vision still a little blurry, but you could see Remy running to help you stand. Your body began to feel normal, but very slowly. You could feel your bones get shifted back into place, your spine realigning itself. Your cuts slowly closed, just leaving very small wounds that almost looked like paper cuts.

“I think so. Is everyone okay?”

“Just peachy kid so thanks for asking.” Logan spoke half annoyed

“I didn’t know you were a Mutant Y/n.” Jean added

Logan and Morph got Scott to stand, effectively keeping his arms behind him like his personal handcuffs. Scott’s eyes were still staring at you with need and desire, waiting for you to come save him. At least, he thought you would.

“Come on let’s get this one somewhere.” Remy spoke up as you all walked out of the broken warehouse

It took some time, but Magneto was quick with Rogue and Storm behind him. He had military get Scott into a holding cell that could be transported to safe location away from humanity like any other criminal. You felt a lot better as you all slowly made your way to the Mansion.

“Well I’m going to sleep until my headache is gone so don’t try and wake me up.” Morph groaned as he walked through the door

“Hey you guys are back! Y/n are you okay?” Jubilee asked

Jubilee, Beast, and Roberto stayed behind, not wanting to risk anyone else getting caught into the fight, especially since Jubilee and Roberto were young. You nodded, feeling a little sense of pride from having put Scott in his place.

“I figured out what your ability is Y/n.” Beast spoke as he came up to you and Remy, who were sitting on the couch with everyone else except Morph around you.

“Is it dangerous?” You asked a little scared

“No. Not at all. You are perfectly fine.”

“And?” Remy asked

“Oh yes well it appears that you, Y/n, can copy anyone’s ability.”

“Huh? Copy? You sayin that’s how she healed so fast, not to mention the laser thing Scott does?” Logan asked

“That’s right. I was always researching while you all trained and well, after today, my theory was correct.”

“So I can copy anyone?” You asked

“Well so far you’ve copied three of ours, that being Scott’s, Remy’s, and Logan’s.” Jean added

“Logan’s? How? I didn’t-“

The hyper healing, that’s the other half of Logan’s ability. Regeneration and claws able to break through anything. It was the ability to repair yourself in seconds, just like Logan could. You could also feel the anger in rise and fall as you healed and attacked Scott back, and maybe that was the other half of the regeneration process.

“I healed myself… and the rage. I can do whatever it is that someone else can do.”

Beast and Jean nodded, looking to everyone else in the room.

“Well seems we gotta another one in the family now.” Jubilee joked

“And I wouldn’t have it any other way.” You answered as you leaned against Remy, feeling exhaustion overtake your senses

The End!

A/N: holy crap I hope I didn’t botch this story. Anyways yeah I hope you all enjoyed!

[amischiefofmuses]

that soft, comforting vibe || Accepting

@rcguevariant sent: “Your past mistakes are not who you are.” for Gambit

There's an imperceptible kick up of tension in his shoulders at the remark and his gaze flicks downwards for just a moment, not daring to meet her eyes as though she'd immediately catch the turmoil there if she did, the SHAME he'd been dwelling on in the quiet room. It's a hard thing to shake, he's not sure he ever will but that won't stop him from continuing forward. As stubborn as he is guilt-ridden. But within the gap of a blink, he's smiling, meeting her gaze with a sense of unyielding confidence and the ego of a showman. -- ❝What's got all'a dat on ya' mind, chere? Gambit lookin' like he mopin'?❞ Pulling himself up from where he was sat, he stretches for a moment, then shoots her a wide smile. ❝Can promise s' just from missin' you- been busy today non?❞

[hermesserpent-stuff]

Hermes, I I here to humbly ask thee for another songfic request.... it is for... the Ace In A Cage AU! You may choose your pick of which song on your playlist, as you will know which one fits that world best.

(You don't have to make this, but if you want to, a song might help you with writing it)

this is song 1. anywayssss this is what i got

Remy stares at the place where his den should be. His den with a nest that had been made for him and Henri when Creed had joined with the Guild. A nest that had been a safe place to run to ever since he was thirteen. When he had arguments with papa or Henri or big nightmares or little troubles and …

His heart shrieks and he leans against the sun heated wall. He trembles and shakes, eyes burning. 

Stupid Hydra.

Stupid portal thing 

Stupid Remy for hitting it with a card and getting exploded into a place where he feels so lost and confused. Everything looks like home. But to the left. Like looking at yourself in the ripple soft a pond or in a fun house mirror. His stomach twists and he finds a garbage can to throw up in.

After dealing with his wounds he had come straight to the nest. He probably should have gone back to the mansion but… he hurts so so bad right now. He adjusts the bandages on his aching arms. He turns and steps away. 

One foot.

Then the next.

Then the next.

His soul weeps as he moves alone through streets that are no longer his.

He starts heading north, up towards the mansion, with a vain hope of getting help. He slowly starts to avoid more people. They are all so much more sensitive to his eyes and him wearing glasses. Every once in a while he would seek help and shelter but…

People would try to get him to stay while calling for someone on the phone. He always slips out before the call connects, not wanting to know who would be interested in his red eyes. He needs to make it back to the mansion. See if anyone's there. The number no longer worked. He had tried it. It failed. He decides to make himself more scarce while moving through cities, terrified. Had something happened to drive his family underground? 

Maybe he should avoid the mansion… but he has to know.

Sticking to the shadows does not afford him much time to watch the news and get updates. After a driver tries to lock him in her car while trying to take him ‘where they help mutants’, Remy stops hitchhiking. 

A month passed in bursts of travel and he eventually snatches a bike, easily swapping the tags and kicking it into gear. His brother had taught him how to ride a bike anhas Creed htaught him how to be one with it.

Snow swirls down from the sky as he speeds across paved pathways that echoe what he knows. That fill him with a longing that cannot be healed. He has been running on fumes for the last few weeks. Not sleeping much for fear of his charm slipping out. Normally he would have been able to let it loose a few times in the safety of Creeds presence if he had been unable to get back into the nest. 

The dusky greys of the shadows snake across the fresh whiteness of the snow. Purples shade the darkest bits of shadow and Remy wonders at all the hues as he drives onwards. The snow only grows thicker as he goes, specks of cold becoming a wall that tries to soak into his souk. The fifteen year old knows that it is not much further to the mansion, just antoher bend and then!

Oh.

He really shouldn't be surprised, he thinks as he stares at a fence that is designed all wrong, with brickwork that is a mutation on what he knows. The colors are off. Instead of a stunning red with bursts of green and brown plant life, the bricks are a browner hue, with just a few vines creeping about. The mansion beyond is similar to home, but a little too big. Like a jacket stretched from use beyond its fit, with seams bursting and breaking and being patched with material that is the right color and texture but still wrong. 

He covers his mouth and hops off the bike as bile rises. He throws up in the bushes as his emotions smash past his mental shields. They splatter like blood on the world around him, sticky and clumpy. He wipes his lips with the back of his hand and steps back shaking. Something pokes at his mind. Something that feels like Xaiver, but its not. He lets his natural barriers throw whomever it is back. He raises up his mental shields sharply and bolts back to his bike as he hears… something. 

Something is coming. A roar that rings his soul.

But…

It is off.

Just like everything else. 

Remy has had too many experiences with clones to want to see how this world’s verion of his family is… twisted. Because he has finally accepted that somehow, some way, he has been brough into a new world. This is not his home. Could he even get back home??

He revs his bike and takes off, letting it shriek as he takes off. He hears the sound of motorbikes behind him as he zooms down the road. He twists off down a side road he kind of recognizes. he can hear the bikes behind him, more powerful than this stolen ride. He breathes and falls into almost meditative concentration. Running is what he is good at. He had learned how to run before he had ever learned how to stay. He pushes the bike faster and sharply turns off the road onto a side path that is gonna take him to a cliff, that has a road below. He launches the bike over the edge as he gets to it.  

He throws out a card at just the right time to hit the ground beneath him. The shock waves of his explosion gives his bike enough lift to keep it from snapping in half when hitting the ground. He revs his bike and flies, wind and snow swirling around him in wave like swells. He hears a crash behind him and a roar louder than any tiger or lion he has ever heard. Just as loud as Creed when he is pissed. 

Remy cannot help it.

He looks back. 

A man is chasing him on all fours, blond hair flaring behind him. 

Creed?

He heart leaps and he shakes his head. Remy narrows his eyes at the messy road ahead of him. He had seen twisted clones of his père. Half-melted things made due to Mister Sinister’s obsession with Remy, Jean, and Scott. He does not want to see what this world has cooked up. 

He throws cards behind him and blows up some of the road. He pushes the bike faster through the storm. 

--

Remy curls up on a random rooftop in New York, staring at the altered skyline. He sneezes wetly and takes another bite of his frozen sandwich. Snow is slowly falling from the sky. He has a bit of shelter over his head that keeps the snow off of him. He sneezes wetly again as he jots down another difference in the ratty notebook he had found thrown out. Remy keeps it all encoded just in case. 

“You're really stupid for stealing that face.”

A voice growls and Remy jolts. He stares, eyes wide at this altered Creed. Longer hair. Up in braids, looping and twisting up on itself is in a ponytail. The man is wearing pure black and Remy shifts out from his corner and takes a step back.

“Remy don't want no trouble monsieur, just tryin’ to live.”

He steps back as this twisted Creed steps forwards.

“Even bothered with the accent.”

Remy sneezes wetly again, shifts back further, and shivers violently.

“It's my accent, Remy not tryin’ to steal a face?!”

He is so, so confused, tired, and sick. Does… does this Creed think Remy is trying to be this world's Remy? 

The twisted Creed snarls and lunges. Remy spins and mourns the sandwich as he blows it up against the man’s side. He shifts and runs, leaping across the gap between buildings. Something hits his neck and the drugs swirl violently outwards. He tries to roll and fumbles, pain flaring up through his body as he skids across the roof. He whimpers as he tries to get up. But everything is shutting down. Remy whimpers loudly as hands pin him and his memory flares and drags at him. He struggles as much as he can, but his brain is fading fast. Gambit gasps loudly and sobs as he is pressed more firmly into the roof. 

No! No! No!

Not again!!!

He never wants to go through that again. 

And then blissful blackness overtakes him

[dizziedupthegirl]

. DIZZIE'S XMEN DR: THE FRIENDGROUP .

just a bunch'a 17-20 somethin' year olds that save the world occasionally.

rhylyn howlett; eclipse (designated driver)

remy lebeau; gambit (screams "IS THIS YOUR CARD?!" when drunk)

jaden north; nightmare (here for a good time not a long time)

kurt wagner; nightcrawler (is confused about american antics)

anna-marie; rogue (plans all the parties, outings, and bad ideas)

jubilation lee; jubilee (tagalong little sister, however we all love her)

scott summers; cyclops (dad mom friend™️, has bailed everyone out at least once)

i love my friends 🫶 also featuring: @shiftingwithmars !!

asks are always open! pick from a prompt here, or here, or here! and all my drs can be found here 🥰

[nyxnightshade7656]

Hooked

I'm not dead, I swear, things have been insane irl. Here's what I guess would be the first chapter of something that was NOT meant to be a multichapter thing. But, ya know. I have no self control and here we are.

She looked around the hallway to make sure she was alone and would have ample time to accomplish her goal. When she saw that the coast was clear, she made a mad dash for her target. She very carefully shut the door behind her before she spotted her target. Storm’s bed. With no fanfare, she placed a handmade, crocheted, stuffed kitten on Storm’s bed. The yarn it was made out of was soft and fluffy, as well as easily washable and durable. She had picked out colors to reflect Storm’s X-Man uniform but had given the stuffed kitten bright blue eyes to match Storm’s.

Once the precious cargo was delivered, she darted from the scene of the crime. She hid in the library for a while, before she made her way to the common area. As she crossed the threshold from the hallway into the room proper, she paused.

“It seems I have been graced by our reverse thief as well.” Storm’s voice was full of warmth and amusement. It made her heart flutter with joy and a smidge of pride.

“Oh? What did you get?” Instead of answering, Storm held up the little kitten that had been stealthily delivered.

“Someone is puttin’ an awful lotta effort into this, ain’t they? Jean gets a phoenix, Logan got a wolf, Cyclops got a labrador, Hank got an owl, Kurt got a racoon, I got a tiger, and the professor got an elephant. Why ain’t they tryin’ ta take credit for this?” Rogue’s voice sounded both appreciative and annoyed. Clearly, Rogue didn’t like not knowing who was sneaking the handmade gifts into their rooms.

She was just starting to think that she should make herself scarce; not trusting herself to not give away her little secret, when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She nearly jumped out of her skin in surprise, a startled squawk escaping her without her permission. She whirled around, only to be greeted by fuchsia and blue chest armor. She gulped and looked up, up, up to see the mirth-filled red-on-black-eyes of one “Gambit”, or Remy LeBeau.

“Whatchu up ta, Chere? Sneakin’ ‘round like ya t’ink y’a’int ‘sposed to be here.” His tone was teasing, but his question, she could tell by the emotions rolling off him, was very genuine. She flailed, hands flying as she tried to deny, without words, that she was sneaking around. In her enthusiastic pantomiming, that could best be described as ‘frantic, spastic vertical seizing’, she tripped over her own feet in a spectacular display of clumsiness. There was a cacophony of noise, she didn’t see what was happening since she had closed her eyes the instant she’d started to fall; and then suddenly she felt something warm wrap around her wrist. Then she was yanked into something hard and warm.

“Woah dere, Petit, wassamattah, ol’ Gambit scare ya? Didn’ mean to, ya know ol’ Gambit’s harmless.”

Harmless. Yeah, sure. Tell that to her rapidly beating heart and her near full-body blush that had to be redder than Jean’s hair. Just as she was about to try and charade her way out of an explanation, Storm came to her rescue, “Now, Gambit, stop teasing the poor child.” Gambit gently released her, but not before making sure her feet were solidly planted on the ground. As soon as she was released, she squeaked, and bolted. She could hear the others calling for her, but she just ran to her room.

She all but slammed into the door of her room, stumbling across the threshold, and kicked  the door shut in her haste to just disappear. She had the stupidest crush on the card-slinging mutant, and it seemed like everyone but Gambit himself knew it. Kurt was relentless in his teasing of her about it, even Rogue poked at her a bit. Logan had brought it to her attention, asking her ‘Of all the mutants here, the Cajun? Really? I guess it could be worse. You could have a crush on Scott.’ To which she had thrown about twenty stuffed animals at her father in retaliation. Logan had been nice enough not to use his claws on the fluffy projectiles, though he had grumbled at her about it.

She flopped onto her bed, which honestly was more of a nest of the softest blankets she could find, a mass of about ten pillows of varying sizes, and more stuffed animals than should be able to fit in one space. Most of which were hand made. She had a guilty little secret that only her adoptive father, Logan, knew. She loved to crochet. And she loved to give gifts to people she cared about. As evidenced by the mass of stuffies on her bed and flung around her room. She also had an entire wall in her room dedicated to bookshelves. But those shelves were not filled with books. Instead, they housed her yarn collection. Logan liked to joke, privately, that she had two hobbies. Crocheting, and collecting yarn.

Originally, she had been kept away from the life of the X-Men in an effort to try and keep her safe and unknown. But being kept away from the school did not mean she was not watched. Logan had learned she’d been attacked by both anti-mutant extremists and some not so nice mutants on more than one occasion and just about lost his mind. He had single-handedly packed up her entire life and moved her into the mansion. The X-Men, to their credit, hadn’t even batted an eye and had taken her in without a second thought. Kurt, Rogue, Jean and Scott were almost like siblings, and Storm was the mother that she never had. As such, she had set about learning what animals were their favorites, or if she couldn’t figure that out, she made something that she felt represented them. Like the wise owl for Hank whom she looked up to like an Uncle. But the one person that she was struggling the most with what to make, was Remy.

She groaned into her pillow. One of them anyway, and flopped over to stare at ceiling, “I am SUCH an idiot.” She mumbled, her voice hoarse from lack of use. Her room, when no one was there, was the only time she spoke, and even then that was rare for fear of someone walking by her door. The last thing she wanted to do was accidentally charm someone with her power. The fear was very real, and had an iron grip on her. That fear was what drove her to be silent. Not even Logan got to hear her voice. She shook her head and looked around her room, before she heaved a sigh.

Nothing was going to really help in here, she knew. Thankfully, she was mostly left to her own devices, not being an ‘official’ member of the X-Men, she didn’t have to participate in the Danger Room sessions, though she had snuck in to watch a couple with the Professor. It was easy to interact with Xavier, since he was a telepath, she didn’t have to speak, or resort to her phone’s text-to-speech app. But she tried to keep even that to a minimum since she didn’t want her other mutation to potentially affect anyone hanging around in her head. She struggled living there most days as it was, no need to torture others with it.

She grabbed her phone and earbuds, threw on some flipflops, and then, in an ill-advised move, she opened her window and vaulted over the sill and onto the ground about five feet below. She put her earbuds in, turned on her Spotify to a random saved playlist, and went walking, hands in her pocket. Being raised by Logan, she knew how to track. She was shit with directions, but she could navigate fairly well with landmarks or distinct features. She had been grumpy and annoyed with the lessons growing up, but now she was grateful for them. It helped her find places to hide away from the overly loud and overwhelming mansion.

Once she was far enough away from the mansion that she couldn’t feel the oppressive feelings of the other inhabitants pressing in on her, she let out a deep sigh of relief. She loved her dad, she did; and she knew that he meant well. But she had lived alone, or only with him, for a reason. Too many people were overwhelming for her. She had learned that she and Rogue were similar, in that neither of them could turn their power off like most mutants could.

The difference between them was that Rogue’s power centered around touch. Hers affected the mind. As an Empath, she could feel other people’s emotions as if they were her own; or push her emotions into someone else and make them feel what she wanted them to. The trade off to that was that too many emotions coming from too many people could overwhelm her. Or, the more concerning option, someone’s emotions could influence her into behaving completely differently than what she normally would, because she couldn’t always tell the difference between what she was actually feeling, and what someone else’s feelings were causing her to feel.

Combine her Empathy with her secondary mutation, the Siren’s Song, and she was a walking disaster waiting to happen. Her Empathy she had been born with, but the Siren’s Song she had developed when she hit puberty. Just like her Empathy, she was unable to turn it off; as long as she made sound that required her vocal chords, her Song was active. Like the Siren’s in Greek mythology, she could charm with her voice, be it just speaking or singing, anyone and anything with the ability to hear her, or with even base instincts, would fall under her thrall. She despised it.

She rubbed her throat in remembered pain as she finally came to a stop somewhere deep in the woods surrounding the mansion. She had found this place shortly after she had been moved into the mansion, desperate to get away from the swirling chaos of emotions. This also was one of the few places that she felt that she could let her voice free. It affected the animals around her, but animals she could make sure not to hurt. Humans were considerably harder since their minds and emotions were more like webs, instead of the simple little creaks and streams that belonged to creatures that operated more on instinct than ‘intelligent’ thought processes.

She spent hours out in the forest. So long, in fact, that the sun had set and her phone and ear buds had ended up dying. She began to make her way back to the mansion, hoping that the majority of the inhabitants were sleeping. She had learned that the emotions of people sleeping were far easier to deal with. When the building came into sight, she could instantly feel the emotions coming off of everyone inside. A few seemed to still be awake, if the intensity of the emotions were to be believed.

[ares-shithole-writing-blog]

XMEN Big Sister Headcanons

Featuring Jean Grey, Jubilee, Storm, Wanda, Mystique, Rogue, Kitty, Boom-Boom, and Illyana.

Jean Grey

Like Scott, she's the most overprotective of the bunch.

That one time she caught the mean girls bullying you at school, she used her telepathy to make them piss themselves.

She tries to keep a well behaved exterior around the other X-Men, so you are the only one who knows how much of a menace she is.

If you're in a sport where you're throwing objects, she's always using her telepathy to make your throws go that little bit further.

And if you're in marching band or color guard, she uses her telepathy to keep you from falling.

Jubilation Lee

She uses tiny firecrackers to wake you up in the morning.

She knows it spooks you, though you always try to seem like you've gotten used to it.

Very badly made breakfasts (Like Morph).

Be prepared for a sibling who forgets to do chores routinely and you have to remind her constantly. (She lowkey has ADHD)

Whenever she sneaks off to the club with her friends she brings you with.

You two then both get hammered and picked up by Logan who berates you two. (He loves you like a dad would).

Ororo Munroe

Like Professor X, a very 'do your best with what you have' kind of person.

And once you have a family you're on the X-Men's 'protect at all costs list'

She likes taking you shopping when she's not working.

She owns some kind of old car with a CD Player and a Casette player. Billy Joel and Elton John are the only things played in that car.

Is very hard on you during training (she knows you can kick her ass, you're just not strong enough yet).

Thrifted birthday and holiday gifts galore.

Wanda Maximoff

Cares about more outwardly than Pietro does.

Helps you beat his ass after he washes your white clothes with her reds.

Insists upon Pietro taking you guys to get new clothes after afformentioned prank.

Uses magic to rewind casettes because she doesn't want to waste battery in her player.

Gives you little jewelery and trinkets with protection spells on them to keep you safe.

Big sister hugs are the best.

Raven Darkholme

Lowkey embarassed when you meet her son Kurt.

Mainly because you're not blue like her and aren't a mutant (yet).

You're one of the few 'humans' she believes should be an exception to the Mutant Supremacy plan.

Strict and mean but only to protect you.

Will lowkey buy you whatever you want on her Brotherhood company credit card.

Will pay for your boba outings with Kurt because she wants her son and sibling to get along.

Anna-Marie

Overprotective big sis hours

Sad because when her mutation first develops she can't cuddle her sibling anymore.

Doesn't like how Remy enables your chaotic side.

But she likes Remy so she tries to tolerate it.

Begged Remy to let you be part of the wedding party (he agreed ofc, bc ur gonna be his in-law and you're already his friend).

You and Remy get drunk during the reception and fistfight a guy who was harassing her.

She had to bail you out of jail.

When asked, she still says that was the best night of her life.

Kitty Pryde

Loves cats

Cat pillows, bedsheets, the works.

Every year since age 10, you and her have worn matching cat onesies for Halloween.

Whenever you get into an embarassing situation with someone else in the Mansion, she just phases in, grabs you, phases out.

Always makes you and you only pancakes that look like cats.

Pranked you once by putting cat stickers all over your computer.

All but shocked when you kept the cat stickers.

Tabitha Smith

Lowkey an enabler when you wanna cause chaos.

Will willingly cause chaos with you (much to the older X-Men's dismay).

Always says she's the only one allowed to take super dangerous risks in battle - she loves you too much to lose you.

Prepare to be used as an armrest, constantly.

Super loud metal CDS in the car.

Probably made a battle vest for you tbh.

Illyana Rasputin

Like Piotr, she spoils you and is very overprotective of you.

She's a classical music girlie and lowkey owns a lot of records.

Trying to teach you Russian since you expressed interest, even though you learned English first because you guys came to America before you began to speak.

Cooks Traditonal Russian food when she can.

Unironically enjoys tucking you into bed and telling you bedtime stories, no matter how old you are.

[bullet-prooflove]

New Characters:

Evan Buckley (911)

Bobby Nash (911)

New Fics Under The Cut:

911:

Not Yet (NSFW) - Buck loves it when you tug at his curls.

Burning Down The House - You and Buck cause a fire during date night.

A Future With You - Eddie makes a realisation during a one on one game of basketball.

Cash - Eddie discovers your secret Instagram profile.

Cherry Lipstick - Eddie gets better insight into you during a social event.

Christmas Card - Bobby still keeps the very first Christmas card he got in LA.

Chicago Fire:

Crazy, Desperate Things - Jeff intervenes when your ex turns up at your door.

Wallet - Your relationship with Sam is discovered when he forgets his wallet.

Chicago Med:

The Call - Jack receives a terrifying call whilst abroad.

The Cat - Dean doesn't want a cat...

Night Feeds - Sam and you experiance life as new parents.

Cobra Kai:

Sick Day - Terry knows something is wrong when you don't pick up his call.

Love Story - Terry questions your taste in literature.

Health Care - Terry takes care of your healthcare siutation.

Recovery - Terry plays an active role in your recovery.

Honesty - You discover what Terry's been up to when you recieve some unsolicited messages.

Snow - Terry's son Sebastian experiances snow for the first time.

FBI:

All That Glitters - Omar suffers after a tough case.

The Holidays - Omar always thinks about you during the holidays.

FBI Most Wanted:

Socks (NSFW) - Remy has a thing for knee socks

The Good Wife:

Glock 43 - Kurt reflects on your past relationship.

JAG:

Twister - You challenge Mic to a game of Twister.

Law & Order:

Insomnia - Jalen tries to talk about your situation.

Law & Order SVU:

Interrupted (NSFW) - You and Joe are interrupted by his phone.

Orchids - Joe says it with flowers.

NCIS - NOLA:

City Hall - Douglas mourns the loss of an old flame after she elopes with another man.

Love Letters - You still keep Douglas's love letters.

Beads - Dwayne discovers your secret.

NCIS - Origins:

Revelations - Gibbs is surprised to discover a connection between you and Mike Franks.

All Dressed Up - You and Gibbs have a frank conversation about an office event.

NCIS - Sydney:

Night Calls (NSFW) - You call JD in the middle of the night.

Numbers:

Anniversary - Don has to work your anniversary.

SEAL Team:

Ask Me Again - A bad day leads Brock to ask a surprise question.

Supernatural:

Staged - You wake up surprised to find John's stuck around.

Tracker:

Seattle - Things change between you and Russ in Seattle.

Tulsa King:

In The Morning - Cal doesn't mind waking up next to you.

Distraction - You distract Cal during a meeting.

Sunset - Bodhi reflects upon your relationship as you watch the sun set.

Sex Magic - Bodhi thinks about how far he's come since meeting you.

Yellowstone:

Past Lives - Lee's past life comes back to haunt him.

What Comes After The Dog - Ryan and you have a frank discussion about the future.

The Fun Parent - Ryan discovers there are downsides to being the fun parent.

Such A Good Girl - Ryan makes a realisation about your undercover op.

Broken Glass - You think Travis is cheating on you.

[edenscollardrawer]

Bad Hand - f!Wren/f!PC

18+, content warnings & tags: spanking, exhibitionism, semi-public nudity request: "Haven’t seen a female Wren before. How about Wren and kink generator says spanking?" - anon 1117 words (i'm actually a closeted wren lover so ty for this one)

Standing in front of the ruined cottage on Remy’s estate, you took a deep breath - bracing yourself. The moor was unstable terrain, and the journey was treacherous for a multitude of other reasons. Nevertheless, you always managed to make it out to play blackjack with Wren every Friday. You continued to come back, even though you usually left naked - she just had that effect on you. Wren possessed an effortless type of allure - her shoulder length blonde hair always sparkling in the dim yellow lighting of the small farm building and cleavage consistently peeking out the top of her tight t-shirts. 

The heavy wooden door creaked open under your palms, the dark room enveloping you and drowning out the sunny day outside. Amidst the grime of the dusty cabin, there she sat, as beautiful as ever -  at the head of the blackjack table, surrounded by her goons. 

“Look who decided to join us,” that familiar smirk crosses over her features, “Take a seat.” instinctually, you obliged, pulling out the chair across from her and resting your elbows on the velvet surface of the table. The cards were already doled out, a pile of them waiting for you to pick up. Grabbing your stack, you look it over and try not to react. It was a shitty hand, typical - you tended to have bad luck during these games. You suspected your losing streak was part of what kept Wren asking you to come back.

“You know the drill, you lose the round - you lose your clothes.” her smug tone of voice made you aroused and agitated at the same time. Laying your hand of cards flat on the table, you stand. Wren flashes her deck at you, revealing a natural blackjack. A nod towards you is enough direction. Reaching down, you pull off your socks and shoes. The goons hoot and holler, likely hoping for a much more sordid show - as they’ve come to expect. Wren eyeballs you in the same way she does every time, her gaze dragging down your body despite only having revealed your feet.

“Okay, you win this time. Hit me again, I’ll get you back.” your arms are crossed, bottom lip bitten between your teeth. You’d never let her know it, but just the way she talks is enough to get you all hot and bothered. Honestly, you didn’t mind putting on a little display for her, you’d come to quite enjoy it. The next couple of rounds went much the same way; Wren beating you in one or two simple moves. By the end of the third round, you’re down to your bra and panties already, arms covering your exposed chest and a rising flush creeping up your neck. 

Wren’s posse ogles at you, hurling sexual remarks any chance they can get. This was always when the regret started to bubble in your stomach; you wanted to be Wren’s object - not necessarily these gross men. Her reassurances made all the difference, each second of her gaze on your breasts or your hips stood to raise your confidence. 

“Good game. Those knickers sure are pretty, I’d love to have them in my collection.” her arrogant grin sent heat rushing between your thighs, and you found yourself wondering if she really had kept all your panties from your roster of past losses. The next two rounds gave you hope; you were on a positive upswing - Wren having been stripped down to just her underwear and a tank top. Now she was the one with a blush warming her cheeks. Despite her confidence, she’d always seemed to get bashful when it was her under the spotlight. Whatever shyness she felt was quickly covered up with ease. 

“I quite like the breeze, actually,” She crosses her arms over her breasts, “You really think I’ll be letting you leave here with anything left on you?” You felt self conscious with the audience of burly sidekicks watching over you, but you felt deep in your heart that Wren was right. She always won. Two rounds later, she’d proven herself a victor once again. You sat on the chair, tucked under the table - not an ounce of clothing covering your nude form. 

“Happy? Satisfied? Can I have my fucking clothes back?” You snapped, the shouting jeers and prying eyes getting to you. It was pointless to ask, you knew she wouldn’t give them back. If you “serviced” her nasty buddies, she’d give you a towel at best. A laugh fell from Wren’s throat, her breasts jiggling under the thin fabric of her tank. 

“Somebody’s in a mood today, what - not interested in the usual fun?” Crossing your arms and looking down at the floor, you shook your head. Fuck no. The last thing you wanted right now was a mouthful of acrid jizz from a handful of unwashed heathens. Wren pushed her chair back, walking over to you and tilting your chin up.

“No? You’re usually such a good girl for me. A shame, really…” Before you have time to react, she’s grabbing ahold of your waist and pushing you forward over the blackjack table - nude ass exposed in the air. A sharp smack resounds down onto your skin, a yelp cracking through your chest.

“F-fuck! Stop!” squirming underneath her grasp only serves to anger her more, her grip growing stronger and another slap landing firmly on your exposed flesh. Your skin ripples underneath her palm, each hit forcing a pathetic sound from your lips. Despite your protests, the brawny thugs continued throwing lustful shouts, disgust rising inside you. Each hit was a reminder of your place. You’re just a whore to these people. A plaything. Wren hardly felt like a friend in a moment like this. You were certain that her digits digging into your hip would leave a lasting mark. 

“I felt like we’d had such a nice little thing going, didn’t you? Let’s keep it that way next time.” with that, she swiped her fingers up your center, a meek moan releasing from your throat before she pounds one final harsh smack down upon your bottom. Their cheers rang through your ears, punctuating the shame you felt overtaking your body. As she stepped away from you, the stinging of your skin finally resonated with you. A wince shuddered through you, eliciting a loud laugh from Wren, who grabbed your elbow and pulled you to stand, a final smack on your ass ushering you towards the exit.

Excusing yourself without as much as a goodbye, you walked your bruised butt out the door. On the short walk back to Alex’s farm, you pondered your repeated bad hands. Perhaps it wasn’t wise to let Wren be the dealer.