#Remy LeBeau x reader

[urdreamydoodles]

X-Men x Reader (Part.1)

You trip a little because you were too busy staring at your crush (Part.1)

Your admiration for your crush causes you to trip, highlighting the awkward yet endearing dynamics between you two.

Characters: Logan Howlett, Remy LeBeau, Kurt Wagner, Scott Summers, Jean Grey, Ororo Munroe, Rogue & Erik Lehnsherr

Logan (Wolverine)

The day had started like any other at Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters. You were heading down the long hallway leading to the training rooms, trying to focus on the list of tasks Professor Xavier had assigned for the day. But as you turned the corner, there he was—Logan, leaning against the wall, his arms crossed, muscles tense under his usual rugged leather jacket. His eyes, always intense and piercing, followed your every move as you approached.

Your heart skipped a beat, and though you tried to stay composed, you couldn’t help but let your gaze linger on him a little longer than you should have. His dark hair was tousled just right, and his rough, rugged features seemed impossibly handsome in the dim light of the hallway. You’d always tried to play it cool around Logan, but the truth was you found him irresistible—his gruff attitude, the way he carried himself with quiet authority, and that raw intensity that seemed to follow him wherever he went.

You caught yourself staring too long and quickly looked away, pretending to adjust the strap of your bag. But it was too late. In your distracted state, you missed a small crack in the tile beneath your feet and tripped, stumbling forward with a small yelp.

Before you could hit the floor, a strong arm wrapped around your waist, steadying you. Your breath hitched as you realized Logan had caught you, his grip firm and secure. You looked up, your cheeks burning with embarrassment as you met his smirking gaze.

“Y’alright, darlin’?” Logan asked, his deep voice laced with amusement.

You could feel the heat rise to your face, desperately trying to compose yourself. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… wasn’t paying attention.”

His smirk widened as he released you, letting his hand linger on your waist just a second longer than necessary. “Seems like you were payin’ attention to somethin’, just not where you were goin’.”

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. “I wasn’t—” you started to protest but stopped yourself. There was no point in denying it. Logan had caught you staring, and there was no way to take it back now.

Logan chuckled low in his throat, his eyes darkening as they flicked over your face. “S’okay, darlin’. I don’t mind the attention.” He winked at you, his voice dropping to a low, teasing tone. “Just be careful next time, or I might not be around to catch ya.”

You bit your lip, trying to fight back the flustered smile threatening to break free. “I’ll keep that in mind,” you said softly, your voice betraying the nervous excitement coursing through you.

Logan gave you one last smirk before turning and walking away, leaving you standing in the hallway, your heart racing and your mind spinning. You could still feel the warmth of his hand on your waist, and you couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like if he held you like that for more than just a moment.

Remy LeBeau (Gambit)

The evening sun bathed the mansion’s garden in a warm golden glow, casting long shadows across the grass. You were walking toward the small patio where the team had gathered after a long day, your mind racing with a million thoughts. Most of those thoughts, however, were focused on one man—Remy LeBeau, the smooth-talking, devilishly handsome Cajun who had been stealing glances your way for weeks now.

You’d always prided yourself on keeping your emotions in check, but something about Remy made that impossible. His effortless charm, the way his deep, accented voice could make even the most mundane conversation feel like a flirtation, and those smoldering red-on-black eyes that seemed to see right through you—it was all too much.

As you approached the patio, your eyes immediately sought him out, and there he was, sitting casually on the edge of a chair, flipping a playing card between his fingers with practiced ease. He was talking to Rogue, but his gaze flicked up to meet yours the moment you stepped into view. A slow, knowing smile spread across his lips, and your heart skipped a beat.

You quickly looked away, trying to steady your breathing. You knew he’d caught you staring, and you cursed yourself for being so obvious. Determined to play it cool, you focused on the path ahead, but your thoughts were still filled with Remy—his charming smile, the way he seemed to light up any room he walked into, and the way your stomach fluttered every time he was near.

Your focus wavered for just a second, and suddenly, your foot caught on the edge of a stone step. You stumbled forward with a gasp, arms flailing as you tried to catch yourself, but before you could hit the ground, a pair of strong hands caught you, steadying you.

“Careful, chérie,” Remy’s voice drawled softly in your ear. “Wouldn’t want ya to hurt yourself.”

Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment as you looked up at him, his face far too close for comfort. He was grinning down at you, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he helped you straighten up.

“I—uh, thanks,” you stammered, your heart racing.

Remy chuckled, his fingers brushing lightly against your arm as he released you. “No need to thank me, mon amour. But I gotta say, I like that you can’t keep your eyes off me.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the words got stuck in your throat. You could see the playful glint in his eyes, and it was impossible to stay mad at him when he looked at you like that.

“I wasn’t—” you started, but he cut you off with a wink.

“No need to be shy, chérie. I know a good look when I see one.” He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “And I don’t mind one bit.”

Your pulse quickened at the heat in his gaze, and for a moment, you couldn’t think of anything clever to say. His hand lingered on your arm, his thumb tracing gentle circles on your skin, and you couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like if he touched you more than just casually.

Before you could respond, Remy stepped back, his trademark grin still in place. “You gonna join us, or you just gonna stand there starin’ at me all night?”

With one last smirk, he turned and walked back to the group, leaving you standing there, heart pounding, and wondering just how long you could keep hiding your feelings for him.

Kurt Wagner (Nightcrawler)

The atmosphere in the mansion was lively today, with the team bustling about, preparing for their next mission. You were sitting in the library, enjoying a rare moment of peace, flipping through a book while trying to calm your racing thoughts. But it wasn’t the mission that had your heart pounding. It was Kurt—Kurt Wagner, the sweet, charming man who had been occupying your thoughts more and more lately.

You’d never admit it out loud, but you found yourself drawn to him in a way that surprised even you. His kind heart, his gentle nature, and that infectious laugh of his—it was impossible not to fall for him. But more than that, you loved the way Kurt treated you. He was always respectful, always kind, but there was an underlying tension between you two, a connection you hadn’t yet acknowledged.

You sighed, trying to focus on the words in front of you, but your mind kept drifting to the memory of Kurt’s smile, the way his bright yellow eyes seemed to light up whenever he saw you. You were so lost in thought that you didn’t hear the soft *bamf* of Kurt teleporting into the room until he was suddenly standing right in front of you.

“Guten Tag!” Kurt greeted cheerfully, flashing you that warm, heart-melting smile of his.

Your heart leapt into your throat as you looked up, startled. “Oh! Hey, Kurt,” you said, quickly closing the book and hoping he hadn’t noticed the way you’d been daydreaming about him.

Kurt tilted his head, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “You looked deep in thought, meine freundin. I hope I did not disturb you.”

You shook your head quickly, offering him a smile. “No, not at all. I was just… thinking.”

He raised an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at his lips. “Thinking about anything—or anyone—in particular?”

Your cheeks burned at his words, and you quickly averted your gaze, trying to hide your embarrassment. “Just… stuff.”

Kurt chuckled softly, his tail flicking back and forth as he moved closer. “Well, I hope it was pleasant thoughts,” he said, his voice gentle and full of warmth.

You looked up at him, and for a moment, your heart fluttered at the way his eyes seemed to glow with kindness. He always had that effect on you, making you feel comfortable and at ease, even when you were a bundle of nerves around him.

But as you tried to stand up, your foot caught on the edge of the chair, and you stumbled forward, nearly falling face-first into Kurt’s chest. His arms were around you in an instant, steadying you before you could hit the ground.

“Vorsicht!” he exclaimed, his hands warm and firm on your waist. “I’ve got you.”

You felt your face heat up with embarrassment as you looked up at him, your heart pounding from both the near-fall and the sudden proximity. His yellow eyes met yours, and for a moment, neither of you moved, the air between you thick with unspoken tension. His hands lingered on your waist a little longer than necessary, and you couldn’t help but wonder if he was feeling the same magnetic pull that you were.

“I—I’m sorry,” you stammered, trying to pull yourself together. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

Kurt smiled softly, his thumb gently brushing your waist as he held you. “It’s quite alright. But you must be careful, meine freundin, or I might have to catch you more often.”

You laughed nervously, your heart racing. “I’ll try to avoid any more near-falls.”

But instead of pulling away, Kurt’s gaze softened, his fingers still resting against your waist. “Perhaps I wouldn’t mind if you needed catching every now and then.”

Your breath caught in your throat at his words, and for a brief moment, you felt as though the world had faded away, leaving just the two of you standing there, inches apart, with something unspoken hanging in the air between you.

Before you could say anything, Kurt cleared his throat, breaking the moment as he slowly released his hold on you. “I suppose we should both watch where we’re going, ja?”

You nodded, still trying to shake off the lingering warmth from his touch. “Yeah… yeah, we should.”

Kurt smiled at you one last time before teleporting away in a cloud of smoke, leaving you standing there, heart pounding and mind spinning, wondering if you’d ever be brave enough to admit how you felt.

Scott Summers (Cyclops)

The X-Mansion was always a whirlwind of activity, and today was no different. You were making your way through the training center, trying to stay focused on the drills the team had been practicing, but it was impossible to ignore the tall, composed figure of Scott Summers—your team leader, and the one person who seemed to occupy your thoughts more often than not.

Scott was always so serious, so focused on his responsibilities as leader, that it sometimes made it difficult to get a read on how he felt about anything outside of missions. But over the past few weeks, there had been moments—fleeting glances, the way his voice softened when he spoke to you—that made you wonder if there was something more beneath that stoic exterior.

You were lost in thought, your mind running through every interaction you’d had with Scott, when you spotted him across the training floor, arms crossed and eyes hidden behind those ever-present ruby quartz glasses. He was watching the team closely, but the moment your eyes landed on him, he looked up, locking onto you with a gaze that felt more intense than it had any right to be.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you quickly averted your gaze, focusing on anything but the way Scott’s attention made your pulse race. But in your distraction, you misjudged the distance between you and a training obstacle and promptly tripped over a piece of equipment, stumbling forward with a startled yelp.

You didn’t even have time to hit the ground before Scott was at your side, catching you with surprising swiftness. His strong arms wrapped around you, pulling you up before you could completely lose your balance.

“Careful,” he said in that calm, authoritative voice of his. “You alright?”

You nodded quickly, trying to ignore the heat rising to your cheeks as you realized just how close you were to him. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… wasn’t paying attention.”

Scott’s grip on your arm was firm but gentle, and for a moment, you felt the tension between you, the unspoken attraction that you’d both been trying to ignore. He held you just a little longer than necessary, his gaze focused on you even though his eyes were hidden behind his visor.

“You should be more careful,” Scott said, his voice softening ever so slightly. “I don’t want you getting hurt.”

Your breath caught at the concern in his voice, and you couldn’t help but wonder if there was something more behind his words. “I’ll try to be,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

Scott gave you a small, almost imperceptible smile before finally letting go, stepping back and giving you the space you needed to collect yourself. But as he walked away, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted between you—that maybe, just maybe, Scott Summers felt the same way you did.

Ororo Munroe (Storm)

The sky outside the mansion was a brilliant blue, the kind of day that seemed to radiate peace and beauty—much like the woman who controlled the weather. Ororo Munroe, with her regal posture and serene presence, had always been someone you admired, not just for her powers but for the way she carried herself with such grace and strength.

Over time, though, admiration had turned into something deeper. You found yourself drawn to her warmth, her wisdom, and the quiet moments you shared together. But you were always too afraid to say anything, afraid that admitting your feelings would somehow disturb the delicate balance between you.

Today was no different. You were walking through the mansion grounds, heading toward the greenhouse where Ororo often spent her time. The sun was warm on your skin, and as you approached, you spotted her among the flowers, her silver hair catching the light like a halo.

For a moment, you just watched her, captivated by the way she seemed to blend so effortlessly with nature, her beauty almost ethereal. You were so lost in the sight of her that you didn’t even notice the uneven ground beneath your feet. Your toe caught on a rock, and you stumbled forward with an awkward flail of your arms.

Ororo looked up just in time to see you trip, and before you could recover, she was at your side, her hand catching your arm with a gentle but steady grip.

“Are you alright?” she asked, her voice soft and soothing, like a summer breeze.

You quickly straightened up, trying to laugh off your clumsiness. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… wasn’t watching where I was going.”

Ororo smiled, her hand lingering on your arm as she looked at you with those calm, knowing eyes. “It seems you were lost in thought,” she said, her voice carrying a hint of teasing warmth.

You swallowed hard, your heart fluttering at the way her gaze seemed to see right through you. “I guess I was,” you admitted, unable to look away from her.

Ororo’s smile widened slightly as she finally released your arm, stepping back but still close enough that you could feel the warmth of her presence. “Be careful,” she said, her tone playful yet kind. “I would hate for you to fall again.”

You nodded, your cheeks warm with embarrassment, but there was something in Ororo’s eyes that made you wonder if she knew exactly what—or rather, who—you had been thinking about.

Jean Grey

The mansion was quiet, most of the team off on various missions or training exercises. You found yourself in the library, trying to focus on the book in front of you, but your mind kept wandering to Jean Grey—the powerful telepath who had slowly become the center of your thoughts.

Jean had always been kind to you, her warmth and compassion making her easy to talk to. But as time passed, you began to realize that your feelings for her went far beyond friendship. You admired her strength, her beauty, and the quiet confidence she carried, but you were too afraid to say anything, unsure if she felt the same way.

Today, however, you couldn’t seem to stop thinking about her. You had seen her earlier in the day, her red hair shining in the sunlight, and the image of her smile had been stuck in your mind ever since. You were so distracted by thoughts of Jean that you didn’t even notice her entering the library until she was standing right in front of you.

“Hey,” Jean said, her voice soft as she smiled at you.

You quickly looked up, your heart skipping a beat as you met her gaze. “Oh, hey! I didn’t see you come in.”

Jean’s smile widened as she sat down beside you, her green eyes twinkling with amusement. “I noticed. You looked pretty deep in thought.”

You laughed nervously, trying to hide your flustered state. “Yeah, I guess I was.”

Jean tilted her head, her gaze soft but curious. “Anything—or anyone—on your mind?”

Your cheeks flushed at her words, and you quickly looked away, pretending to adjust your position in the chair. “Just… stuff,” you mumbled, not daring to look at her.

But before you could compose yourself, your foot slipped off the edge of the chair, and you stumbled forward, nearly colliding with the small table in front of you. Jean’s reflexes were quick, and she caught your arm, steadying you before you could fall completely.

“Careful!” she exclaimed, her laughter light and melodic. “You alright?”

You nodded quickly, your face burning with embarrassment. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just—wasn’t paying attention.”

Jean chuckled softly, her hand still resting on your arm as she met your gaze with a knowing smile. “You seem a little distracted today. Anything I can help with?”

Your heart raced at the warmth in her voice, and for a moment, you wondered if she could sense what you were feeling. But you quickly shook your head, trying to brush it off. “No, I’m just… clumsy.”

Jean raised an eyebrow, her smile never faltering. “Well, I don’t mind catching you. Just try not to fall too often.”

Her words were playful, but there was a softness in her gaze that made your heart flutter, and you couldn’t help but wonder if she knew exactly what was going on in your mind—even if you weren’t ready to admit it yet.

Rogue (Anna Marie)

It was supposed to be a normal day at the X-Mansion, but with Rogue around, things rarely felt ordinary. You were in the common area, trying to go over mission reports, but your attention kept drifting to Anna Marie. She was lounging on the couch, flipping through a magazine, her gloved hands idly turning the pages as she hummed a familiar tune.

You’d always admired Rogue—from her strength to the way she handled the burden of her powers. But somewhere along the line, admiration had grown into something more. You found yourself drawn to her in ways that made your heart race and your stomach flip. Her quick wit, her beauty, that Southern charm—it was impossible not to be captivated.

But she was untouchable, literally. Rogue couldn’t get close to people, and as much as you felt something between you, the invisible wall her powers created was hard to ignore.

You sighed, trying to focus back on your reports, but Rogue shifted slightly, causing your gaze to drift to her again. Her hair cascaded down her back, the white streaks so striking against the dark brown. You caught yourself staring, and as if on cue, she looked up and met your eyes.

You quickly glanced away, your heart pounding. But the damage was done—your distraction caused you to knock your cup of coffee off the table, and in your attempt to catch it, you lost your balance and nearly toppled out of your chair.

Rogue was at your side in an instant, catching your arm before you could hit the floor. Her grip was firm but careful, gloved hands ensuring no skin-to-skin contact. She smiled, a playful glint in her green eyes.

“Careful, sugar,” she drawled, her Southern accent making your heart skip a beat. “You alright?”

You nodded, desperately trying to get a hold of yourself. “Yeah, just… clumsy today, I guess.”

Rogue chuckled, her thumb brushing over your arm lightly, sending shivers down your spine despite the barrier of fabric between you. “Looks like you got somethin’ on your mind.”

You tried to laugh it off, though the warmth in her voice and the way she was looking at you made your pulse quicken. “I’m just a little distracted, that’s all.”

Rogue’s smile widened, and she leaned in just a fraction closer. “If you’re thinkin’ about somethin’ important, I could help take your mind off it.”

Her words were teasing, but there was a hint of something deeper in her gaze—something that made you wonder if she felt the same electric tension that you did. But before you could say anything, Rogue pulled back, releasing your arm and stepping away with that trademark smirk of hers.

“Just be careful next time, alright?” she said, her eyes lingering on you for a moment longer than usual before she sauntered back to the couch.

As you sat back down, your heart still racing, you couldn’t help but wonder if Rogue was just as affected by the moments you shared as you were—even if there was always that invisible barrier between you.

Erik Lehnsherr (Magneto)

Being around Erik Lehnsherr was always a challenge. The man was powerful, charismatic, and brilliant—a force of nature who commanded respect with every word he spoke. You admired his strength and conviction, even if you didn’t always agree with his methods. But admiration had turned into something else, something you weren’t quite ready to admit.

You found yourself in his presence more often than you intended, drawn to the magnetic pull of his personality. Today was no different. You were in the briefing room, preparing for a strategy session, but instead of focusing on the task at hand, your eyes kept drifting to Erik.

He stood by the window, his silver hair catching the light as he gazed out over the grounds, his expression unreadable. You’d seen him in action countless times, watched him lead with precision and power, but there was something about the quiet moments—when he wasn’t Magneto, but simply Erik—that captivated you.

You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t realize he had turned to look at you until it was too late. Caught off guard, you fumbled with the papers in your hand, dropping them all over the floor.

Erik’s lips quirked into a slight smirk as he stepped forward, his hand outstretched. With a subtle flick of his fingers, the scattered papers floated off the ground, neatly arranging themselves back into your grasp. He didn’t say a word, but the amused glint in his eyes spoke volumes.

“Thank you,” you muttered, feeling your cheeks heat with embarrassment.

Erik crossed his arms over his chest, watching you with that same intense gaze. “You seem… distracted,” he observed, his voice smooth and commanding as always.

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your composure. “I was just… thinking.”

“About something important, I hope,” he replied, his eyes never leaving yours. “Or perhaps… someone?”

Your breath caught in your throat at his words, and for a moment, you wondered if he could sense the turmoil inside you. But you quickly shook your head, forcing a smile. “Just thinking about the mission.”

Erik raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, but he didn’t press the issue. Instead, he stepped closer, his presence commanding the space between you. “Be careful where your mind wanders, my dear. Distraction can be dangerous.”

There was a subtle edge to his words, as if he knew more than he was letting on. As he turned and walked away, you couldn’t shake the feeling that Erik had sensed the truth—that you were just as drawn to him as he was to power.

[awkward-walking-potato]

So i have this oc, she's technically dead, doesn't have a heart beat or need to breathe.

Remy's reaction to catching her asleep and not breathing?

Still as Death

Remy had always been drawn to your quiet, mysterious nature. You were different from the others at Xavier’s, and not just because of your mutation. There was something about the way you carried yourself—calm, steady, yet somehow distant. It intrigued him. He didn’t know the full extent of your powers, but he knew enough to understand that you were… unique.

Your mutation meant that you didn’t have a heartbeat. You didn’t need to breathe, eat, or sleep—at least not in the traditional sense. Technically, you were dead, though you moved and spoke as if you were alive like anyone else. It never seemed to bother you, and you rarely talked about it, but that didn’t stop Gambit from wondering what it must be like.

One evening, he was wandering through the halls of the mansion, a deck of cards in hand, shuffling them absentmindedly as he passed by your room. The door was slightly ajar, just enough for him to catch a glimpse inside. He paused, curiosity pulling him closer.

There you were, lying on the bed, eyes closed, your body completely still.

At first, he didn’t think much of it—until he noticed something off. You weren’t moving. Not in the way a person normally would while sleeping. There was no gentle rise and fall of your chest, no quiet sound of breath escaping your lips.

Remy’s heart skipped a beat, panic rushing through him. He quickly pushed the door open, his mind racing. Had something happened to you? Were you okay? He rushed to your side, dropping to his knees beside the bed, his hands hovering just above your still form.

"Mon dieu, chérie," he whispered, his voice shaky. "Y’ain’t…"

He gently placed a hand on your shoulder, shaking you slightly. "Wake up," he murmured, fear tightening in his chest.

When you didn’t respond immediately, Remy’s mind went to the worst possible place. You looked so peaceful, but that only made the sight more terrifying to him. His hand moved to your wrist, searching desperately for a pulse, forgetting for a moment that there wouldn’t be one.

But then, after what felt like an eternity, you stirred. Slowly, your eyes fluttered open, and you blinked up at him, confused by the panic in his expression.

"Remy?" you murmured, your voice soft and groggy from sleep.

He let out a shaky breath, relief flooding his system as he sat back on his heels, running a hand through his hair. "Ma chère, you scared the life outta me!" he exclaimed, his accent thicker with the surge of emotion. "I thought somethin’ happened. You weren’t breathin’, weren’t movin’…"

You blinked at him, the confusion slowly fading as you realized what had happened. A soft, sheepish smile tugged at your lips.

"Remy… I don’t breathe, remember?"

He stared at you for a moment, the reality of your words sinking in. Of course. He knew that. He knew your mutation meant you didn’t have to breathe, but in that moment of panic, all logic had flown out the window. He’d been so scared, so convinced that something had happened to you.

"You were sleepin’, and you looked so still…" His voice trailed off as he tried to shake the fear that still lingered. "Guess I forgot for a minute."

You sat up slowly, placing a gentle hand on his arm. "I’m sorry, Remy. I didn’t mean to scare you."

He let out a breath, rubbing the back of his neck with a nervous chuckle. "Well, ya did a good job of it," he muttered, though there was no anger in his voice. Just relief.

Your thumb brushed over his arm, and you offered him a soft, understanding smile. "It’s okay. I’m okay."

Remy shook his head, still feeling the adrenaline coursing through him. "I don’t care what kinda powers y’got, chérie. I see you not breathin’, I’m gonna panic."

You smiled a little wider, touched by his concern. "Guess I’ll have to make sure you know I’m alright next time."

He met your gaze, his usual playful smirk returning, though it was tinged with sincerity. "Please do. This ol’ heart can’t take losin’ you like that."

You chuckled softly, the sound easing the last bit of tension between you. "I’ll try not to give you any more heart attacks."

Remy’s eyes softened as he reached up, gently brushing a strand of hair from your face. "Y’know, it don’t matter if y’don’t need to breathe or don’t got a heartbeat. You’re more alive to me than anyone else in this place."

His words made your heart swell in your chest—an odd sensation for someone who technically didn’t have one. But Remy always had a way of making you feel like more than your mutation, more than just what you appeared to be.

You leaned into his touch, feeling the warmth of his hand against your cool skin. "Thanks, Remy."

He grinned, his crimson eyes twinkling with affection. "Anytime, ma chère. Just promise me y’won’t scare me like that again."

You nodded, still smiling as you rested your head against his shoulder. "I promise."

And as he wrapped an arm around you, pulling you closer, you knew that no matter how different you were, Remy would always see you for who you really were. Alive, and completely irreplaceable.

[thirtysomethingloser92]

1. If It Makes You Happy, It Can't Be That Bad.

Mini-series based off Cherry Lips. Summary: One night with world famous Remy Lebeau turns into something neither one of you expected. Warnings: Smut, Daddy Kinks, Bondage, Spanking, Choking, Threesomes (Amongst so much more), angst, fluff, romance. Chapter Warning: Light Phone Sex. Taglist: bontensbabygirl

“Funny thing,” you began with a playful smile, lounging comfortably on your bed as your phone screen lit up with the familiar face of Remy LeBeau. His signature smirk was already in place, as if he could anticipate exactly where you were going with this. His dark eyes glinted with mischief as he looked up from the notebook he'd been scribbling in, his fingers still idly strumming the strings of his guitar.

“Oh yeah? What’s that?” he drawled, his Cajun accent thick and smooth, like honeyed whiskey.

You bit your lip, trying to suppress a grin. “So, I was doing my weekly grocery run, you know, minding my own business,” you teased, dragging the moment out just to toy with him a little. Remy leaned in closer to the camera, clearly intrigued, though the playful glint in his eyes said he probably already had an idea of what was coming.

“Mhm,  sounds serious,” he said, placing the guitar aside on the hotel bed behind him. The faint sound of fans screaming outside his window made you chuckle. He might’ve been sitting across the world in a luxurious hotel suite, but right now, it felt like he was right in the room with you.

“Oh, it is,” you continued, your grin widening as you held up a finger, signaling for him to wait. “Hold on.”

You kicked off the blankets that had been wrapped around you, crawling across your bed to reach the nightstand. The movement made the oversized shirt you were wearing ride up slightly, revealing the sliver of underwear underneath. You caught the flicker of Remy’s gaze over the screen, his eyes briefly tracking your movements before a knowing smile tugged at his lips.

When you sat back down, you held up a glossy gossip magazine, flipping it around to show him the cover. “Look what I found,” you announced triumphantly. There, plastered across the front page in bold letters, was the headline: Sexiest Man Alive: Remy LeBeau, accompanied by a smoldering picture of him leaning on his famous guitar, his tousled hair and sharp jawline doing most of the work.

“Oh, fuck…” Remy groaned, leaning back in his chair and dragging his hands over his face in a dramatic display of exasperation. He shook his head before peeking at you from between his fingers, that ever-present smile never really leaving his face. “How did I know you were gonna bring that one up?”

You shrugged, feigning innocence. “Because you know I enjoy stirring you up,” you replied, flipping through the pages of the magazine. “I mean, come on, ‘Sexiest Man Alive’? That’s a bold title.” You paused, then added with a playful glint in your eye, “Personally, I thought it would’ve been Chris Evans this year.”

Remy let out a low chuckle, his smirk growing wider. “Always keepin’ me humble, huh?”

You looked up from the magazine and arched an eyebrow. “Well, someone’s got to! I can practically hear the screams of your fans outside your hotel room,” you teased, motioning to the background noise that was impossible to ignore. “Bet they’re giving you an even bigger head than usual.”

Remy’s grin turned mischievous, and without missing a beat, he leaned closer to the camera and said, “Funny, don’t recall you ever complainin’ ‘bout my head before.”

Your face instantly flushed at the double entendre, eyes widening in surprise. You looked away, shaking your head as you tried to regain your composure.

He laughed, the sound deep and rich, clearly enjoying how easily he could fluster you.

You looked back at him through the screen, shooting him a mock glare, though the smile tugging at your lips betrayed your amusement. “Yeah, okay, fine. You got me,” you muttered, flipping the magazine closed and tossing it aside with a huff. “But I’m still not letting you get away with that.”

Remy leaned back in his chair, folding his arms behind his head in a relaxed, almost cocky posture. “Oh, cher, I’m countin’ on it.”

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth spreading through your chest betrayed the effect his teasing had on you. Even with half the world between you, Remy had a way of making the distance feel small, of making you feel like you were the only person he cared about in that moment—despite the dozens of fans clamoring for his attention outside his hotel room.

“Well,” you sighed dramatically, “I guess it’s my job to keep you grounded, what with all the ‘Sexiest Man Alive’ nonsense going to your head.”

He winked at you, his voice lower now, almost a purr. “Y’ do a damn fine job of it, cher.”

Your heart fluttered at the compliment, but you quickly masked it with a smirk. “Good. Someone has to keep you in check, after all.”

Remy’s eyes softened for a moment, the teasing tone fading just slightly as he gazed at you through the screen. “Ain’t no one else I’d rather have doin’ it.”

You felt your cheeks warm again, the sincerity in his voice catching you off guard. For a second, you forgot about the magazine, the fans, and the fact that you were on opposite sides of the world. It was just you and Remy, sharing a quiet moment in the midst of the chaos that surrounded his life.

“Well,” you said softly, leaning a little closer to the camera, “I guess I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Remy’s smile turned gentle, his eyes never leaving yours. “You should.” He reached back behind him and grabbed the guitar again. Remy’s fingers danced effortlessly across the strings of his guitar, the soft strumming filling the quiet space between you. You watched him through the screen, your eyes following the familiar way his hands moved, coaxing out a melody that seemed to wrap around you like a warm embrace. Every now and again he’d grimace, pausing and scratching something out in front of him before starting again. The sound was soothing, intimate, and in moments like this, it was easy to forget that this wasn’t just any man. This was Remy LeBeau—a world-renowned musician, adored by millions, and somehow, inexplicably, a part of your life.

You pulled your blanket tighter around you, cocooning yourself in its warmth as you curled in further on your bed. The soft glow of your phone illuminated your face, but the rest of the room was dim, casting everything in soft shadows. You’d been doing this for weeks now—late-night calls, quiet moments shared through screens, and sometimes, stolen words that felt like secrets between you and him. But it still felt surreal, like you were living in someone else’s life.

Had it really only been four months since he had walked into your world?

You thought back to the night it all began, the memory still fresh in your mind despite the whirlwind that followed. It was supposed to be an ordinary night—well, ordinary if you didn’t count the fact that your ex had just left you for the woman he’d been cheating on you with. You’d gone to the concert hoping to escape, to drown out the hurt with music and a few too many drinks. But then, in a moment of anger and impulse, you’d poured your drink over him right there in the middle of the crowd.

That should have been the end of it. A mortifying moment you’d regret later. But then you looked up, towards the stage, and there was—Remy LeBeau, larger than life,  looking right at you through the chaos with that same stupid smirk on his face that he was wearing now.

He’d invited you backstage, and that’s where everything changed. What was meant to be a brief encounter turned into the most intense night of your life.

You could still feel the weight of his hands, the heat of his body pressed against yours in that dressing room. It had been raw and passionate, the kind of thing that left you breathless and reeling. You’d never experienced anything like it. The way he met you in the middle with every demand, he made sure that you knew ultimately, you were in charge no matter what happened. It took almost two full weeks for his handprint to leave your ass and the bruises from his fingers to leave your hips. And when it was over, when you were both spent and you were trying to get dressed, he’d looked at you with those piercing eyes and asked for your number.

You never expected him to actually text you. Not Remy LeBeau, the man who had his pick of anyone in the world. But when his message appeared on your phone the next morning—You get home safe?—you’d stared at it for what felt like hours, unsure of how to respond. How were you supposed to talk to someone like him? Someone whose face was on billboards and magazine covers, whose name trended on social media every other day?

Every reply you typed out felt wrong, too casual or too eager, like you were trying too hard. Eventually, after hours of overthinking, you’d sent a simple Yeah, thanks. It was embarrassing how much you agonized over those two words, but somehow, that small exchange turned into more.

It was Remy who had suggested the coffee date before he left for Europe. You still remembered the way he’d asked, almost too casually, as if he wasn’t one of the most famous men in the world making a simple offer to grab coffee. But then, that was Remy—effortlessly cool, as if fame was just something that hovered around him, not something he actively sought.

The café he’d chosen was tucked away in a narrow alley, hidden from the bustling city streets, a place only locals would know. It wasn’t the kind of spot that would attract paparazzi or the curious eyes of fans, and that made it perfect. The little bell above the door had chimed when you walked in, the smell of freshly brewed coffee mingling with the faint scent of cinnamon and vanilla from the pastries behind the counter. There weren’t many people inside, just a couple of elderly patrons and a barista working quietly behind the counter.

You spotted him immediately, sitting in a corner, his back to the wall. He looked different in daylight, softer somehow. His usual rockstar edge was muted, replaced by something more relaxed, more real. He wasn’t wearing his signature leather jacket, just a simple sweater that clung to his lean frame, and his hair was tousled in a way that looked less deliberate than usual.

He smiled when he saw you, that slow, lazy grin that had undone you so easily the night before. “Cher,” he greeted, his voice low and warm, like a secret meant just for you.

You smiled back, a little nervous but trying to play it cool. “Hey.”

His security detail was nearby, but they were discreet, standing by the entrance, blending in with the ambiance of the café. For all intents and purposes, it felt like you and Remy were the only two people in the world.

You slipped into the seat across from him, the small table between you making the space feel more intimate than it had any right to. A steaming cup of coffee was already waiting for you. You took a sip, and for a moment, you let the warmth of the coffee and the coziness of the café settle your nerves.

The conversation started easily, like it always did with Remy. He had a way of making you feel comfortable, as if there wasn’t an ocean of difference between your worlds. He asked about your day, your work, and for the first time in a while, you found yourself talking about normal things—things that had nothing to do with the whirlwind of his fame. You talked about your favorite books, the places you liked to go when you needed to clear your head, the little things that made up your life.

And then, as the conversation naturally drifted back to the night before, his voice grew softer, more intimate. “You know,” he said, his eyes on you, “last night….I don’t meet a lot of people who can match me like that.”

His words hung in the air between you, heavy with meaning. You felt your heart skip a beat, but you didn’t say anything, waiting for him to continue.

“I meant what I said,” he added, his gaze never wavering. “I want you to come with me.”

He let that statement linger for a moment before leaning forward slightly, his elbows resting on the table. “Six months,” he repeated, his voice low but firm, as if the offer was something solid, tangible. “Come with me to Europe. We’ll travel, see the world. You can leave all this behind for a while.”

Your mind raced. Even though he’d made the same offer last night, hearing it again in the light of day felt different. More real. Last night, in the heat of the moment, it had been easy to brush it off as something said in the throes of passion. But now, with the sun streaming through the café windows and the world feeling far more grounded, it felt like an impossible choice.

You looked at him, studying the way his eyes held yours, serious and unwavering. He was offering you something that most people would kill for—a chance to escape, to see the world with him, to live a life you’d only ever dreamed about. It was tempting, so tempting that for a brief, fleeting moment, you let yourself imagine it. Traveling across Europe, waking up in different cities, spending nights wrapped in each other’s arms with no responsibilities, no worries. Just the two of you.

But then reality came crashing back in.

You had a life here. A job, bills, responsibilities that couldn’t just be put on hold for six months. And the idea of being followed by paparazzi, of having your every move scrutinized, wasn’t exactly appealing either. The thought of being thrust into his world—the world of bright lights, flashing cameras, and constant attention—made your stomach twist with anxiety.

“I—” You hesitated, unsure of how to put all of that into words. “I don’t think I can.”

His expression didn’t falter, but you saw the flicker of disappointment in his eyes. He leaned back slightly, his fingers tapping absently on the table. “Why not?” he asked, his voice still soft, but with a hint of something else—maybe frustration, maybe hurt. “You scared?”

You shook your head, though a part of you wondered if he was right. “It’s not that, it’s just…” You sighed, trying to find the right words. “I have a life here. A job, bills to pay. I can’t just drop everything and follow you around the world.”

He nodded slowly, as if he understood, but his eyes still held that intensity. “I get it, cher. But I’m not askin’ you to disappear forever. It’s just six months. You could take a break, live a little, see the world with me.” His voice softened, almost pleading now. “You don’t have to worry ‘bout money. I’ll take care of everything.”

You swallowed hard, torn between the desire to take the leap and the overwhelming sense of responsibility that weighed you down. “It’s not that simple,” you whispered.

Remy leaned back in his seat, his fingers tracing the rim of his coffee cup, his eyes never leaving yours. The soft murmur of the café around you faded into the background, leaving just the two of you in this intimate bubble. He had a way of doing that—making the world shrink down to just him, making you feel like you were the only thing that mattered in the room.

He glanced out the window for a moment, watching as the late afternoon light filtered in through the glass, casting golden shadows across the table. Then, without looking back at you, he spoke, his voice low, carrying the weight of the conversation you’d both had the night before.

“You remember what we talked ‘bout last night?” he murmured, his tone softer now, more serious.

You nodded, your mind drifting back to the previous evening, when you’d both let your guards down a little more than usual. The memory of it was still fresh—the way you’d both spoken honestly, the way he’d peeled back the layers of charm and showmanship for a moment, revealing something raw, something real.

He had said it then, the words coming out in that smooth, deliberate way of his, but with an undercurrent of vulnerability you hadn’t expected.

“Ain’t easy findin’ someone who matches y’r crazy, cher,” he had said, his eyes fixed on yours, even as his tone remained casual. “Most people, they don’t wanna go there. They don’t wanna dive deep into the wild parts of themselves—or y’. They wanna keep it safe, keep it easy.”

You remembered the way you’d nodded, feeling the truth of his words settle in your chest like a weight. “Exactly,” you’d agreed, your voice a little quieter, a little more thoughtful than usual. “It’s like… they want the thrill, but not the risk. They want the passion without the storm that comes with it.”

For a moment, the two of you had sat there in silence, the air between you thick with unspoken understanding. And then Remy had let out that low, knowing chuckle, shaking his head as if the whole thing was some cosmic joke he was all too familiar with.

“Yeah, well,” he had said, his tone threaded with both amusement and something darker—something that hinted at past disappointments, at scars that hadn’t quite healed. “I ain’t met anyone yet who could handle my storm. Ain’t found no one who could match me, not all the way.”

He had paused then, his eyes lingering on yours, and for a moment, the lazy smirk that usually played on his lips returned. But this time, there had been something different behind it, something more serious. More real.

“That is… until tonight,” he had finished, his voice dropping to a low, intimate murmur that had made your heart skip a beat.

Now, sitting across from him in the quiet café, you could feel the echo of those words reverberating between you. Remy was watching you closely, his dark eyes searching yours, as if trying to read the thoughts you weren’t quite ready to say aloud.

He leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on the table, his expression softening in a way that made the moment feel even more intimate. “Cher,” he began, his voice quieter now, almost tentative in a way that surprised you, “I know you got reasons to stay. I get it. But I ain’t talkin’ ‘bout forever. I’m just askin’ for a chance. Six months... No strings if y’ don’t want ‘em. Just you and me, seein’ where it goes.”

You met his gaze, your heart tightening in your chest. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to take that leap. God, you wanted it more than you could admit. But the reality of it—leaving everything behind, stepping into his world, a world that was so different from your own—was terrifying. And maybe, in the quietest part of your heart, you were afraid of what might happen if you couldn’t keep up with his storm.

“I…” You hesitated, your voice catching in your throat. You didn’t want to hurt him, but you couldn’t ignore the practicalities of your life. “Remy, I can’t just pack up and leave like that. I’ve got a job. Responsibilities. I can’t just… drop everything.”

His eyes softened, and you could see the flicker of disappointment there, though he hid it well behind that easy charm of his. “I know, cher,” he said quietly, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the edge of the table. “I ain’t gonna push y’. I just…” He trailed off, as if searching for the right words, before locking eyes with you again. “Look, if y’ can’t come with me, I get it. But would y’ mind if I called y’? Maybe we could keep in touch, yeah?”

You blinked, a little surprised by the sincerity in his request. For all his confidence, there was something almost vulnerable in the way he asked, like he wasn’t just offering you an escape from your life, but hoping to keep some kind of connection alive between you. As if he didn’t want you to slip away completely, even if you couldn’t be by his side.

The thought of hearing his voice, of staying connected, even from a distance, made your heart ache in a way you hadn’t expected. Despite the whirlwind of emotions you were feeling, despite all the reasons you knew it was crazy, you found yourself nodding.

“Yeah,” you said softly, meeting his gaze. “I’d like that.”

Remy’s lips curled into a slow smile, the kind that always made you feel like you were the only person in the world. “Good,” he murmured, his voice warm and rich with something you couldn’t quite name. “I’ll call y’ then, cher. And who knows? Maybe after a few weeks of hearin’ my voice, you might start to miss me enough to change y’r mind.”

You chuckled, shaking your head, but there was a warmth in your chest now, a flicker of something that felt dangerously close to hope. “We’ll see,” you replied, your voice teasing but gentle.

The tension that had been hanging in the air between you seemed to ease, and for the rest of the conversation, things felt lighter, easier. You talked about music, about his upcoming tour, about anything that didn’t carry the weight of decisions and life-altering choices. But that connection—the one that had been lingering between you since the night before—was still there, humming quietly beneath the surface.

When it was time to leave, Remy stood up, pulling his sunglasses on with that effortless grace that always made him seem larger than life. He gave you one last look, his smile soft, his voice low. “Take care of y’self, cher. I’ll call y’.”

You nodded, your heart doing strange, unsteady things in your chest. “You too.”

And then, with one last glance, he turned and walked out of the café, his security trailing behind him. You watched him go, the door swinging shut behind him, and for a long moment, you just sat there, staring at the empty seat across from you.

It wasn’t until you reached for your phone and saw his name still sitting in your messages that you realized you were already waiting for his call.

And so, here you were, four months later, wrapped in blankets and watching him strum his guitar through a video call. The soft, melodic chords floated through the speakers, filling your room with warmth, as if he were right there beside you. You couldn’t help but smile as you watched him, lost in the music. It was moments like these that felt so intimate, so personal, that you forgot for a second who he was to the rest of the world—Remy LeBeau, the rockstar. To you, right now, he was just Remy, the man who somehow made you feel like you were the only person that mattered.

But things hadn’t always been so simple.

The first few weeks after that night at the concert had been a blur of conflicting emotions. You’d tried telling yourself that this was nothing more than a fling, a brief distraction to help you move past the betrayal of your ex. You had convinced yourself that you could keep it casual, that it was just fun—a wild story you’d look back on one day and laugh about. But Remy? He had a way of making it impossible to keep your distance.

It started with the phone calls, almost every night. At first, they were lighthearted, teasing, filled with playful banter and flirtation. He’d call after a show, his voice still buzzing with adrenaline, and tell you about the crowd, the energy, the chaos of it all. You’d listen, intrigued, laughing when he’d slip into stories about the wild things he’d seen on tour. But then, as the night wore on and the conversation slowed, there came a shift. His voice would drop to that familiar low timbre that sent shivers down your spine, and suddenly it wasn’t just words you were exchanging anymore.

The first time it happened, you hadn’t expected it. It was late, and your conversation had drifted, like it often did, into the easy, comfortable rhythm you’d fallen into over the past few weeks. You were talking about nothing in particular, just the small details of your day, the way the moon looked outside your window—big and full, casting a pale glow across your room—or how his hotel room was too cold even though it was the middle of summer. He grumbled lightly about the AC, about how it never seemed to work right, and you had laughed, teasing him about his preference for luxury despite his grungy rockstar persona.

It was familiar, relaxed, the way you talked most nights. There was always an underlying tension, of course—a kind of charged energy that lingered between the words, between the silences—but you’d gotten used to it. It was part of the dynamic you shared, the playful flirtation that never seemed to cross a line.

But then, something shifted.

You didn’t notice it right away. Not at first. You were too lost in the comfort of his voice, in the way it wrapped around you, warm and easy, making you feel like you weren’t alone in your bed, but curled up next to him, sharing the same space. But then his tone changed, just slightly—a subtle drop in pitch, a softness that wasn’t there before.

“What are y’ wearin’ right now, cher?” he asked, his voice suddenly low, intimate, like a dark velvet caress that sent a shiver down your spine.

You blinked, surprised, letting out a breathy laugh, unsure of whether he was joking or not. “What?” you asked, your voice light, trying to play it off even though your heart had already started to race.

He didn’t laugh. Instead, you heard the faintest sound of his breath on the other end of the line, slow and measured. “You heard me,” he murmured, his words edged with a playful challenge. “Tell me what y’r wearin’. I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout you all night, and I can’t get the image out of my head.”

Your heart was pounding now, heat rising to your cheeks. You hesitated, unsure of how to respond, your mind racing. You weren’t used to this kind of attention—at least, not like this. Not from him. There had always been this tension between you, this pull, but he’d never crossed that line after that one night you both shared.

And yet… the way he said it, the way his voice curled around the words, made it impossible to ignore the desire that was already stirring inside you. It was as if he knew exactly what he was doing to you, as if he could feel the way your breath hitched, the way your body tensed in anticipation. You could hear the smile in his tone, the teasing edge that both excited and unnerved you.

You hesitated for a moment longer, but then you found yourself answering, your voice quieter now, a little breathless. “Just… a t-shirt,” you murmured, feeling shy despite the fact that he couldn’t see you. “And, um… nothing else.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and you could almost hear the way his breath caught, the low sound of approval that hummed in his chest. “Mmm, that’s what I thought,” he drawled, his voice a slow, seductive rhythm. “I knew y’d be layin’ there, all soft and warm. Bet y’r lookin’ real pretty right now, cher.”

Your pulse quickened, heat blooming in your chest, spreading down to your core. The way he spoke to you—so direct, so sure of himself—was intoxicating. There was no hesitation in his words, no uncertainty. He knew exactly what he was doing, exactly how to pull you in, and you found yourself powerless to resist.

“Remy...” you whispered, unsure if you were trying to slow things down or encourage him to keep going.

He let out a low chuckle, the sound warm and rough, sending another shiver through you. “You like it when I say y’r name like that, don’t y’?” he murmured, his voice dropping even lower. “I can hear it in y’r voice, cher. You’re gettin’ all worked up, just from hearin’ me talk.”

You swallowed hard, your mouth suddenly dry, your body reacting to his words in ways you couldn’t control. He was right, of course. You could feel the way your body was responding, the way your skin was heating up, the way your thighs pressed together beneath the blankets. It was ridiculous, really, how much power he had over you, even from thousands of miles away. And yet… you didn’t want him to stop.

“Tell me what y’r doin’ right now,” he coaxed, his voice soft, soothing, as if it were the most natural thing in the world for him to be asking you this. “Are y’ touchin’ y’rself already? Or are y’ waitin’ for me to tell y’ what to do?”

Your breath caught again, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to respond. But then you realized he wasn’t asking for permission. He was drawing you in, coaxing you into a space where nothing else mattered but his voice and the way it made you feel. It was like he was right there with you, his words tracing over your skin, lighting you up from the inside out.

You closed your eyes, sinking deeper into the warmth of your bed, letting yourself get lost in the moment. “I’m waiting,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, but you knew he heard you. You could hear the way his breath hitched slightly, the satisfaction in his next words.

“Good girl,” he whispered, his voice a low, throaty purr that sent a wave of heat straight through you. “Now, I want you to take that hand of yours and slide it down... nice and slow. I want y’ to feel every inch of yourself, cher. Like it’s me touchin’ you.”

Your breath quickened, your body responding to the command before you even had time to think about it. You could feel the heat pooling low in your belly, your skin tingling with anticipation as you did as he asked, your hand moving slowly beneath the blankets, your fingers brushing against the soft skin of your thigh.

He continued to speak, his voice guiding you, coaxing you further, his words like a slow burn that ignited something deep within you. And before you knew it, you were completely wrapped up in him, in the sound of his breathing on the other end of the line, in the way he whispered your name like it was something sacred, something precious.

It was intoxicating, the way he made you feel so desired, so wanted, even from hundreds of miles away. It was as if the distance between you didn’t exist, as if he were right there beside you, his hands on your body, his lips at your ear, whispering every sinful thought that crossed his mind.  And you wanted it.  You wanted more.

The rest of the night passed in a blur of breathless whispers, of quiet moans and soft gasps, of his voice guiding you through every wave of pleasure. And when it was over, when you were both spent and quiet, he stayed with you on the line, his voice soft and soothing as he murmured sweet things into the phone, grounding you, bringing you back down from the high.

“Y’r somethin’ else, cher,” he had whispered, his voice warm and full of affection now, as if the heat of the moment had given way to a deeper intimacy. “I can’t wait to see y’ again. Gonna make sure I take my time with y’ next time we’re together.”

You smiled, your heart still racing, though there was a different kind of warmth in your chest now. “I can’t wait either,” you whispered back, feeling a little shy despite everything that had just happened.

And after it was over, after the heat and frenzy of it had passed, he’d stay on the line with you, his voice softening as he asked about your day, about your life. He’d talk about the things he wanted to do with you when he saw you again—places he wanted to take you, moments he wanted to share. And though the words were often filled with playful flirtation, there was an undercurrent of something deeper, something that left you wondering if it was more than just a casual fling for him, too.

But for all the passion, for all the heat, there remained that same phrase, echoing in your mind every time you spoke to him: We’ll just see where it goes. He had said it so many times, always with that teasing smile, as if the future was something neither of you could—or should—try to predict.

And yet, the more time you spent talking to him, the harder it became to keep your walls up. At first, you had tried to convince yourself that it was just physical, that it was the thrill of being wanted by someone like him. But the truth was, Remy had a way of getting under your skin. It wasn’t just the phone sex, though that certainly had its hold on you—leaving you breathless and aching for more, night after night. No, it was the way he spoke to you afterward, the way he asked questions and actually listened to your answers, the way he remembered the small details about your life that you hadn’t even realized you’d shared.

He had a way of making you feel wanted, even when he was thousands of miles away. And that scared you.

Because how could you possibly let yourself fall for someone like him? Someone whose life was a whirlwind of fame, fortune, and endless attention. Someone who could have anyone, anywhere, yet somehow was choosing to spend his nights strumming his guitar and talking to you. It didn’t make sense. You weren’t naïve—you knew the kind of life someone like Remy led. The constant travel, the adoring fans, the temptations of a rockstar’s world. And you… well, you were just a small part of that. Weren’t you?

A part of you wanted to believe that maybe it could be something more. That maybe, for all his charm and effortless cool, Remy was looking for something real. Something deeper. But the other part of you—the part that had been burned before, the part that had learned to be cautious—was terrified. You’d been hurt before. You knew what it felt like to open yourself up, only to be left shattered in the end. You’d built these walls for a reason, after all. You couldn’t afford to let yourself get hurt again.

But as you sat there, watching him through the screen, his fingers moving effortlessly over the strings of his guitar, you felt your heart ache with the familiar pull of emotion. The way he looked at you—his brow furrowed in concentration as he lost himself in the music—it was like you were the only thing grounding him, the only thing keeping him anchored in the chaos of his life. And that made it so much harder to keep your distance.

“Whatcha thinkin’ ‘bout?” Remy’s voice broke through your thoughts, pulling you back to the present. His eyes were on you again, sharp and curious, as if he could sense the shift in your mood.

You hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to answer. How could you possibly put all of this into words? The swirl of emotions, the fear, the longing. But then you smiled softly, shaking your head. “Nothing,” you lied, your voice gentle. “Just… enjoying the music.”

His lips curled into that familiar, lazy grin, the one that always made your heart skip a beat. “Good,” he murmured, his voice low and warm. “’Cause I’m playin’ this just for you, cher.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, and for a brief moment, you let yourself believe it. You let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t just a passing fling. That maybe it was something more. Something real.

You sighed softly, snuggling deeper into your blankets, the warmth of the music and his voice lulling you into a comfortable, if bittersweet, peace. You didn’t know what the future held. You didn’t know if this thing with Remy was destined to burn out as quickly as it had begun, or if it could turn into something lasting.

All you knew was that the more time you spent with him—whether it was through the phone, through late-night video calls, or in that breathless space between passion and vulnerability—the harder it became to guard your heart.

“You look tired,” you commented, your voice soft and muffled as you lay half-buried in your pillow, your body wrapped in the comforting warmth of your blankets. The glow of your phone screen illuminated your face, casting a soft light over the room, but all you could focus on was him—Remy, sitting there on the other end of the video call, his eyes heavy with exhaustion.

He paused, his gaze meeting yours through the screen, and for a moment, he didn’t say anything. Then he let out a soft chuckle, his lips curling into a familiar, crooked smile. “I am,” he admitted, running a hand through his tousled hair. “But as you always tell me, there’s no rest for the wicked.”

You smiled at that, a small, tired smile of your own, remembering how often you had teased him about his relentless schedule, about how he never seemed to stop moving. You licked your lips, your voice softening with concern. “You should get some sleep, Remy. Have you slept at all?” you asked, the worry clear in your tone.

He shook his head, his smile fading just slightly as he leaned back in his chair, his body visibly tense, though he tried to hide it. “Nah,” he said with a shrug, as if it were no big deal. “I’ve got to be up in a few hours anyway. Some interview with one of those late-night talk show things.” He watched as you shifted deeper inside your covers, your face barely visible now except for the soft glow of your eyes on the screen. His expression softened, and there was something else there too—something more vulnerable, more real. “But I wanted to run something by you anyway.”

Your interest piqued at that, and you pushed yourself up a little, propping your chin on your hand, your sleepy eyes fixing on him through the screen. “What is it?” you asked, your curiosity laced with a hint of anticipation.

Remy hesitated for a moment, his eyes flickering away from the camera as if he were gathering his thoughts, or maybe his courage. Then, with a quiet sigh, he looked back at you, the familiar teasing smile slipping back onto his lips, though there was a softness behind it. “We’ve got a few days off, and I was thinkin’...” He paused, his voice trailing off for a beat before he continued, “I was gonna fly there and come see y’.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, and you felt a small smile tug at the corners of your lips, the kind you couldn’t suppress even if you tried. It was one thing to talk to him on the phone every night, to share your moments through a screen—but the thought of him being here, in person, made something flutter inside your chest. You tried to keep your voice calm, but there was no hiding the excitement that slipped through. “For how many days?” you asked, though you already knew that his schedule probably wouldn’t allow for much.

He laughed softly, the sound warm and familiar, though there was a trace of weariness behind it. “Like… one and a half,” he said, shaking his head as if the idea itself was ridiculous. “Not much, I know. But I’d make the most of it.” His voice was playful, but there was a sincerity in his eyes that made your heart ache a little. “Wha’dya think?”

And then, suddenly, he went quiet. For a moment, the playful energy drained from his expression, replaced by something more cautious, more unsure. It was rare to see him like this—Remy, who was always so confident, so effortlessly charming. But now, he looked almost hesitant, as if he wasn’t sure how you’d react, as if he wasn’t sure if you’d want him to come at all.

The silence stretched between you, and you could feel the weight of his question hanging in the air. He was waiting for your answer, and for once, it felt like more than just a casual suggestion. There was something deeper behind it, something that made your chest tighten with both excitement and fear.

You let out a soft breath, your smile widening as you looked at him, your heart already knowing the answer before your mind could catch up. “I think,” you said slowly, your voice warm and teasing, “that you should come for a visit.”

For a split second, relief flashed across his face, followed by that familiar grin—the one that always made your heart skip a beat. “Yeah?” he asked, his voice lighter now, the tension melting away. “Even if it’s just for a day and a half?”

“Even if it’s just for a day and a half,” you confirmed, your voice soft but sure. “I’ll take whatever time I can get.”

He smiled at that, a genuine, almost boyish smile that made him look younger, softer. “Good,” he murmured, his voice low and full of warmth. “’Cause I’ve been missin’ you, cher. More than I should, probably.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, and you felt a warmth spread through your chest, a mixture of happiness and something else—something deeper that you weren’t quite ready to name yet. “I’ve missed you too,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper, but you knew he heard you.

For a moment, neither of you said anything, the silence between you comfortable, filled with the unspoken things that neither of you were ready to put into words just yet. But it was enough—just knowing that he wanted to see you, that he was willing to fly across the country just to spend a day and a half with you. It was enough to make you feel like maybe—just maybe—this thing between you was more than just a passing fling.

“Alright,” he said after a while, his voice soft but filled with a kind of determination. “I’ll book the flight tomorrow. And when I get there, I’m gonna make sure I make up for lost time.”

You smiled, your heart full as you snuggled deeper into your blankets. “I’ll hold you to that, LeBeau.”

“You better,” he teased, his grin widening. But as you both fell into a comfortable silence again, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted between you—that this wasn’t just another night of playful banter and teasing promises.  This was real.  This was something more.

A lazy smile crossed your face as you shifted slightly under your blankets, your phone propped up against your pillow. “So, where’re we gonna meet?” you asked, your voice light, teasing, though part of you was genuinely curious. The thought of seeing him in person again, after all the late-night calls and whispered conversations, sent a thrill through you that you couldn’t quite suppress.

Remy leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing slightly in that way they always did when he was thinking, the faintest hint of mischief already dancing behind them. He shrugged casually, his lips curling into a smirk as he stretched his arms behind his head. “We’ll figure it out,” he drawled, his voice smooth, that lazy Southern charm dripping from every word. “But I think we both know it don’t really matter where we meet, cher.” His gaze lingered on you through the screen, his eyes dark and intent. “It’s what happens after that, that’ll count.”

You felt a soft flutter in your chest at his words, warmth spreading through your body as your smile grew wider. You gave a small shrug, pretending to think it over for a moment. “Well, there’s not a lot to do around here,” you teased, your voice light but your mind already wandering to what could happen when you were finally in the same space again, without a screen between you.

Remy’s smirk deepened, his eyes flashing with a hint of something darker, something more playful. He leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping to that low, intimate tone that always made your heart race. “Y’r makin’ it sound like I’m gonna let you leave the hotel while I’m in town,” he murmured, his words slow and deliberate, each one sending a shiver down your spine.

Your breath caught for a moment, heat rising to your cheeks as you tried to suppress the grin that was threatening to break across your face. But it was no use. You leaned closer to the camera, your voice dropping to a soft, teasing whisper. “Is that a promise?” you asked, your heart pounding in your chest, though you kept your tone playful.

He chuckled softly, the sound low and rich, and you could hear the unspoken promise in it. “Oh, it’s more than a promise, cher.” His voice was velvet, the kind of smooth that wrapped around you and pulled you in, leaving you breathless. “I’ve got… some ideas. Things I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout. Things I’ve been wantin’ to try.” He paused, letting the words linger in the air between you, his eyes watching you closely through the screen, gauging your reaction.

Your skin tingled at the suggestion, your pulse quickening with the anticipation that was building between you. You could feel the heat rising in your body, the way his words sent a thrill of excitement racing through you. It was the way he said it—so casual, so confident, like he already knew exactly what he wanted to do with you, and exactly how he was going to make it happen.

“Oh?” you breathed, your voice soft as you bit your lip, trying to play it cool even though your mind was already racing with possibilities. “Care to elaborate?”

Remy’s eyes darkened, his smirk widening as he leaned even closer to the camera, his face filling the screen. His voice dropped another octave, his words coming out slow and deliberate, each one sending a fresh wave of heat through you. “Let’s just say,” he began, his tone smooth, teasing, “I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout how much I wanna take my time with you, cher. How much I wanna make up for all the nights we’ve spent apart.” He paused, his gaze intense, his voice softening even further. “I’ve got plans. And I promise y’... you won’t be leavin’ that bed anytime soon.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, your breath catching at his words. The way he said it, the way he looked at you through the screen—it was like he wasn’t just speaking about physical intimacy, but something deeper, something that made your skin tingle and your mind spin with possibilities. It was as if he was telling you that this wasn’t just about passion, but about the connection you’d been building, the intimacy that had grown between you, even from a distance.

You swallowed, your voice coming out a little more breathless than you intended. “You’ve really thought this through, huh?”

His grin softened, though the intensity in his gaze didn’t waver. “Oh, I’ve had plenty of time to think about it,” he said, his voice low and warm. “Every night we’ve talked, every time I’ve heard your voice, I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout what I’d do when I finally got y’ in front of me again. And believe me, cher, I plan on takin’ my time.”

You shivered at his words, your entire body reacting to the promise in them, the way his voice curled around the syllables like a caress. The idea of finally being with him, of feeling his touch, of experiencing all the things he had hinted at during your late-night conversations—it was almost too much to think about.

But it wasn’t just the physical that drew you to him. It was the way he made you feel seen, the way he could shift from playful flirtation to something more serious, more intimate, without missing a beat. It was the way he spoke to you as if you were the only person in the world, the way he made you feel wanted, desired, in a way that went beyond just attraction.

And now, with the promise of seeing him again so close, you could feel that pull between you growing stronger, the anticipation building like a current of electricity that you couldn’t ignore.

You smiled, your voice soft as you replied, “Well… I guess I’ll just have to clear my schedule then.”

Remy chuckled, the sound low and rich, sending another shiver down your spine. “Good,” he murmured, his voice full of affection, though there was still that teasing edge beneath it. “’Cause once I get there, cher, I ain’t lettin’ you go.”

You grinned, your heart full as you curled deeper into your blankets. “I’m counting on it.”

And as you both fell into a comfortable silence, the weight of his words lingering in the air between you, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of warmth, of excitement, mixed with just a hint of nervousness. Because this wasn’t just another phone call, another night of teasing and playful banter. This was real. He was coming to see you. And when he arrived, everything between you would change.

But for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel scared. You felt ready. <><><><>

Remy sat quietly, just watching you. The dim light from your phone screen illuminated your face, casting a soft glow over your features as you lay nestled under the covers. Your eyelids were heavy with sleep, but you were still trying to hold on to the conversation, your voice fading in and out with exhaustion. The day had clearly worn you down, and he could see it in the way your body slowly gave in, sinking deeper into the bed, your breathing becoming slower, more rhythmic.

He should’ve told you to go to sleep, to rest, but selfishly, he didn’t want to end the moment. He wanted to stay here, with you, for just a little longer.

There was something about these late-night (Or early morning for him) calls that always left him feeling unsettled—but not in a bad way. There was something about you that made him feel… different. He wasn’t sure when it had happened, but somewhere along the way, you had become more than just a voice on the other end of the line. You’d become a part of his day, a part of his routine. And, more dangerously, a part of his thoughts.

And that scared him more than anything else.

He sighed softly, his gaze still lingering on you as he reached for his guitar. His fingers found the strings instinctively, the familiar weight of the instrument settling in his lap like it always did.

He began to strum softly, the opening chords filling the quiet space between you. You recognized the song immediately—of course you did. He could see it in the way your face softened, a small, sleepy smile tugging at your lips as your eyes fluttered closed. This was one of your songs, one of those tracks you’d both talked about at length during long, late-night conversations. There was something about it that resonated with both of you, something unspoken and shared.

He hadn’t sung this song in a long time, and now, with you lying there, on the verge of sleep, the meaning behind the lyrics hit him in a way he hadn’t expected.

Because the truth was, he didn’t know how to navigate this. He wasn’t used to caring this much. He wasn’t used to letting someone in, especially someone like you—someone who didn’t fit into the chaos of his world.

You didn’t care about the fame. In fact, you hated it. He knew that about you. You’d talked about it before, how the idea of paparazzi, cameras, and flashing lights made your skin crawl. You were the kind of person who valued your solitude, your quiet life. You loved your little apartment with the garden bed out front, where you grew herbs and flowers, tending to them like they were your own private escape from the world. You’d once joked about the crack in the ceiling that drove you nuts, how you’d planned to fix it yourself, but never got around to it. It had become an inside joke between you, the crack that you swore had "character" and "personality."

You liked your anonymity. You liked being able to walk down the street without anyone noticing you, without anyone caring. You had your own space, your own life, and you cherished it.

And that’s where the problem was.

Remy’s life was the complete opposite. His world was all flashing lights, screaming fans, and relentless attention. There was no hiding, no escaping the cameras or the constant buzz of people wanting something from him. He couldn’t disappear into the background, couldn’t just enjoy a quiet moment in a small apartment without the risk of someone snapping a photo or leaking details to the press. His life wasn’t built for the kind of peace you cherished.

And that terrified him. Because how could he ask you to be a part of that? How could he drag you into the chaos of his world when he knew how much you valued your privacy, your independence? Remy felt the familiar tug in his chest. He knew that his feelings for you had already grown deeper than he’d anticipated. He hadn’t meant for it to happen, but it had. You’d become important to him, in a way that scared him because it made him vulnerable.

He watched you as your breathing slowed, your body sinking deeper into the mattress. You were asleep now, completely relaxed, your face so peaceful, so content. And yet, you still wore that small, faint smile, the one that made his heart ache in ways he couldn’t quite explain.

But that thought—the thought of pulling away, of protecting himself from the heartbreak that could come with letting you in—came with its own set of problems. Because the truth was, he didn’t want to pull back. He didn’t want to protect himself.

He didn’t want to lose this. He didn’t want to lose you.

His fingers moved effortlessly over the strings, but his mind was somewhere else entirely. He thought about all the times you’d joked about your quiet life, about how you loved your little apartment, your garden, your anonymity. And as much as he loved hearing you talk about it, a part of him always felt a pang of guilt. Because if this—whatever this was between you—kept growing, he knew he’d be pulling you into a world that was the opposite of everything you valued.

For a long time, he just sat there, watching you sleep, his thoughts a tangled mess of emotions he wasn’t sure how to handle. He hadn’t planned for this. He hadn’t planned for you. But now, you were here, in his life, and he couldn’t imagine it without you.

But how could he move forward? How could he let himself care about you the way he wanted to, knowing that his life would inevitably pull you into the spotlight, into a world you didn’t want to be a part of? The more he thought about it, the more he realized just how complicated things could become.

Yet, every time he considered pulling back, distancing himself to protect both of you from the chaos and the heartbreak, he hesitated.

Because the truth was, he didn’t want to lose you.

He didn’t know the answer yet. He didn’t know how to make this work, how to bridge the gap between his world and yours. But as he looked at you now, sleeping peacefully with that faint smile still lingering on your lips, one thing was clear: he wasn’t ready to let you go.

And before he could stop himself, he whispered the opening line of the song, barely loud enough for even him to hear

"So lately, been wonderin'... Who will be there to take my place…When I’m gone….You’ll need love….to light the shadows on your face…"

[blakeswritingimagines]

Yandere Gambit With A Shy Darling

As a yandere, he'd be overprotective and obsessive over you. He'd be very jealous and possessive and would do anything to be with you all the time. He'd likely be a huge flirt, even more than usual, and try to get your attention constantly.

Having a shy darling would be quite interesting and entertaining for him. He'd probably find it endearing and would likely try to tease and flirt with you even more to get you to come out of your shell. He'd also feel the need to be extra protective over you and would want to make sure you're always safe and comfortable.

He'd likely try to coax you out of your shyness by gradually increasing your comfort level, while also keeping a healthy dose of sass and humor. He might also use his good looks and charismatic demeanor to make you feel special and desired.

Despite his attempts to tease you, he'd also be surprisingly patient and understanding, knowing that it might take time for you to open up. He'd also be quick to defend you if anyone tried to take advantage of your shyness or make you feel uncomfortable.

In addition, having a shy darling would probably make him want to make extra effort to make you feel comfortable and safe with him. He'd likely try to do small gestures to make you feel special and cared for, like leaving little gifts or notes for you. He'd also probably enjoy having you rely on him and would bask in the feeling of being the one you turn to for comfort and protection.

On the other hand, he might also occasionally find your shyness a bit frustrating. He'd want to be close to you and share everything with you, but your shy nature might make it difficult for him to fully connect with you. He might also feel the need to try and 'break you out of your shell' and may try to force you to come out of your comfort zone a bit.

He'd be very overprotective of his shy darling, going to great lengths to keep you safe and out of harm's way. He'd likely follow you around constantly (even more than usual!), and keep an eye on you. This is especially true if you're a mutant. If you're threatened or in danger, he won't hesitate to step in and defend you.

If others were to tease or be mean to his shy darling, he'd likely go off on them. Being as charismatic and charming as he is, he'd likely defend you with his wit and quick tongue, shutting down a bully with a clever remark or two. But if push comes to shove, he wouldn't hesitate to use his physical strength and skills to defend you.

He'd likely be extra doting and attentive with his shy darling, always checking in on you and trying to anticipate your needs. He'd want to do everything he can to make you happy and comfortable, even if it means sacrificing his own time or energy. He'd likely find himself constantly checking in on you, whether in person or through text, asking how you're doing and if there's anything you need.

He'd also be very touchy-feely with his shy darling, constantly wanting to be in physical contact with you. This could range from holding your hand or putting his arm around your waist to wanting to lean on you or pull you onto his lap. He'd also be very physically affectionate, frequently trying to hug and kiss you.

[atomicfoxx]

Your Honor I love him‼️

[satansdarlin]

Royal flush

Gambit/Remy LeBeau x Fem!Reader

NSFW tags: Oral fem receiving, breeding kink, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it)

Minors DNI

Word count: 3126

Not beta read so excuse any grammar mistakes

Written because of an idea from- @fandomzwriterk 💜

Remy was like a dog caged as he watched his loving partner bouncing Jean and Scott's son on her leg as she chatted to Jean. Why did she have to look so good just doing something like bouncing a baby? He loved her, he really did. But seeing her so close with another family just... irked  him. Jealousy wasn’t a normal thing for him. But (Y/N) just looked so damn happy. He was trying not to watch, but... he couldn’t stop himself. He leaned against the wall and just... watched her. It wasn't like he was jealous of Scott or Jean for spending time with her. No, in fact it was a far different reason. He was jealous because.. it should be him and (Y/N) doing that with a kid. Gah, he was getting worked up just imagining it. Imagining her all big and pregnant with his kid, her glowing that special way only pregnant women did. Holding their kid, being a perfect mom. He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts as he continued to stare.

She glanced up feeling his stare and gave him a soft smile. He was surprised that she caught him staring. He was usually better at going unnoticed. He returned her smile, albeit a bit sheepishly. Damn, he felt a bit like a middle schooler, being caught staring at his crush. He didn't need to feel sheepish he internally reminded himself they had been together for so long and his ring was decorating her finger now. Kids wasn't something they had talked about yet both anxious about the idea of having children. Being mutants and still having to fight back against the anti-mutant campaign was hard enough imagining having a little bundle of joy that was also a mutant? Terrifying. But... the thought was intoxicating. Just imagining her belly swollen with their kid. Merde, he was getting worked up by this whole chain of thought. He couldn’t help but imagine her being all motherly, holding a baby, breastfeeding. His baby. He shook his head again, trying to clear his thoughts.

She passed the baby back to Jean and made her way over to her husband.  "You've been starin pretty hard" she spoke in a teasing tone. He couldn’t resist returning the teasing tone. 

“Well, can you blame me, baby?” He eyed her up and down again, almost salivating. “You’re lookin’ pretty damn good tonight.”

She glanced down at herself in slight confusion. She was just wearing one of his older shirts and some jeans. A completely casual attire.  "You're just easily impressed, hun”

He laughed. “You’re wearing my shirt. You know how much I like seein’ you in my shirt.” He reached out, grabbing her hips and pulling her close against him. “Besides, even if you were wearin’ a potato sack, you’d still look damn good.”

She snorted a bit and kissed his cheek not minding how his scruff scratched a her lips.  "You're actin off baby. Somethin up?”

He let out a hum, pulling her in closer so she was against his chest and he could wrap his arms around her. “Just watchin’ you with the kid got me a bit worked up.” Understatement, he thought.

She looked up at him with a sense of understanding.  "Yeah? Kids huh?" She didn't sound judgemental or opposed but rather curious. 

He leaned down, resting his forehead against hers. “Yeah. They ain’t ever really been a though in my mind. But…” Damn it, he was going to have to say it out loud. “Watchin’ you with that kid… I couldn’t help but imagine you with our kid. Bein’ all… motherly. I like how you looked.”

She hummed softly at this her eyes scanning over his black and red ones. "Well i think it's only natural. We been married for a while now." She spoke gently 

He nodded, unable to deny it. “We’ve been together for a while… and yet… a baby’s never been a thought in our minds, not really. I mean, are we really prepared to be parents?” He was being honest, despite how excited he was to see the sight of his wife with a baby in her arms.

"Well.. we could start preparing if you are wanting to take that step" she gently ran her hands over his shoulders. 

His heart skipped a beat. Here she was, not outright refusing the idea, but actually considering it and preparing to talk about it. “Are you wanting this?” He had to make sure, had to make sure she didn’t just agree because it made him happy.

"Baby I've been thinkin we would have adorable kids the moment we met" she giggled softly

He chuckled, pulling her flush against him. “Damn right they’d be adorable.” He leaned down, kissing right below her ear. “Can you imagine it? Little brats runnin’ around, wreakin’ havoc?”

She hummed softly. "Oh it'd be terrible" she teased as she felt one of his hands press against her stomach absent mindedly.

He let his hand roam, imagining the flat stomach swelling with pregnancy. “You know they’d take after you. Get your cute little nose and eyes.”

"Bet they'd get your hair." She hummed running her hand through his hair to emphasize her point. 

He chuckled, enjoying the feel of her fingers running through his hair. “They’d get your temper, too. I’d almost feel bad for ‘em.” He teased her.

She rolled her eyes and her gaze trailed over her lover. "Wanna get out of here?" She spoke in a hushed tone with a quirk of her lips into a smirk

He chuckled, already knowing what she had in mind. “Thought you’d never ask.” He pressed his hips against hers, already feeling himself getting aroused by just being this close to her.

That's how they ended up back in their shared home. Clothes decorating the floor from the front door to their bedroom. The bed creaking and headboard being muffled by the pillow stuffed behind it. She was clawing at his hair as he held his post between her legs lapping at her like a starved man.

He was damn near worshiping her, holding her tight and not letting her get away. “God, sweetheart, you taste so good,” he groaned, lapping at her like she was the source of his life essence.

She was whimpering and mewling as she fisted the sheets like they were a life line. She gripped onto his hair with her other hand gently tugging as he drug his tongue across her sensitive flesh. 

He was absolutely loving the sounds she was making. He knew exactly how sensitive she was, and he knew every single trick of his tongue to drive her crazy with pleasure. He was taking his time with her, enjoying every single second, savoring how good she felt and tasted.

She gasped out, her back arching like a cat as he pushed two fingers into her. He curled his fingers inside of her, knowing exactly how to draw out that pleasure and drive her absolutely wild. “You like that, sweetheart?” He teased her, his breathing a bit labored from his own aroused state.

She nodded desperately. "Yes rem love it feels so good" she whined out in that breathy needy tone he loved to hear her speak in. A tone reserved for his ears only. 

Damn, he loved how desperate she was. How needy she was. She was his, and his alone, and he’d make sure she knew that. “I’ll make ya feel so good, baby,” he murmured, latching his lips around the sensitive flesh and sucking.

Both hands went to the sheets clawing at the silk fabrics and the plush mattress underneath. 

He groaned against her, the sounds she was making and how desperate she was getting was driving him wild. He wanted to taste every inch of her, touch every single spot that would make her cry out with pleasure. He was completely intoxicated by her, like a drug he couldn’t get enough of.

The feeling of his vibrations against her made her mewl out loudly. "fuck!" Her words sent a jolt of satisfaction through him, making him smirk against her flesh. 

“That’s it… let me hear how good I make you feel, baby.” He curled his fingers again, knowing exactly how to draw out more desperate mewls from her.

She gasped out her hips pushing up against his arm holding them down. "Close" she squeaked out in a desperate mewl.

He could feel her getting closer, could feel her getting tighter and tighter around his fingers. He wanted to bring her over the edge, wanted to hear her come completely undone with ecstasy. “Come on, baby.” He pressed down on her hip harder, still relentlessly working her towards that sweet release. “Come for me,” he murmured against her, using every trick he knew to send her careening over the edge. “I wanna hear how good you feel.”

She cried out and her muscles contracted as she came undone. Her back bucked, her entire body trembling and twitching with the intensity of her orgasm. She was completely and utterly helpless under his touch. “R-remy….!”

He groaned against her as her body trembled and shook with pleasure. He wasn’t finished yet, though. He wanted to wring out every single bit of ecstasy from her that he could. “That’s it, sweetheart, let me make you feel good,” he murmured, his fingers working her through her orgasm and overstimulating her.

Her hands, shaking from the force of her orgasm, gripped his hair pulling him away letting out a breathy chuckle hearing him whine. "Baby I'd rather get on to the main course”

He groaned as he felt her grip his hair, preventing him from continuing his ministrations. When he heard her chuckling, he let out a whine, still wanting to taste her and bring her to climax once more. But hearing her wanting the main course stirred his excitement. “You sure you don’t want another?” He smirked, his usual overconfidence on display.

"This time I wanna finish around something bigger than your fingers" she wiped his face for him wiping off the left over arousal from her. He hummed, letting his tongue run over his lips to taste her again. 

“Such an impatient wife,” he teased her, wiping his chin on the back of his hand. “You want me that badly?” He asked, already knowing exactly what her answer would be.

"You know I do, baby." She inched her legs up over his hips. Now that wouldn't do. If he wanted to properly breed her those thighs needed to be up on his shoulders.

He chuckled, moving forward and pushing her thighs up until they were resting on his shoulders, allowing him to press even closer. “Naughty thing.” He teased her, pressing his hips against hers and letting her feel how hard he was for her. “You’re pretty much begging for it now.”

"Don't make me beg baby. I just want to make you daddy" she purred up at him. She knew damn well how weak that made him. He absolutely loved hearing her call him that, and she knew exactly how to use it to her advantage. His heart was pounding in his chest, his brain already filled with the image of her with a baby in her arms, calling him daddy. 

“Jesus Christ,” he groaned, his grip on her thighs tightening. He leaned back, resting on his knees and keeping her legs up on his shoulders.  “You really want a baby that much, huh?” He asked, taking in how she looked underneath him, just at his mercy. 

"I want your baby, remy" she gazed up at him. 

Hearing her say that shot a wave of intense possessiveness through him. “You want my baby?” He repeated back to her, almost like he was processing the words himself. “You’re gonna be the death of me, sweetheart.” He ran his hands up to her hips, holding her in his tight grip. He pushed the tip of him into her, teasing her a bit but it was hell to not just immediately slam in. He teased them both by just barely pushing the tip inside, driving himself absolutely insane. “God, you feel so good, sweetheart,” he groaned, his eyes locked on her face as he teased her. “You want it all, don’t you?”

"Yes, baby. Please give it to me remy" she whined softly already too desperate to play their usual game of cat and mouse. 

He couldn’t resist listening to her desperate whines and pleading. “Anything you want, baby.” He leaned down, pressing as deep inside of her as he could. “You gotta tell me if this gets uncomfortable,” he told her, wanting to keep her completely comfortable and safe.

"Shut up and fill me up, Mon cher" she hissed back already too impatient to be waiting any longer.  He chuckled at her impatience, but he wasn’t going to torture either of them any longer.

 “Alright, I’ll shut up and give you exactly what you want, sweetheart.” He pulled back slowly, only to snap his hips forward and fill her completely.

 They quickly dissolved into a panting mess as the bed shook with every thrust. He was glad they had moved out of their old apartment cause they would definitely gotten a noise complaint. He was mumbling French curses between English praises, his cajun accent dripping off his tongue like it was honey. The sounds of the bed creaking, the sound of his voice cursing, and the sound of her moans filled his ears. He was absolutely drunk off of her, completely intoxicated by how she felt and how she sounded. The French slipped out before he could even realize it, his usual filter completely off. She was absolutely living for it. She loved when he would talk dirty to her in his accent and that doubled down when he spit out French like it was nothing. 

Every single time he cursed in French, her reaction would drive his excitement higher and higher. “Vous sentez si bien, mon amour,” he panted to her, pressing even deeper inside of her with every thrust. “You’re mine, sweetheart. All mine.”

"Yours" she mewled back as his tip kissed her womb with every thrust. She was clawing at the sheets like a cat in heat crying out like one too. 

He could already feel his thrusts getting a bit sloppy and desperate, his hands gripping her hips so tight he was going to leave bruises. “That’s it baby,” he growled out, losing himself more and more with every minute. “God, you don’t know how good you feel.”

She was mind dumb as what felt like her third maybe fourth orgasm rippled through her. Just like he liked her. Her climax made him shiver, feeling her walls tighten around him and send waves of ecstasy through him. “You look so beautiful when you cum for me, baby,” he groaned out, his hips still bucking against hers. “You’re gonna make me cum too if you’re not careful,” he tried to tease her, but his voice came out as a desperate, strained whisper. 

"Give it to me" she spoke through slurred words filled with pleasure and mewls. "Make me a mama" 

“God, you’re driving me crazy, sweetheart.” His words came out in a breathless hiss, trying his best to hold himself back from falling over that edge. “Beg for it.” He was cocky, he loved to hear her beg for him like that. He wanted to hear how desperate she was.

"Please remy need it! Wanna be swollen with you! Want your baby" she whined out between moans and biting her lip as her eyes rolled up into the back of her skull.

“Damn near gonna be on my knees with hearing you like that,” he groaned, giving into her words. “God, you want me to fill you up?” He knew the answer already, but he couldn’t resist asking. He wanted to hear her say it.

"Yes yes yes,” the mantra fell from her lips like a depraved woman. She practically was. The idea of her handsome husband filling her up till there was no other way she couldn't be pregnant was appealing.

He was far from being able to hold back any longer. Her words were pushing him faster and faster to the edge, driving him more and more wild. “You’re gonna have it, baby,” he panted out. “Gonna make you a mama.”

His hips snapped into hers with a force he didn't even know he was capable of. His grip on her thighs was tight enough he knew there'd be bruises later. He was desperate, completely lost in how she felt, how she sounded, how she looked underneath him with his hands holding her down. The thought of the possessive marks he was leaving on her skin only fueled his need for more. “Christ, sweetheart, I’m gonna-” he started to warn her.

She mewled out as she felt him jerk forward spurts filling her up completely even spilling out onto the sheets below them. 

He gave a guttural moan as his orgasm hit him like a freight train. “Oh God,” he panted as his hips gave little, shallow thrusts with each pulse of pleasure. “Fill you up so good,” he groaned. 

He collapsed against her, letting go of her thighs and wrapping his arms around her. He was panting against her chest, trying his best to catch his breath from how hard he had just come. “You’re going to drive me into early cardio arrest,” he chuckled weakly.

She was coming down from it herself panting as she patted his sweaty shoulder. "Love you too babe”

He chuckled, pressing a kiss between her breasts. “Love you more,” he mumbled against her skin, his brain still a little sluggish as he recovered his brain power.

When he rolled off of her finally and she cuddled up into his side not even bothering to change the sheets yet both of their legs feeling like jelly. He pulled her close against his chest, wrapping his arms around her and resting his chin against her forehead. He was completely and utterly satiated at the moment, already feeling the fatigue of exertion setting in and his eyelids growing heavy.

"Think it will take?" She hummed tiredly back at him.

“It better,” he chuckled, already knowing damn well that it would work. He ran his fingers through her hair, still damp with sweat. “If you’re not pregnant after this, you’ll break my heart.”

"We will just keep trying won't we then?" She teased back.

“Damn right we will,” he said, already planning out how soon he could go again without collapsing. “Keep trying until you’re round and swollen with my baby, sweetheart.”

[cringe-but-proud]

Can I request headcanons for Kurt, Remy, Logan, and Wade finding out that his gn s/o has never dated anyone else before him please?

X-Men requests YAYYYYY YAY YAY YAY YAY!!!!!!!! 🤸🏃🤸🏃🤸🏃🤸🏃🤸🏃

Wade, Logan, Remy, and Kurt with a s/o who hasn’t dated anyone other than them!! <3

Warnings!: cursing ig, reader is referred to as pretty (I consider that gender neutral, but wanted to put it here just in case), and that’s it!

A/n: Want them all ngl 😞 If it wasn’t already clear, I’m delighted to have my first X-Men request. And I also really like this prompt (definitely not because I can relate to it. Haha, shut up). Also, requests: OPEN 💜

Wade:

He straight up thinks you’re lying when you first tell him. He even laughs because he’s convinced you’re just messing with him.

But, then he realizes you’re not laughing and he’s like “Oh, shit. Really?”

He’ll apologize for laughing and probably say some shit like “Sorry, I just didn’t realize a smoke show like you was capable of being single”

And he means it. He was fully under the impression that you’d been on more than a few dates because you’re HOT

Definitely teases you about it. “Is that why your hands were so sweaty on our first date?”

Don’t be afraid to (playfully) smack him.

Despite all of the teasing, he makes sure to let you know that it doesn’t bother him. In fact, he thinks it’s cute

He’ll say that you’re “new to dating” even if the two of you have been dating for years

Starts calling you a rookie. And he ends up saying it so much that it just becomes one of the many pet names he has for you

And, yeah. When you’re not around he’s probably giggling and kicking his feet over how he’s your first boyfriend 🤭

Logan:

When you first tell him, he just looks at you for a second, not saying anything before going “You’re serious?”

“And you decided I’d be a good first pick?” He says it like he’s teasing, but, in reality, it does confuse him a bit.

Like, wouldn’t you want someone sweet and kind for your first relationship? Not a grumpy, old guy with knife hands???

Nonetheless, he’s grateful (and even honored) to be given the title of your first boyfriend

He doesn’t make a huge deal out of it. He’ll occasionally bring it up, maybe ask a question or two about it. But, it doesn’t really change anything about your relationship.

Or, at least, that’s what you think for a while.

One night, he returns from a long mission and he crawls into bed next to you, and you think he’s just gonna immediately go to sleep like he does every time he comes back from a mission. But, then he mumbles something.

“I wish I’d had someone like you as my first.”

And before you can even process it, he’s asleep.

You ask him about it in the morning and he says he doesn’t remember saying it. You can decide whether or not you think he’s lying.

Remy:

You tell him that you want to tell him something, and he can tell you’re nervous about it.

“What’s got you so nervous, chère? You know Gambit don’t judge nobody. ‘Specially not you.”

And you confess to him that you’ve never dated anyone and he’s like. “Oh. That’s it?”

He doesn’t mean to sound apathetic. He was just expecting something bad.

He asks you to clarify what you mean by “not dating anyone before him” because he thinks he somehow misunderstood you

“You telling me no one ever tried to get with a pretty thing like you?” And then he smirks. “Or were you just ignorin’ all of ‘em till Gambit came round?”

He also teases you about it from time to time. Makes little comments about how he’s your first.

But, it’s just because he loves it.

He often thinks about how he’s the only guy who’s gotten to take you on dates and do all this romantic stuff with you

“Don’t no one else know what they missing out on….”

Kurt:

He doesn’t even try to hide his surprise. He can’t.

“I’m really your first? But, how? You are so beautiful!” He’s just upfront with why he thinks it’s absurd.

He needs to hear it a few more times before he finally accepts it. And that’s when he starts getting giddy.

“I am your first lover?” He grins. “I like that, I think.”

And now everyone has to know. Sorry.

He will gladly go around and tell people that he’s your “first love” (as he likes to say). Is it usually embarrassing for you? Yes. But, it’s Kurt. So, it’s okay.

So, yeah. You definitely don’t have to worry about whether or not he minds it.

Of course, now he has to ask a bunch of questions about it too.

“So, was the first date you’ve ever had with me?” If you say yes, he smiles before asking. “Was it good?” Like he doesn’t already know the answer.

He’s just over the moon that he was the first person that you really fell in love with. And he wants you and everyone around you to know how happy he is with you.

[rebelliousstories]

Can I request suggestive headcanons for Remy, Logan, Wade, and poly Logan & Wade reacting to his shy gn s/o immediately covering their eyes while apologising profusely because they accidentally saw him half-naked because he was changing clothes please?

Walking in on Their S/O Changing…

Fandom: X-Men

Request: Yes by Anon

Warnings: Suggestive themes, Brief Strong Language, Fluff

Word Count: 1,043

Main Masterlist: Here

X-Men Masterlist: Here

Logan Howlett/ The Wolverine

* Okay, so keep in mind that this man has been alive for more than 200 years. He’s seen a lot. He’s done a lot. There is not much else that can surprise him in terms of learning new things

* However… You can still surprise him

* I completely see him as a man that would just casually steamroll past the fact that you were only in your undergarments. He’s not phased, nor does he care.

* Logan will definitely take the time to ogle if he gets the chance, but he’s aware there is a time and place for that.

* “Hey, we were out of beer so I took the truck to go get some… oh shit.” And with that, he was speechless. Logan’s eyes would trail up and down your figure, even though part of it was obscured by the tshirt that was pressed against your body

* Silently, he would stalk closer and closer to you, never once taking his eyes off of you. His hands would gently pull the shirt away so he could get a better look. Feather light touches would cascade themselves down your arms, and chest; all the while his eyes would drink it up

* Picking you up, he walked over to the bed while holding you and pressing his nose into the crook of your neck

* “What about the beer?”

* “Forget the beer.”

Wade Wilson/Deadpool

* Oh, the beloved merc with the mouth. How do I say this gently? He will both make you love and hate him walking on you. It all started because he had gotten you a new suit that he wanted you to wear.

* Wade had begged and begged you to wear it, but there was no appropriate timing to do so. It had gotten to the point that he had accepted that you weren’t going to wear it. But when you finally had been worn down enough, he got super giddy at the prospect of you wearing it. But you had taken too long in his mind which prompted him to take matters into his own hands.

* “What’s taking you so long, angel cakes? Oh, hello.”

* “Wade! Get out!”

* Throwing things does not deter this man, oh no, my friend. For when he gets a glimpse of you, half undressed with the suit on the bed, he’s gonna need his special sock. Wade is frozen in a state of bliss and was unable to move himself. Not until you forcibly pushed him out, and shut the door on him. When you had finally put the suit on and came out to show him, he was still unable to form complete sentences or even words at you.

* Safe to say, you had finally silenced “the mouth”

Remy LeBeau/Gambit

* Ah, Le Diable Blanc. See, I know, you want me to come on here and talk about how big of a flirt Remy is. But no! That boy is a southerner, and southern men are raised to be gentlemen. I truly, in my heart of hearts believe, that if Remy caught you changing, he would blush and book it out of there.

* Hear me out! Just, imagine it, okay…

* It’s late and Remy hasn’t come home from his night out playing cards. The hour was nearing one in the morning, when you finally decide to call it a night, but you’re unable to fall asleep quite yet. Fearing that you’ll have to spend another night watching horrible late night reruns in the motel, you began changing into one of his tshirts to sleep in when you heard the door open. Struggling to get the shirt over your head to have some sort of coverage, you weren’t quite fast enough.

* “Ooh, I tell you cher, it was a goo- oh lord have mercy.”

* And like that, the door was shut again. Maybe you let out a squeak, maybe a gasp. But either way, your ragin’ Cajun was outside the room, breathing heavily and holding it shut. After a few minutes, he pressed his ear to the door to hear inside.

* “Cher, you dressed yet?”

* “Yeah. You can come in.”

* When he does, you’re already under the covers with the remote to the tv next to you, looking at the door. Gambit just grabbed his change of clothes that didn’t smell like sweat, alcohol, and smoke, and went to change in the bathroom. When he came out, he assumed his place with you in bed. On his back with you tucked into his side.

* Although, the only mention he ever gave, was a whisper of, “You look real pretty under all that, cher. Like an angel sent straight to save ol’ Gambit.”

Poly! Wolverine and Deadpool

* Prepare for trouble and make it double! Two lovers with a regenerative healing factor that makes snarky comments? Sign me up!

* This is definitely happening after a morning food run. You’re living with them, and Mary Puppins, and Blind Al, and Wade decided that today was the day for donuts and good coffee. Logan was thoughtful enough to leave a note on his side of the bed stating where they were going and that they would be back.

* This left you and the dog to get ready for the day by yourselves. After a lengthy shower that you didn’t have to share, you had made your way into the room to get some fashion advice from the sweet little pupper.

* “Okay girl. Do we go with the yellow dress, or the red dress today?”

* There was a noise, and two men bumbled into the room.

* “Avert your eyes, sweet summer child. But you should just forgo the dress. And the under garments while you’re at it.”

* “Can you go five minutes without something becoming sexual?”

* Wade gave an mhm while shaking his head, and turned back to his partner. Logan had to do a double take at your state, but there was appreciation in his eyes.

* “Can you two give us girls some privacy?”

* Logan had to drag his counter part out of there even though he managed to break free from the mutant’s hold on a number of occasions. As he left, the Wolverine sent an affirmative grunt and nod towards the red dress in your hands.

[missglaskin]

Yandere Scott Summers, Remy Lebeau, Logan Howlett Headcanons (Romantic/Separate)

For Scott, there is an awareness in everything he does. He knows his strong feelings for you are not "normal," and at first he tried to deny them. Scott even pushed you away, leaving you wondering if you had done anything wrong.  Little did you know that this was just his way of shielding you from him. 

At a certain moment, Scott realized he had to face the truth—he desired you; he could no longer just ignore you. Initially, there was that air of coldness, as if he were to disappear from a room upon your entering, and his replies were as brief. But, you were blind to the fact that his eyes were always on you—an advantage for his visor/glasses — you had no way of knowing how intensely he stared.

You don't realize how you're getting drawn into small talks with Scott. Sometimes it happens you run into him at breakfast time or when you happen to cross paths in the hallways, he greets and asks about your day. There is an air of awkwardness but you just ignore it; finding it endearing how he's making an effort to get to know you better.

When the initial awkwardness fades, Scott can be quite charming. When a joke of his makes you chuckle, Scott wanted nothing more than to record it and listen to it on repeat. His approaches become more bold, handing you a cup of coffee not missing how your fingers touched, or informing details of a mission. Scott may even make a flirtatious comment and seeing your flustered response, he smiles to himself. 

Jealousy or protectiveness are the two things that can put Scott in a situation where he could expose his tendencies. Despite his training in handling stressful situations and his role as the Xmen's leader, his impulsivity never left him.

You may or may not notice Scott's glare when someone interrupts your conversations. Or how he observes from a distance while you're speaking with someone, clenching his fists, thinking about what could possibly make you laugh that hard or why you feel the need to be so close. It should come as no surprise when you feel uncomfortable or if there is a disagreement that Scott is the first to intervene, standing between you and the said person.

His protectiveness shows when the two of you are on a mission. At first, he believed you could take care of yourself, but has seen how you distract him, taking him away from the task at hand as he rushes to your rescue. You have begun to notice how Scott is giving you fewer missions, making up all sorts of excuses. If you keep pressing him, he'll raise his voice confessing he can't afford to lose you. 

Scott will eventually confess, aware he can't hide his feelings any longer. You must have noticed his intense jealousy, his fear of losing you, and the sometimes confessions of how much you mean to him. Regardless of all those slip-ups, you convince yourself Scott is the good guy; he just has too much on his plate, or so as everyone tells you.

Remy has always known he had feelings for you from the very beginning, but he never imagined those feelings would grow to be as strong as they are now. There was more confusion than there was denial. Even so, with Remy, you had no way of knowing the difference as he gives you his usual charming smile and quips.

Remy happily adapts the role of your 'friend' at first. Finding any excuse to spend time with you, but he never comes across as desperate. Getting up in the morning and heading to the kitchen, Remy already has breakfast and coffee ready just the way you like it. Or when the team plays sports together and he walks over to your side, showing off by purposefully taking off his shirt.

Remy is more jealous than you think. He tries to keep his cool, but you don't notice the quick glare he gives to those who take away your attention - he quickly turns his head the other way to ensure you saw nothing. He'll remark on how close you seem, teasingly asking with a forced smile if you've replaced him.

Still, Remy is more lenient than most; he doesn't consider trapping you in one place. The last thing he wants is for you to look at him with such fear or hatred. He lets you reside in the xmen, and make as many friends and allies, jealousy still stings but is it really that bad to see you happy as long as nothing 'happens'.

With Remy, expect his flirtatious nature to never go away. He always has an incentive to touch you in some way. Whether it's tucking something in place, or placing his hand on your shoulder to catch your attention or on your back to guide you. Every time, he gets bolder, daring you to reject him.

Remy is not all about keeping his feelings hidden; you may never learn the truth of his 'nature', but he lets it be known that he desires you. Remy stays close to you during missions, and if you ask him why, he'll simply respond that he's only watching out for you. Catch him staring and tease him on it, and he'll tease you back, replying he was staring at your gorgeous self. You could even ask of his feelings and he'll come clean.

As said, Remy will eventually make a move, make his feelings known, even if he anticipates being rejected. However, Remy knows that all those moments spent winning you over have done something. Making you warm up to him, allowing him to comfort you during your lowest moments, making you share your deepest secrets. It will all work in his favor.

A life with Remy seems normal to most. Remy the ever most devoted and affectionate, attuned to your every want and need, others look at the two of you with envy. It's just the thoughts in his head, the actions done behind your back, the doubt he whispers in your ear, the strings he pulls would be enough to frighten anyone. But with that charming smile of his, the eyes watching you with fondness, arms wrapped around you as he presses soft kisses on your skin, how could you ever know.

Note- a little nsfw in Logan part, but it's implied

For a man who has lived as long as Logan did, he had countless lovers and night affairs. So his feelings for you were not a surprise. But his intense attachment; the need to be near you at all times left him wondering just how much he really felt for you. 

Logan always watched you from the corner of his eye; years of experience have taught him to go undetected by most. And if he wasn't with you, he's become familiar with your scent, easily focusing on the trace of it. He has made a comment or two teasingly asking if you brought a new fragrance, but you brush it off as Logan being his typical self. 

Mutant or not, Logan is protective of you, as said he watches out for you like a hawk. Even if you're powerful, he still insists on shielding you nonetheless. Besides what are the chances of you overpowering him in the first place. He simply thinks if you were to ever discover his true nature and decide to escape; he'll simply hunt you down and bring you back. 

Despite what most may believe; Logan does not want to cage you. In his eyes, everything is good as long as he stays in the same place. He will give you the impression that you are free to do whatever you wish. There are however moments when Logan's possessiveness and jealousy overcome, he has no qualms in threatening or even unleashing his claws to ensure the person gets the message.

Logan knows out of all people he doesn't seem like the easiest person to approach, he tries to be as "nice" as he can be to get you to warm up to him. There was an instance when you were thirsty/in need of a midnight snack, and you found him in the kitchens. He'll try to begin a conversation, even offer you to sit down. As you warm up to him, you don't notice how he's staring intently at your thighs; visible cause of your pajama shorts. 

Expect Logan to always be there in any mission you go on; Charles merely raises a brow when he demands it, but complies for the time being. He will just shrug if you remark on how the two of you always seem to be paired up. God forbid you sustain any injuries on the missions. Logan will see red, whether it's a sentinel or a person; they are facing his fury.

After he comes back to his senses, Logan will pick you up even when you insist you're fine. Bringing you to the medical bay himself. Standing outside as he informs Hank not to let you know he has been there all day. Moments like these make him question whether you are cut out for this kind of life and that perhaps it's possible to steal you away from others. 

Logan makes a concerted effort to resist at times, but his ugly side is revealed not only by jealousy but in fighting the urge to touch you. Sometimes he gives in to temptation and you feel his fingers caress your check. If you don't resist, he'll bury his face in your neck, letting his lips touch the skin. You will find his hands reaching to take off your clothes, desperate to have you there and then.

[dinogoofymutated]

Hey not sure if your currently taking requests but I just wanted to I soooooo stoked that you write for Remy! I've been starved for years cuz there's like no fan fics for him😭.

anyway I was wondering if you could do like a fic or headcannon where gambit somehow got hurt on a mission and is on bed rest but is also like really horny because you wont have sex with his since hes hurt.

If not that's fine I just thought it up and thought it would be hilarious 😂. Anyway luv your work, keep it up😘

NSFW!Gambit/AFAB!Reader

MMMMMHHHMMMMMM BESTIE UR MIND. ABSOLUTE GENIUS. I hope that you don't mind I did make it NSFW there at the end but the majority is just teasing our favorite gambler. Also, This is for the folks who were also really attracted to that one scene in criminal minds with the bulletproof vest. iykyk.

TWs: teasing, sexual innuendos, explicit smut, Handjobs, Mutual masturbation, PNV sex. Raw sex. (Wrap it bf you tap it yall) Creampie. Reader written with Fem! pronouns.

"Asolutetly not." You're quick to say it. Gambit pouts as the words leave your mouth, still on the infirmary bed with all the wires and doodads still hooked up to him. He's giving you those scoundrel puppy eyes that he knows you usually give in to, but you're not willing to budge this time.

"No, Remy. I will not be-" You take a quick glance around the room, leaning in a little closer as you begin to whisper-yell at him. "-I will not be having sex with you right now!" Remy sighs in a pitiful way leaning against the headboard in your direction. You can’t begin to look him in the eyes right now, instead lightly pushing his face away from your spot, sitting close to his bed on a chair that you had moved from the corner. His pout turns into an amused smile, as he instead takes your hand in his own, moving it down to press a kiss to your palm. You try not to blush at him. You’re supposed to be standing strong, dammit! 

  "Come on, Chère. S' not like it's gonna make Gambit hurt any worse-” You cut him off by lightly slapping his abdomen. Remy immediately flinches, curling in on himself with a pained groan. You feel a little guilty afterward, flattening your palm to rub the area soothingly.

    “Yes, it would. Remy, I could seriously hurt you. You heard beast, any vigorous activity could rip your stitches.” You say, moving to where you can sit on the bed, facing him. You cup the side of his face, gently moving stray locks out of the way. He rolls his eyes, not at you, but at the memory of the talking-to he got when he had woken up in the infirmary. 

    “Never stopped me before. Since I been with the X-men it’s like everythin’ become a big deal. So what if I rip a few stitches here an’ there?” Remy grumbles. You give him a stern look, before leaning in to kiss his temple. He melts into your touch.

    “It is a big deal, Remy. You need to heal. End of discussion.” You say gently. Remy thinks on it for a moment, before giving you a slight smirk. 

    “And by “end of discussion” you really mean “Until Gambit tempts me into bed”, Right?” He says. You roll your eyes at him before standing. If that’s the attitude he’s going into these next weeks with, you know for a fact he’s going to be insufferable.

    You were right. The incoming weeks were almost as much torture to you as they most definitely were to him. Wherever you went in the mansion, Gambit was sure to follow. He’d be in the kitchen while you would be cooking, unable to help due to doctor's orders, but no one ever said that he had to stay out of the kitchen. He’s come up behind you, snaking his arms around your hips as he’d “Give you pointers”. He’d lean close and whisper in your ear, sometimes giving it a nip or two. But one thing about Gambit is that every time you turned him away, or laughed at him and told him to sit down, he’d get pouty. 

    That was a trend that continued. He’d deliberately go out of his way to tease you, on movie night, in the library, in the showers even. And every time, despite how hot under the collar you might have been, you turned him away. The more bothered you seemed to be however, his pouts turned into smirks. Eventually, you got fed up with it. You were trying to be a good girlfriend and make sure Remy didn’t hurt himself, but if he was going to be a brat about it, you could be a brat too.

    You started off a little more subtly than Remy did. Lingering touches here and there, kissing him just long enough to leave him wanting. You’d wear just a tad less clothing around him, or wear slightly lower-cut tops. You were beginning to realize just how easy it was to get him riled up.

    One particular day, the tension was thick in the air, having coalesced into something barely breathable. Remy was lying back on the bed on his elbows as you redressed his wound, making sure to spread ointment onto the healing stitches and care for the skin. You frequently found yourself drawn to the sight of his lower abs, the large bruise having begun to yellow as it healed. Maybe it was the fact that you hadn't seen his skin in a while, but the sight of him had you breathing a little funny. Remy was also a little quieter than normal, unable to look away from your gentle hands as you took care of him.

    Once you finished, you lingered by his side, a hand pressed against his chest. You look up to find him already watching you, but neither of you says anything. You purse your lips, debating on whether or not you’re doing what you think you’re about to do. Remy tilts his head at you questioningly. He opens his mouth to speak but fails to do so as your hand trails down to his waistband. He takes a shocked breath through his nose, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment before he’s looking at you again through a lustful haze. 

    “Thought you said-”

    “Shut up.” You sigh, cutting him off. Remy smirks at you, biting his lip. You roll your eyes, caressing the crotch of his pants a few times before you begin to slip them off of him.

    “Don’t get too excited.” You whisper, but really it sounds more like a needy sigh. “Just a handy, okay?” Gambit huffs a laugh at you, but doesn’t tease. He's practically bucking his hips into your hand when you finally take hold of his cock, stroking him to hardness. You can’t seem to look away from the sight, watching as his abdomen clenches with every stroke from base to tip. You twist your hand on the upstroke, listening as Remy lets out a curse and a sudden moan just as you thumb his head, collecting his abundant precum as you use it to stroke back down again. 

    “You’re really pent up, huh?” You ask in a heated whisper. Remy’s head is tilted back in pleasure, and he huffs in amusement as he cracks an eye open at you. His hand slides up your thigh, Your legs being pressed against each other tightly to find some friction. You gasp as he suddenly slides two of his fingers up the inside seam of your pants, and you can practically feel yourself get wetter at the touch. 

    “Looks like I’m not the only one.” Remy hums. You can’t seem to pull away from him as he continues to stroke you. The air is hardly breathable, and the burning in your chest and your core starts to become too hot to ignore. 

    “Fuck it.” You say. Remy is confused when you let go of him, only to break into a wide smile when he realizes you were beginning to strip. The shirt is first to go, before your bra, and then your jeans and underwear. Remy wolf-whistles at the sight, and you wave him off, embarrassed. 

    “Couldn’t stay away from the temptation of Remy LeBeau, Now could you Chère?” Remy muses. He’s such a goof. You try to hide your smile as you carefully straddle his legs, making sure to avoid his sore spots. One of his hands holds onto your upper thigh, the other making its way to your center. He strokes you languidly with his fingers before circling your slit and pushing two inside. You suck in a breath, careful to set your hands on his shoulders without putting any weight onto them. 

    “Looks like this pretty pussy missed me as much as I missed you,” Remy says breathlessly. His eyes flicker from your cunt up to your bare breasts, and then to your flushed face. You feel like you’re falling apart too quickly, already climbing that high as he fingers you with those hands you love so much.

    “Remy,” You call for him breathlessly. “ m’ not gonna last too long.” Remy can't help himself any longer, and pulls you closer to catch you in a passionate kiss. He drags his teeth across your bottom lip, letting go of the plush skin. He doesn't withdraw his fingers until your thighs begin to shake and you start to clench down on him. You whine as he does so, barely holding your composure. Remy takes your hand off of his cock, pressing a kiss to your knuckles before gently dragging your hips further into his lap. Your mind is hazy, but you know to be careful as he lines himself up.

    “If we're going to do this, we're taking it my speed, okay?” You say. Remy nods, barely taking in the information. He was ready to be inside you. After weeks of nothing- all he could think about was you. Your giggles, your smiles. Your body. The way you taste on his tongue. The feeling of your thighs clenching around his head.  Remy would do anything you asked of him at this moment.

    You take it slow as you lower yourself down on his cock. The stretch of him feels delicious against your inner walls. Remy leans in, kissing and sucking on your breasts as you take your time. He bottoms out with a wet sound, his hands resting against your upper thighs.

    Remy curses as you begin to move, bouncing on his cock somewhat slowly. Even in the haze of your lust, you're worried about hurting him. Remy, on the other hand, doesn't share the same sentiment. His hands clench around your thighs, and when he can't seem to take the slow speed anymore, he slams you down onto him.

    You gasp at the action, and apologies spill from his lips as he tilts you forward, knocking your balance so you're forced to lean onto him as he controls the pace, eagerly thrusting into your heat. 

    “Remy-” Your protests are cut off with a kiss as your favorite scoundrel begins to take exactly what he wants. His grunts and moans beneath you send another trickle of warmth inside of you. To be honest, seeing him take control like this was hot- almost hot enough for you to forgive the fact that he was certainly overexerting himself- but it was hard to be mad at him when he's fucking you so good.

    One thing about Remy is that he's a talker in bed. If anything, you were surprised he was as “quiet” as he had been the majority of the time. But once he started to get closer to his peak, Remy began to ramble. 

    "You think you're smart? -Ah! Teasing me like that.. mmh… expecting me to just take it?" You're not really paying attention to his words, nodding in response while only thinking about his steady grip on your thighs and ass and the peak you're reaching so quickly. Remy squeezes you harder, almost harshly as he begins to take you faster. His hips begin to stutter, thrusts starting to do him in one by one. 

    Remy lets out a loud groan as he reaches his peak, burying himself deeply inside you and thumbing your clit. He continues to thrust as he helps you reach that white-hot peak of pleasure, pressing kisses to your temple as you ride it out on top of him. By the time you're both fully finished, you're panting for air. You're fully collapsed onto Remy's chest, Remy being absolutely boneless as he rests against the headboard. 

    “You’re such an idiot.” You say when you finally have enough sense. Remy just chuckles, continuing to press kisses to every part of your face and neck he can reach. You sigh happily as he does so, pressing some of your own kisses to his shoulder.

    When you finally peel yourself off of his chest, the first thing you check in on is his bandages. You scowl when you see that they've been soaked through with sweat, but more concerning is the spot of red that has started to form. You look up at Remy with narrowed eyes, and he quickly looks down as well, before looking back up at you and simply shrugging with a gleeful smile.

    “Casualty of love, Chère.”

[urdreamydoodles]

Remy LeBeau (Gambit) x Fem!Reader (Smut)

Remy checking you out (Smut)

You and Remy LeBeau enjoy a flirtatious night in New Orleans, filled with playful banter and undeniable chemistry. As the night progresses, the tension between you both reaches its peak, leading to an intimate and passionate encounter.

Warning: public sex, oral sex fem!receiving & fingering

The early evening sun bathed New Orleans in a soft, golden light, casting long shadows across the cobblestone streets as the city began to transition into night. You could hear the distant sounds of jazz filtering through the air, the lively hum of conversation, and the occasional burst of laughter from nearby cafés and bars. It was the perfect night for what you had planned—meeting Remy LeBeau for a date.

Remy was late, of course. But you were used to that by now. He never seemed to be in much of a rush, always moving with that signature lazy confidence that made him impossible to stay mad at. And even now, as you waited, you found yourself smiling, the anticipation of seeing him again fluttering in your stomach.

Tonight was special. You had picked out an outfit that you knew would catch his attention, something that hugged your curves in all the right places and emphasized your natural beauty. You knew Remy would appreciate it—he always did. But tonight, you wanted to leave him speechless. You had spent more time than usual on your hair, your makeup, and everything else, wanting to see the look in his eyes when he saw you.

As you waited on the corner of a quiet street, your fingers fidgeting with the strap of your purse, you heard the sound of footsteps approaching from behind. Instinctively, you turned, and there he was—Remy LeBeau, the infamous Gambit, strolling toward you with that same lazy grin that could melt hearts from across a room. His long coat billowed slightly in the evening breeze, and his hair, tousled and wild as always, fell into his face, giving him an effortlessly roguish look.

“Chère,” he drawled as he got closer, his voice dripping with that familiar Cajun accent, “ain’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

You felt a surge of warmth rush through you at his words, but it wasn’t just what he said—it was how he was looking at you.

Remy’s red-on-black eyes raked over your entire outfit the moment he laid eyes on you, starting from your heels and moving slowly, deliberately upward. You could feel the heat of his gaze as if it were a physical touch, his eyes taking in every detail of your outfit with unspoken admiration. He didn’t try to hide it, either. Remy had never been shy about letting you know exactly what he thought, and tonight was no exception.

His gaze lingered on your legs for just a moment longer than necessary before moving up to your hips, his eyes narrowing slightly as if appreciating the way the fabric of your outfit clung to you in all the right places. You felt a blush creep up your neck, but you didn’t look away. Instead, you watched him watching you, the tension between you building with every second that passed.

When his eyes finally met yours again, there was a spark of something darker, something more intense, behind his usual playful smirk. “Mon Dieu,” he murmured, stepping closer, his voice a little rougher now, “if I’da known you’d be lookin’ dis good, I’da shown up early.”

You laughed softly, though your heart was pounding in your chest. “Late as usual,” you teased, your voice light but filled with affection. “I was starting to think you forgot.”

He smirked, his eyes never leaving yours as he stepped even closer, the scent of him—cigarettes and something darker, like leather and spice—filling the space between you. “Forget a face like yours? Non, ma belle. I been thinkin’ ‘bout nothin’ else all day.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, and you found yourself instinctively stepping back, your back pressing against the wall of the building behind you. Remy followed, his tall frame towering over you as he placed one hand on the wall beside your head, effectively trapping you between him and the wall. But you didn’t mind. In fact, the way his body was so close to yours, the way his gaze never wavered from your eyes, only made your pulse quicken.

“You lookin’ too fine t’night, chère,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with that teasing edge you knew so well. “Can’t blame a man for wantin’ t’take his time, no?”

You swallowed, your throat suddenly dry as his gaze flickered down to your lips, his own lips curling into a wicked smile. He was enjoying this—enjoying the effect he had on you, the way your breath hitched when he got too close, the way your heart seemed to race whenever he looked at you like this.

“Remy…” you began, your voice barely above a whisper.

He raised an eyebrow, his hand still resting on the wall beside your head, his other hand now reaching out to brush a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered against your skin, the touch sending another shiver through you. “Oui, ma chère?” he asked, his voice teasing but with a rough edge to it that sent your heart racing.

You tried to keep your voice steady, but it was hard when he was looking at you like that—like he wanted to devour you whole. “We’re supposed to be going to dinner,” you reminded him, though the words came out weaker than you intended.

He chuckled softly, his breath warm against your skin. “Dinner can wait,” he murmured, leaning in just a little closer, his lips dangerously close to yours. “I’d rather enjoy de view right here.”

Your breath caught in your throat as his hand slid from your ear down to your neck, his thumb brushing lightly against your pulse point. You were sure he could feel how fast your heart was beating, how your entire body seemed to be reacting to his every touch, his every word.

For a moment, neither of you moved, the world around you fading into nothing as the tension between you crackled like electricity. Remy’s eyes were half-lidded, his gaze heavy as he looked down at you, his lips barely an inch from yours. You could feel the heat radiating off him, the closeness of his body making it difficult to think straight. Your whole world had narrowed to this one moment, this one person. He was all that mattered.

You weren’t sure what would have happened next if someone hadn’t coughed loudly from behind him.

Remy turned his head, glancing over his shoulder with an annoyed expression, though it only lasted a moment before softening into a smirk. “My apologies,” he drawled with a chuckle, glancing back at you, “looks like we got us an audience.”

You peeked around his body to see an older man and woman standing a little ways down the street, both of them eyeing Remy suspiciously. The older man had his arm around the woman’s shoulders, and they both looked like they were trying to get somewhere. But it was clear that they didn’t want to get any closer as long as Remy was in their way.

Remy watched them for a moment before turning back to you. He had a mischievous look in his eye, his grin curling up at one corner. “Guess we better get outta here, no?” he murmured.

Without waiting for your response, he reached down, sliding a hand behind your knees before scooping you up into his arms. You yelped in surprise, wrapping your arms around his neck to keep yourself steady. And then he was walking, moving down the alley toward the next street.

But he didn’t stop at the end of the alley. Instead, he kept moving, bringing you further and further into the deserted alleyway.

“Remy, what are you doing?” you asked, your brow furrowing with confusion.

He didn’t answer right away, his gaze flickering around the alley, looking for something. After a minute or so, he found what he was looking for—another side alley, this one completely deserted and lined with tall walls on either side, the only way out at the very end. Remy turned, striding toward it with purposeful steps.

You squirmed in his arms, looking around the deserted alley. “What’re you doing?” you demanded, frowning.

“Give me a minute, chère,” he drawled, still walking, his eyes on the path ahead. “Promise you’ll like it.”

A moment later, he stopped and set you down against the wall. And before you could open your mouth to complain, he was kissing you.

Remy knew how to kiss. He’d always known how to kiss. But this was different. There was something deeper to it, something more urgent. He pressed against you, pinning you to the wall as his lips claimed yours in a bruising kiss that left your head spinning. You clung to him, gasping as he drew back for a moment before claiming you again.

His hands skimmed up your thighs, slipping beneath your skirt with a quiet rustle of fabric. You gasped at the feeling of his calloused palms against your bare skin, but before you could catch your breath, he was moving again, his hands sliding up your back to slip beneath the waistband of your panties. He cupped your bottom in a firm grip, pulling you close as he deepened the kiss, his tongue teasing the seam of your lips.

You were breathless, dizzy from the kiss and from the feeling of him holding you so close. Your legs were trembling, your mind swimming with sensations. All you could think was "yes". Yes to whatever he wanted.

Remy seemed to sense it, his lips curling into a triumphant smirk against yours as his hands began to slide downward, slipping beneath the hem of your skirt once more. He broke the kiss, trailing his mouth along your jaw and down to the sensitive skin of your neck, the words "Mon dieu" escaping him in a low groan as his fingers brushed against the damp fabric of your panties.

“Remy,” you gasped, your hands clutching at his shoulders, “Remy, wait—”

“I ain’t waitin’ no more, ma belle,” he murmured against your skin, his fingers slipping beneath the fabric of your panties to tease lightly at your entrance. You gasped again, your head falling back against the wall.

“You’re so wet,” he whispered, his breath hot against your skin. “Like you been waitin’ all day for this.”

You swallowed, a whimper escaping you. “I have,” you admitted.

He groaned softly, the sound sending a shiver through you. And then his mouth was on you, his teeth scraping against your skin as he dragged his lips down to your chest, pausing only to claim one of your nipples through the thin fabric of your top.

You gasped at the sensation, your whole body trembling with need. And Remy seemed to know exactly what you needed, his touch becoming more insistent, his teeth biting lightly at your nipple through the fabric before his hands moved downward, his fingers teasing at your entrance before sliding in to the hilt.

You moaned, your body bucking against his hand as he began to pump in and out of you in a slow, torturous pace that sent waves of pleasure coursing through you. You could hear your own ragged breathing echoing in the deserted alley, feel your heart pounding in your chest.

Remy broke away from your chest with a soft groan, his red-on-black eyes flashing up to yours as his fingers continued to work you. “God, chère, you look so fuckin’ good,” he murmured huskily, “you like this? You like when I finger you like this?”

“Mmhm,” you whimpered, your head falling back again, your eyes fluttering closed. “Feels so good.”

He chuckled low in his throat, his hand slowing as if savoring the way your muscles clenched around his fingers. “You feel so good, baby,” he muttered, his voice low, “so good…God, I could stay here all night.”

It wasn’t what he said that got your attention, however. It was what he did next.

With one smooth movement, he dropped to his knees, his hands withdrawing from your panties before reaching up to hike your skirt upward. His eyes were half-lidded as he looked up at you, his gaze heated. “Don’t wanna rush things, chère,” he muttered. “Want to enjoy it.”

And then he was leaning in, his lips brushing against your inner thigh.

You gasped, your eyes flying open as his breath washed over you, the sound of your own panting echoing off the alley walls. Remy’s mouth felt hot against you, his lips moving in gentle, teasing kisses against your inner thighs as his fingers moved back to your panties, easing them down to mid-thigh before grasping one of your legs to drape over his shoulder. You could feel your cheeks flush, the feeling of being exposed so completely sending a thrill through you.

Remy glanced up at you, his red eyes flashing with something dark. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured. “I love lookin’ at you. Can’t wait t’taste you.”

His mouth was on you again before you could even register his words, his lips brushing lightly at your clit before his tongue came out to swipe at it in a featherlight touch.

You cried out, your whole body shuddering as his mouth began to move against you in slow, deliberate strokes. It was like nothing you’d ever experienced. Remy’s tongue was wickedly talented, the way it danced against your clit and the rest of you sending shockwaves of pleasure through your entire body.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, holding him close as your body began to tremble. He groaned softly against you, his mouth moving faster, his tongue circling against your clit before beginning to flick rapidly back and forth. The feeling was exquisite, a feeling like you were on the very edge of something incredible.

“Remy—oh god, Remy, I’m going to cum,” you gasped.

His mouth never stopped, his tongue still working magic against you as one of his hands slipped back beneath your panties, his fingers beginning to thrust inside you in time with his tongue. You cried out, your nails digging into his scalp as your entire body began to shake, pleasure coursing through every cell in your body. You came hard, gasping his name over and over again as you shuddered against him, his tongue never stopping as he brought you to the very edge and then pushed you over.

You were still trembling when he finally pulled back, his red eyes burning with something dark as he leaned in to kiss your thigh again. He stayed there for a moment, his face pressed against your inner thigh as you caught your breath, your mind still reeling from the orgasm that had just rocked your entire world.

When he finally stood, it was with an unholy grin on his lips. “Mm,” he murmured huskily as he pulled your panties back up, his fingers trailing up over your bare thigh to the hem of your skirt, “I knew you’d taste like heaven.”

You blushed, unable to stop it, though his words sent another shiver of pleasure through you. It wasn’t often that Remy got serious with you. Most of the time, he treated you like you were both kids, teasing you mercilessly and treating everything like a big joke.

But in this moment, he didn’t look like he was joking. In this moment, the look in his eyes was dark, his face closer to yours than it had been in a long time. You could see every fleck of color in his eyes, every eyelash, every line on his face. And when his mouth brushed against yours in a soft kiss, you could taste yourself on his tongue.

“You’re incredible,” he murmured, breaking the kiss. “Mon dieu, you’re incredible.”

You swallowed, feeling another blush rise up your cheeks. “So are you,” you murmured back.

His smile faltered for just a moment, something darker flashing behind his eyes. But then he smirked again, leaning in to kiss the tip of your nose. “Dinnae frett, chère. I ain’t never gonna forget dis night.” And with that, he stepped back, offering his arm. “Shall we go t’dinner?”

You blinked, your mind still half-dazed from everything that had happened. But as you took his arm and let him lead you from the alley, you realized that it didn’t matter. As long as you were with him, anything was possible. Anything at all. And right now, that was all that mattered. The world could wait. The only thing you wanted was more of this, more of him, more of the way he made you feel. And you knew he could deliver, every time, without fail. He always did. He always would. And as he led you out of the alley and back into the bustling streets of New Orleans, you knew that this night wouldn’t be one you’d ever forget, either. Not in a million years. Not with Remy LeBeau on your arm.

[awkward-walking-potato]

I have a request!!

Fem reader is talking with storm, when gambit walks by, the reader is talking about him he quickly realizes when his name leaves his crushes lips..

"What am i supposed to say,storm? That ive been in love with him since the day we met?" She says it exasperatedly, before remy walks in, they confess kiss and blah blah happy stuff,

Thoughts?

Whispers in the Wind

You stood in the garden, chatting with Storm as a soft breeze rustled the leaves. The sun was setting, casting a golden glow over the grounds. You had always admired Ororo's calm presence, and your conversation was light, drifting from topic to topic. That was until the conversation took a turn toward something—or rather someone—who had been on your mind a lot lately.

"He's just... so smooth," you said with a soft chuckle, glancing down at your feet.

Ororo raised an eyebrow, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "Who exactly are we talking about here?"

You hesitated, not sure whether to say his name aloud. The truth was, you'd had a crush on Remy LeBeau, Gambit himself, for what felt like forever. His charm was undeniable, but there was something more about him that drew you in. His carefree attitude masked layers you wanted to know more about.

"Remy," you finally admitted, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks.

Just as his name slipped from your lips, you saw him out of the corner of your eye. Gambit was strolling by, his usual swagger unmistakable. He had been about to pass by without stopping, but the moment he heard his name—his name—from your lips, he froze in his tracks.

A sly smile curved on his face, and he turned his head slightly, just enough to catch the tail end of your conversation. His crimson eyes gleamed with curiosity and amusement, though he tried to play it cool. But there was no hiding the fact that he was intrigued.

"Don’t let Gambit hear you say that," Ororo teased, a grin spreading across her face as she noticed Remy listening in.

You groaned internally, glancing quickly in his direction and immediately locking eyes with him. The smirk on his face widened, and you felt your heart skip a beat.

"Now, what kinda smooth are we talkin’ 'bout, chérie?" Remy's voice was like velvet, smooth and playful as he walked closer, hands casually tucked into the pockets of his trench coat. He tilted his head, gaze locked on yours. "’Cause I gotta admit, I’m curious."

You felt your face heat up even more, and Ororo, ever the calm one, chuckled softly before taking a step back. "I think my work here is done," she said, leaving you alone with Remy.

As she walked away, you shot her a look of mock betrayal, but the smile on her face made it clear she wasn’t sorry. Now, you were standing face-to-face with Gambit, who was clearly enjoying every second of your flustered reaction.

"You were talkin' about me, chérie?" he asked, his voice low and teasing. "And here I thought I was the one doin’ all the thinkin’ ‘bout you."

His words sent your heart racing, and you were at a loss for how to respond. His gaze was so intense, it felt like he could see right through you.

"I—uh—" you stammered, trying to think of something clever to say, but nothing came out right.

Remy chuckled, stepping even closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Don’t worry, ma chère. You can talk 'bout me all you want. I ain’t complainin’."

The smirk on his lips softened into a genuine smile, and for a brief moment, the teasing facade fell away. He reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair from your face, his touch light but electrifying.

"I gotta say," he murmured, his eyes never leaving yours. "I’m real glad to know I’ve been on your mind. ‘Cause you’ve been on mine for a long time."

Your breath caught in your throat as the realization hit you—Remy had known all along. All the stolen glances, the quiet smiles, the moments when your heart raced whenever he was near. He had noticed. And more than that, he felt the same.

"Maybe next time, chérie, you should talk to me ‘bout it instead of Storm," he teased, his eyes twinkling mischievously. "I promise I’ll listen real close."

You couldn’t help but laugh, finally finding your voice. "Maybe I will, Remy," you said, meeting his gaze with newfound confidence.

Remy’s grin widened, and he leaned in just a little closer. "Good," he whispered, his voice sending shivers down your spine. "I’m lookin’ forward to it."

[thirtysomethingloser92]

Chapter 2: You Drew Stars, Around My Scars.

Prequel to The Last Great American Dynasty. Masterlist.

Warnings: Smut, Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Swearing, 18+.

Summary: In the shadowy underworld of New Orleans, where power is currency and loyalty is a fragile thread, you find yourself entangled with Remy LeBeau, a charismatic and dangerous mob boss. What begins as a chance encounter soon evolves into a complex, intense relationship that neither of you saw coming.

Wednesdays were the bane of your existence. There was something about the middle of the week that left you feeling trapped in a perpetual loop, too far from the last weekend to feel rested and too far from the next one to feel hopeful. Wednesdays weren’t special like Fridays, nor productive like Mondays. They just existed, heavy and unremarkable, the forgotten middle child of the week.

You woke up that morning with a groan, already feeling the ache in your bones from the long shift you pulled the night before. Your head was pounding with a dull throb that pulsed behind your eyes, and your stomach felt like it was filled with lead. It was a tiredness that went beyond lack of sleep—a fatigue that seemed to settle into your very soul, making every movement feel like wading through thick mud. Your fingers absently touched the white bandage that was tightly wrapped around the palm of your hand, underneath holding a gauze which had spent the night soaking up the blood from wound the sharp piece of glass had made.

The memory of last night’s shift played on a loop in your mind, each moment replaying with a sour tinge. It had been one of those nights where everything felt off-kilter, like you were a half-step behind in everything you did. The bar had been busier than usual, packed with patrons whose voices blended into an indistinct roar, each shout for another round grating on your already frayed nerves. And then there was the moment when everything went from bad to worse.

You had been balancing a tray of glasses, trying to navigate through the crowd, when someone bumped into you, sending the entire tray crashing to the floor. The sound of shattering glass was deafening, instantly silencing the bar as every head turned to stare. You felt your face flush with heat, a mixture of embarrassment and frustration tightening your throat. James had rushed over to help, shooting you a sympathetic look, but the damage was done. You could feel the eyes on you, whispers buzzing just under the din of the bar’s usual noise.

“You good?” James had asked, his voice low as he picked up shards of glass with you. You’d nodded, forcing a tight smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. But inside, you were screaming. It was just another Tuesday, another night that felt like a chore you couldn’t escape from, and now this—another thing to add to the pile of reasons you loathed the middle of the week.

Today, it seemed, was no different. You dragged yourself out of bed, every movement feeling like an uphill battle. The heaviness from the night before lingered in your bones, a stubborn ache that refused to ease up, and your head pounded with a dull, relentless throb that pulsed behind your eyes. Your stomach churned as if you’d swallowed a stone, a sickly reminder of the stress that had wrapped itself around you like a vice. But the clock was ticking, and there was no time to wallow in the discomfort. You had a shift waiting for you, another long day at the bar that wouldn’t let you off the hook just because you weren’t feeling your best.

With a sigh, you trudged into the bathroom, the tiles cool under your bare feet. You peeled off your clothes, tossing them aside without a second glance, and stepped into the shower. The water burst from the showerhead in a warm cascade, and you let it wash over you, the heat slowly easing the tension knotted in your muscles. The steam rose around you, clouding the glass and softening the harsh light of the bathroom. It was a brief moment of solitude, a small reprieve from the world outside, but your mind was far from quiet.

As the water pounded against your skin, your thoughts drifted back to Remy and the envelope of money he’d left you. You could still feel the weight of it in your hands, the crisp bills neatly bundled, a small fortune that had been casually handed over like it was nothing. But it wasn’t nothing—not to you. You couldn’t shake the unease that had settled in your chest since you’d opened it, the nagging question of why he’d done it, and what, if anything, he expected in return.

The money was supposed to make things easier, wasn’t it? A generous gesture that could take the edge off your worries, at least for a while. And yet, it had the opposite effect. Instead of relief, all you felt was anxiety—a prickling discomfort that gnawed at you every time you thought about it. Remy’s note replayed in your head, his messy handwriting scrawled across the scrap of paper: “Now you won’t need the hours for a while.” What did he mean by that? Did he think you needed saving? Did he see you as some kind of charity case, or worse, someone he could manipulate with a wad of cash?

You leaned your forehead against the cool tiles, the water streaming down your back as you tried to make sense of it all. Remy was a mystery, wrapped up in charm and danger, a man who moved through life with a confidence that was as magnetic as it was unsettling. He didn’t follow the same rules as everyone else—hell, he seemed to make up his own as he went along. And now, you were caught in his orbit, pulled in by the gravity of his unexpected generosity.

But generosity from someone like Remy didn’t come without strings. You knew that much. He was a man who played by his own rules, and those rules were as unpredictable as he was. What if this was just the start of something bigger? A debt you hadn’t asked for but now found yourself owing? The thought sent a shiver down your spine, the warmth of the shower doing little to chase away the chill of uncertainty.

You tried to push the thoughts away, focusing instead on the simple task of washing your hair, the familiar routine a welcome distraction. But even as you lathered up, your mind kept drifting back to him—the way his eyes had lingered on you with that knowing smirk, the way he’d effortlessly made the room bend to his will. He was charming, sure, but there was always an edge to it, a hint of something sharper hidden beneath the surface.

You couldn’t help but wonder if he was thinking about you, too. Was this all just a game to him? Another move in whatever strategy he was playing? The water cascaded over your face, blurring your vision as you scrubbed at your skin a little harder, as if you could wash away the confusion that clung to you like the steam in the bathroom.

What did he see when he looked at you? A barmaid trying to make ends meet? A girl with a chip on her shoulder and too much pride to accept help, even when it was handed to her in crisp hundreds? Or maybe he saw something else entirely, something that even you couldn’t see.

You stood there, letting the water run over you until it started to cool, the heat fading into a lukewarm drizzle that did little to soothe the restless thoughts circling in your head. The sound of the shower became a distant hum, the white noise failing to drown out the questions that had no easy answers. You knew you couldn’t avoid him forever—Remy wasn’t the type to let things go, especially not when he’d taken an interest. And with the promise of lunch today, it seemed that whatever game he was playing was far from over.

With a heavy sigh, you turned off the shower and stepped out, wrapping yourself in a towel as the cool air hit your skin. You caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, your reflection slightly blurred by the lingering steam. You looked tired, your eyes shadowed with the weight of a sleepless night and the worries that refused to be rinsed away.

You dried off slowly, each motion feeling deliberate and almost meditative, as if you could ground yourself in the routine. But even as you dressed, pulling on your work clothes and tying your hair back, the questions lingered. You couldn’t help but feel like you were standing on the edge of something, a line that once crossed, there’d be no going back.

You grabbed your bag and keys, giving yourself one last look in the mirror—a silent pep talk before stepping back into the world. The bar awaited, another shift that would blend into the rest, but now, with Remy’s shadow looming over your thoughts, even the familiar felt uncertain. You squared your shoulders, taking a deep breath as you left the apartment, ready to face whatever the day—and Remy—might throw your way. But deep down, you knew that today wasn’t just another Wednesday. It was the start of something you couldn’t yet define, but you felt it in your gut, the unsettling sense that everything was about to change. <><><><><><><> Jean Grey walked through Remy LeBeau's expansive penthouse, her fiery red hair catching the sunlight that streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The space was as impressive as it was impersonal—clean, modern lines, dark leather furniture, and artwork that hinted at wealth, but not at the man who lived there. Jean moved with purpose, her eyes scanning each room with a quick, practiced sweep, searching for the man she’d known almost her entire life. Despite the warmth in her expression, the kindness that softened her features, Jean was no stranger to the dangerous world Remy occupied. She had been by his side through all of it—the good, the bad, the bloody. There was no one either of them would ever trust more than the other.

"Where the hell are you, LeBeau?" she muttered under her breath, finally making her way to his bedroom.

The room was a study in understated luxury. The king-sized bed, draped in crisp white linens, sat against a dark, slate-grey accent wall. Matching nightstands flanked the bed, each holding minimalistic lamps that cast a soft, ambient glow across the room. The hardwood floors gleamed beneath her feet, polished to perfection, and on the far side of the room, a large window overlooked the city skyline, offering a breathtaking view of New Orleans.

To the left was an open doorway leading into a walk-in closet that could rival a high-end boutique. The light inside was on, casting a warm glow across rows of carefully arranged designer suits, shoes, and accessories. Jean grinned as she caught sight of him inside.

"Ah, we’re going to need intercoms in this place if this keeps happening," she joked, leaning against the doorframe. There he was, standing in front of a full-length mirror, dressed in nothing but a white dress shirt and a pair of impeccably tailored black suit pants, his usually confident demeanor tinged with uncharacteristic hesitation.

Remy glanced over his shoulder at her, his grin reflecting in the mirror. "’fraid I migh’ be too far away to hear y’ nagging, chère?"

Jean’s smirk widened as she watched Remy toss yet another shirt onto the growing pile on the nearby chair. His movements were quick, graceful, but there was a tension in his shoulders, a subtle rigidity that she didn’t miss. He was thinking—overthinking, really—and that wasn’t like him. Normally, Remy LeBeau was all instinct and smooth confidence, especially when it came to matters of appearance. But today?

Today, he was deliberate.

"Dark blue, far right," Jean said, her voice cutting through the silence with amusement.

Remy glanced at her from the corner of his eye, a fleeting look of gratitude passing over his face before he grabbed the suggested shirt. As he buttoned it with practiced ease, Jean leaned more comfortably against the doorframe, studying him like she always did when something was off. She knew him too damn well. And this? This wasn’t just business as usual.

"So," she began, keeping her tone light but probing, "why are you getting so dressed up? It’s just Olivia. You’ve had lunch with her a thousand times. It’s business."

Remy didn’t answer, his hands moving to loop a belt through his suit pants. His face remained impassive, but Jean caught the subtle shift in his posture—the way his jaw clenched just slightly, the way his eyes flickered toward the floor for a brief moment before he focused back on his task.

Jean’s smirk deepened. She knew this game. Remy was trying to play it cool, but Jean had seen him handle real threats—life-or-death situations—without a fraction of the tension he was carrying now. Which meant this wasn’t about Olivia. This was about something, or rather, someone, else.

"Unless…" she started, letting the word hang in the air, "you’re mixing business with pleasure?"

She watched as he fastened his cufflinks, his movements precise, almost too controlled. He didn’t respond, didn’t even flinch, but Jean knew better. She was getting close. Normally, Remy would have shot back some flirtatious quip by now, something playful and teasing to throw her off course. But today? He was silent.

Jean shook her head, dismissing her own theory with a wave of her hand. "No, she’s not your type. So it’s something to do with the bar, because you haven’t changed your regular spot in years. And suddenly, you have with zero issues involved."

Remy’s face remained neutral, but Jean saw the telltale sign of discomfort—the way his tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek, a habit he’d had since they were kids. He was trying to mask it, but Jean knew him too well. She was onto something.

"It’s not the owner," she continued, her eyes narrowing as she pieced the puzzle together. "She’s not your type either. So it’s either a regular… or someone who works there."

Remy moved to grab his suit jacket, slipping it on with his usual grace. But Jean didn’t miss the flash of hesitation in his eyes, the way his hands fumbled just slightly as he adjusted the lapels. It was subtle—so subtle—but Jean had been watching Remy for most of her life. She knew every little crack in his armor, every tiny tell that gave him away when he was trying to hide something.

"Not a regular," she mused aloud, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "You don’t like alcoholics, but you do like a challenge. So it’s someone who works there, someone who can handle themselves… someone who caught your attention."

Remy’s silence spoke volumes. He reached for his watch, slipping it onto his wrist with a precision that felt too forced, too deliberate. Jean’s smile grew. She was right, and they both knew it.

"Friday night," she said, her voice softening as the pieces started falling into place. "That’s when you started going to that bar, right? So whoever it is, they were working Friday... which narrows it down."

Remy didn’t meet her gaze, his attention focused on adjusting the watch, but Jean could feel the tension radiating off him. She was close—so close.

"It’s not a male," she concluded, her tone almost triumphant now. "You don’t fuss over your appearance this much unless it’s for a woman. And I’m guessing it’s the one you left the money for—am I right?"

And there it was—the smallest, briefest pause. Remy’s hand hovered over his dresser, his fingers stilling for just a fraction of a second. It was so quick, so subtle, that anyone else might have missed it. But Jean didn’t. She knew she’d hit her mark.

This was why they were friends. She could read him when no one else could.

She watched him carefully, her smile turning softer, more knowing. "I haven’t seen you act like this since—"

"Don’t say it," Remy cut her off, his voice low, a warning laced beneath the words.

Jean raised an eyebrow but didn’t press. She didn’t need to. She had already seen enough. Whoever it was—whoever had gotten under his skin—was stirring something in him. Not in the physical sense, but in a way that Remy wasn’t prepared for.

Remy LeBeau had spent most of his life building walls. He was charming, flirtatious, always ready with a smooth line or a quick smile. But beneath that exterior, beneath the easy confidence, there was something else. Something raw. Something he kept locked away. Maybe it was guilt, maybe it was grief, maybe it was just the weight of all the things he’d done in his life. But whatever it was, it had made him keep people at arm’s length.

Until now.

Jean could see it in the way he moved today, in the way he was fussing over his appearance. He cared about this, about her. And that scared him—really scared him. Remy didn’t like to let people in. It was too much of a risk. Too much of a reminder of what he’d lost. But whoever this woman was, she had him rattled.

"Is she working today?" Jean asked, her voice gentler now, less teasing.

Remy shrugged, trying to play it off. "No idea," he muttered, but it was clear he was lying. Of course he knew. He wouldn’t be putting this much effort into his appearance if he didn’t know.

Jean pushed herself off the doorframe, stepping closer to him, her expression softening. "Might come say hello to Olivia today," she teased lightly, though her eyes remained sharp, searching for any reaction.

Remy sat down on the edge of the bed, reaching for his shoes. He slid them on with a practiced motion, his fingers moving quickly as he tied the laces. But Jean noticed the way his shoulders tensed at her words, the way his jaw tightened just slightly. He didn’t want Jean anywhere near the bar today, and that told her everything she needed to know.

"Jean," he said, his voice low but firm, "don’t."

She smiled, her eyes soft as she looked at him. "You’re allowed to feel things, Remy. It’s okay."

He stayed silent, his hands stilling for a moment as he straightened his jacket. Jean could see the conflict in his eyes, the way he was fighting against whatever it was he was feeling. She knew he hated this—hated being vulnerable, hated letting people see beneath the mask he wore so well. But this was different. This was someone different.

"You don’t always need to shut the world out," Jean continued gently. "As you found out on Friday."

Remy stood, adjusting the cuffs of his jacket with quick, practiced movements. He didn’t say anything, but Jean didn’t need him to. She could see the truth in the way he moved, in the way he was preparing himself for whatever came next. He was trying to act like it didn’t matter, like this woman didn’t matter—but Jean knew better.

For the first time in a long time, Remy LeBeau cared about someone. And that terrified him.

As he made his way to the door, Jean didn’t stop him. She just watched, a small smile playing on her lips.

"Good luck," she called after him, her voice soft but knowing.

He didn’t respond, didn’t even spare her a glance over his shoulder as he crossed the threshold into the hallway, his footsteps quiet but purposeful. The door clicked softly behind him, the sound almost too final in the stillness that followed. Jean stood there for a moment longer, her eyes lingering on the empty space where he had just been, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. She didn’t need to see his face to know what was going on inside his head. She could feel it, like a hum in the air, a tension that had been building for months.

This—whatever this was—was only the beginning.

Remy LeBeau could be as guarded as Fort Knox when he wanted to be. He’d spent years perfecting the persona of the smooth-talking charmer, the careless flirt who never let anyone too close, always keeping the world at arm’s length. It was his defense mechanism, his way of controlling the chaos in his life. But Jean had known him too long, seen too much of the real man beneath the mask to be fooled. She had watched him build those walls, brick by brick, after every loss, every betrayal.

And now, for the first time in a long time, she could see the cracks.

Whoever this woman was, she had done something in one night that no one else had in years—she had gotten under his skin. Jean could see it in everything Remy had done today, in the way he had fussed over his appearance like a man preparing for battle. It wasn’t just about looking good or making an impression. It was about vulnerability, about stepping into a situation where Remy no longer had complete control. He cared—and for someone like him, that was as dangerous as walking into a room full of enemies with no way out.

Jean’s smile softened as she thought about it. She had seen Remy flirt his way through countless encounters, his easy charm always deflecting any real emotional investment. But this? This was different. This wasn’t the calculated charm of a man who knew exactly what to say and do to keep things light and easy. This was Remy uncertain, Remy hesitant, Remy affected—and that was a side of him she hadn’t seen in years.

The truth was, Jean had a feeling that Remy wasn’t going to be able to keep this woman out, no matter how hard he tried. She had already slipped through the cracks, already found her way past the carefully constructed walls he kept around his heart. And once someone got that close, once they were inside, the game changed. Remy could try all he wanted to keep her at a distance, but it was too late.

Jean knew him well enough to know that Remy wasn’t the type to fall easily, but when he did, he fell hard. And this woman—whoever she was—had already managed to make him care. That was the dangerous part. Once Remy started caring, the stakes became higher, the risks more personal.

Jean sighed softly, pushing herself away from the doorframe and walking further into the room. She glanced at the discarded shirts still piled on the chair, at the cologne bottle sitting uncapped on the dresser. She could picture him standing there, staring at his reflection, second-guessing every detail, every choice. It wasn’t like him. Remy was usually the picture of confidence, the man who walked into a room and owned it without even trying. But this woman had him second-guessing, had him thinking—and that was the clearest sign of all.

This wasn’t just some passing interest. She wasn’t just another name on a list of fleeting romances. This woman had gotten to him in a way that no one else had in a long, long time.

And Jean had a feeling that Remy wouldn’t be able to shut her out, even if he wanted to.

What started as curiosity, maybe even a little temptation, had already turned into something more. Jean could see it in the way he had tried to deflect her questions, the way he had avoided her gaze when she mentioned the bar. He was protecting something, guarding it fiercely—but not because he didn’t want it. Because he did. Because it mattered. And that, more than anything, was what made this different.

Jean knew that Remy was walking into something he hadn’t prepared for, something he couldn’t control with charm or wit or the usual tricks up his sleeve. For the first time in a long time, Remy LeBeau was stepping into the unknown.

And whoever this woman was, she had the power to change everything.

Jean could only hope that Remy would let her. <><><><><><><><><><><> The bar felt warmer than usual today, the faint hum of the air conditioning not quite cutting through the lingering humidity from outside. It was one of those sticky New Orleans mornings where the air clung to your skin, and everything seemed to move just a little slower. The low murmur of conversation from the few early patrons mixed with the faint clink of glassware, creating a quiet, almost lazy backdrop that contrasted sharply with the undercurrent of tension building inside you.

The soft clink of glassware echoed through the bar, a familiar sound that usually brought you a sense of calm. James stood behind the counter, working methodically as he dried a glass, his movements slow and deliberate. The lunch rush hadn’t hit yet, and for a short, fleeting moment, the place felt almost peaceful. It was the kind of quiet that was rare in a bar like this, where the noise of clattering dishes, raised voices, and the chaos of service usually filled the air. But now, in this lull, you could hear the hum of the ice machine, the faint murmur of conversations from the few early patrons, and the occasional shuffle of feet on the worn floorboards.

You stood at the counter, absently slicing lemons, the knife gliding through the fruit with practiced ease. The citrus scent filled the air, sharp and fresh, mingling with the lingering smell of alcohol and old wood. It should have been comforting, this routine, this simple task that you had done a thousand times before. And in a way, it was. The rhythm of it, the repetition, kept your hands busy. But your mind? Your mind was far from settled.

You could feel the tension in your chest, a tight knot of anxiety that had been coiling tighter since Friday night. The memory of it played over and over in your head—the dim lights, the low hum of conversation, and him. Remy. The way he had looked at you, the way his voice had curled around your name like something tangible, something heavy with meaning.

“Ya listening, or are you off in your own little world?” James broke the silence, pulling you out of your thoughts with a teasing grin, his voice light but observant.

You blinked, realizing you had slowed your pace with the lemons, the knife hovering over the next slice. You shook your head, offering him a small smile, though it felt more like a reflex than anything genuine. “Sorry, what were you saying?”

James chuckled, shaking his head, but his eyes softened with understanding. “I was saying I’m thinking of taking Nat to that new restaurant on the high street. You know, the one with the ghost tours? Thought it might be fun.”

You watched him as he spoke, his face lighting up at the thought of Nat. There was something so...simple about it. Something so easy and real. The way he talked about her, the way he planned little surprises like this—it made your heart ache in a way you didn’t like to think about too often.

“It’s sweet watching you two, I mean it makes me want to vomit of course but the sentiment is still there,” you said, your voice softer now, the knife moving again as you focused on the lemons. “So, is she meeting you here after your shift?”

James nodded, a smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, I told her it’s a surprise, but hell, I’ve got nothing planned yet.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head affectionately. “A picnic. Simple, easy. You can pick up everything on your lunch break. Maybe get Vis to help you out if you’re desperate.”

James snorted, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, and risk Abigail finding out? No thanks. I’m not risking my life for a picnic.”

You leaned forward, resting your chin in your hand, watching him as he finished drying the glass. The bar was still quiet, the lunch rush only a looming threat for now, and you couldn’t help but feel a pang of envy. “I want to be taken out,” you muttered, almost to yourself, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

James looked up, raising an eyebrow. “Who by? Your last date was a fucking trainwreck.”

You shrugged, trying to play it off with a half-hearted smile. “By a bullet or a date, either one would work at this point.”

James laughed, the sound loud in the quiet of the bar, but warm, familiar. “It can’t be that bad. I thought you were done with the men of New Orleans?”

You paused, your hands stilling over the lemons, your eyes drifting out toward the empty tables. “Yeah, I am,” you said quietly, the truth of it settling in your chest like a weight. “But hearing you talk about Nat... it’s nice. I want someone to talk about me like that, you know? Without adding ‘She’s also slightly psychotic’ at the end.”

There it was again—that ache. That quiet, painful longing for something more than late nights at the bar and casual conversations that never went deeper than surface level. You wanted what James and Nat had. Something real. Something that wasn’t complicated. Someone who would look at you and see you, not just the bartender slicing lemons in the corner.

James reached out, giving your shoulder a comforting squeeze. “You’ll get it. You just need the right guy. Someone who can match your energy, someone who understands you.”

You smiled at him, but the words felt hollow. Because even if that someone existed, they weren’t in your life right now.

Just then, the sound of footsteps interrupted your thoughts, and Kate slid up to the bar, her black bangs falling into her eyes, a smirk already pulling at her lips. “I personally don’t know how you don’t have men throwing themselves at your feet after last night,” she teased, her tone light but knowing. “Smooth.”

You rolled your eyes, straightening up from your position at the bar as you glanced toward Kate, her black bangs falling into her eyes in that casual, effortless way that always seemed to work for her. A grin crossed her face, playful and full of mischief, as she brought up last night’s tray incident.

Trying to deflect, you held up your hand, showing the red, angry mark on your palm where you removed the bandage this morning. “Think I could get put on light duties for this?” you asked with a smirk, though the sting from the cut still pulsed faintly beneath your skin.

Kate raised an eyebrow, but before she could respond, James chimed in, not even looking up from the glass he was polishing. “Oh please, you could lose a leg and Abigail would still ask why you weren’t stocking the shelves.”

You let out a soft laugh, the kind that bubbles up more from exhaustion than amusement. The three of you grinned at each other, and in unison, you chorused the infamous line Abigail always threw at you whenever you dared rest for more than a moment: “If you have time to lean, you have time to clean.”

It was a shared joke, but the weight behind it wasn’t lost on any of you. Abigail ran this place with an iron fist, and no one, not even James with his easy charm, was immune to her scrutiny. The moment of shared humor gave a brief reprieve to the tension you hadn’t realized had been steadily building since you walked in this morning. But it was only a brief reprieve.

Kate’s eyes glinted as she leaned in closer, her brown eyes gleaming with amusement. “Okay, Katniss Everdeen,” you shot back at her, trying to divert the conversation, “aren’t you working VIP today?”

She nodded, her grin widening like a cat who had just caught a mouse. “Yeah, but it’s pretty quiet up there, Clint has it covered for now, until 12:30 when your new best friend and his ‘friend’ are supposed to show up.”

The mention of him—Remy—made your heart skip a beat. You knew exactly who she meant, and the knot of anxiety that had been simmering in your stomach suddenly tightened. You tried to keep your expression neutral, but you could feel the heat rising in your chest, an uncomfortable mix of nerves and something else you weren’t ready to name yet. James, ever the keen observer, didn’t miss a beat. He turned to you, his grin widening as he leaned against the bar, crossing his arms over his chest. “Bet you’re regretting not working VIP today, huh?”

You shook your head quickly, forcing a laugh that felt too light, too forced. “Not in the least,” you said, though your voice wavered just enough to betray you. “I’ll take drunk tourists over mob bosses any day.”

But even as you said it, you couldn’t ignore the way your heart was racing, the way your palms felt just a little too clammy. The truth was, the thought of seeing Remy again was already gnawing at you, the memory of last Friday still fresh in your mind. The way he had moved through the bar with a quiet confidence, the way his eyes had lingered on you just a moment too long, like he was seeing something more than just the bartender serving him. The air had felt heavier when he was near, charged with something unspoken, something dangerous.

He was the kind of man you had always told yourself to stay far away from—dangerous, unpredictable, a walking storm wrapped in charm and mystery. And yet... there was something about him. Something magnetic. Something that made it hard to breathe when he was near. The chemistry between you had been undeniable, electric, and now, the thought of facing him again left you both terrified and... intrigued.

Kate, ever perceptive, shot you a knowing glance, her smirk widening. “Sure, you’re not curious,” she teased, her voice lilting with amusement. “But just so you know, the VIP section is wide open if you want to take a peek later. I go on my break at 2, so I’ll come get you to take over.”

You shook your head, trying to shake off the flutter of nerves in your chest. “Yeah, I’m good,” you muttered, turning back to the lemons, though your hands felt heavier now, the knife moving slower. “Let’s just get through the lunch rush without any drama.”

But even as you spoke the words, you knew they were hollow. Kate’s smirk lingered in the corner of your vision, James’s knowing grin hanging in the air like an unspoken challenge. They both knew you better than you wanted to admit. They knew you weren’t as indifferent as you were trying to pretend. Not when it came to him.

You busied yourself with the task at hand, slicing the lemons with mechanical precision, but your mind was already elsewhere. You couldn’t shake the feeling that today was going to be anything but ordinary. Remy was coming back, and no matter how much you tried to push the thought away, no matter how much you tried to convince yourself that you didn’t care, the truth was you did.

Because the truth was, you were already in deeper than you wanted to admit. You could deny it all you wanted, but the anticipation was there, simmering just beneath the surface. The anxiety. The curiosity. The pull. “Look, I’ll have a chat with Abigail when she comes up okay?” Kate smiled as she grabbed a large box of mineral water to take back with her. You shook your head, “Don’t you dare,” You warned. Kate’s grin widened as she turned on her heel and walked back the way she came from. The bar was starting to get busier as the lunch crowd trickled in, the low hum of conversation growing louder by the minute. You and James exchanged a glance, the kind of shared look that only came from working long shifts together, from knowing what the other was thinking without a word being said.

“Do you ever get the feeling that she knows more than she lets on?” you asked, your voice low, but laced with curiosity as your eyes followed Kate’s retreating figure. She had a way of knowing things—of reading people—that always left you feeling just a little exposed, like she could see right through the front you tried to put on.

James nodded, handing you a cloth and the bottle of disinfectant before turning back to the bar. “Oh, absolutely. Never misses a thing, that one,” he muttered under his breath, his eyes scanning the room as if expecting Kate to pop back up with another knowing smirk.

You were about to respond when the sharp clatter of a glass hitting wood echoed down the bar. You turned just in time to see a patron spill his drink, the amber liquid pooling across the top of the bar and dripping down to the floor. A small, involuntary wince crossed your face as you grabbed the cloth and headed down to clean it up.

As you reached the end of the bar, the man—a middle-aged guy with kind eyes and a slightly embarrassed smile—was already apologizing profusely, his words tumbling over each other in a rush. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to—please, let me clean it up for you.”

You offered him a smile, though it felt tight around the edges, the automatic response of someone who had dealt with too many spills, too many apologies. “Oh no, it’s fine, honestly,” you lied, your voice warm with the practiced ease of someone used to dealing with messes—both literal and metaphorical. “These things happen. Not an issue.”

Inside, though, you couldn’t help the irritation that prickled at the edges of your patience. The man was polite enough, but cleaning up after someone else’s carelessness always had a way of wearing you down. You wiped down the bar, your movements quick and efficient, while he continued to apologize, asking if you could pour him another drink once you were done.

For a moment, you hesitated, the urge to deny him service flaring up inside you. After all, he’d just made a mess, hadn’t he? Why should you rush to refill his glass when you were the one stuck cleaning up after him? But then, as always, the part of you that knew better—the part that understood the unspoken rules of service work—forced a brighter smile onto your face. “I’ll get right on that,” you said, your voice chipper, though the words felt hollow.

As you finished cleaning the spill, you couldn’t help but glance up just in time to see Abigail making her way across the bar. There was something about her presence that always made the room shift—like the air itself tightened in her wake. She walked with an air of authority, her shoulders squared, her head held high. Even the regulars sat up a little straighter when she passed by, their conversations quieting as they instinctively tried to look more sober, more responsible.

You and James exchanged another look, one that spoke volumes without saying a word. It was the same every time Abigail walked in. Even when she wasn’t watching, it felt like she was always watching.

But then, just as Abigail disappeared into the back office, the front door swung open, and he walked in.

Remy.

Your heart skipped a beat before you could stop it, an involuntary reaction that sent a jolt of warmth—no, frustration—through your chest. You tried to keep your expression neutral, but there was no ignoring the way your stomach twisted when you saw him. He looked as effortlessly charming as ever, his grin wide and easy, his eyes sweeping across the room like he owned the place. And there, tucked neatly under his arm, was a woman—a brunette with long, perfectly curled hair and a body that seemed to mold perfectly against his side.

The sight of her—of them—sent a flicker of something sharp and unpleasant through you. Jealousy. You hated the way it crept up, unbidden and unwanted, curling around your chest like a tight fist. You had no right to feel like this. You barely knew him. Sure, there had been some... moments between you—moments that had left you feeling dizzy and breathless and more than a little confused—but that didn’t mean anything, right?

Right.

You tried to remind yourself of who he was. Of what he was. Remy was trouble. Unpredictable. Dangerous. The kind of man who could sweep you off your feet one minute and disappear the next, leaving you to wonder if any of it had been real. You’d seen it before—men like him, with their smooth words and easy smiles, always keeping you at arm’s length, always leaving you wanting more but never offering anything solid to hold onto.

And yet, you couldn’t stop the way your eyes lingered on him as he led the woman toward the VIP section. His arm was still wrapped around her waist, and she was laughing at something he said, her head tilted back, her smile wide and carefree. The sight of them together stirred something bitter in the back of your throat, but you swallowed it down, forcing yourself to look away.

You had no reason to feel like this. No right. What had happened between you and Remy—if you could even call it that—was nothing more than a fleeting moment, a spark that had flickered briefly before being snuffed out by the reality of who he was.

James, always perceptive, caught the shift in your expression. He glanced from you to Remy, his brow furrowing slightly, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he just handed you another clean cloth, his voice quiet but steady. “You good?”

You nodded quickly, too quickly, and plastered on a smile that felt a little too tight. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just need to finish up here.”

But as you wiped down the last of the spill and turned back to the bar, you couldn’t help but feel the weight of Remy’s presence, even from across the room. It was like he had cast a shadow over the space, one that you couldn’t quite shake, no matter how hard you tried.

Because the truth was, no matter how much you wanted to pretend otherwise, seeing him with someone else had stirred something inside you—something you weren’t sure you were ready to face yet.

The lunch rush had swept in like a tide, and you found yourself pulled from one patron to the next, each conversation blurring into the next. The stories and small talk were always the same—mundane snippets of life, told with slight variations by different faces. A businessman complaining about his boss. A tourist asking for recommendations. A regular droning on about their week. You nodded, smiled, and laughed in all the right places, the mask of polite interest never slipping from your face. It was part of the job, after all—being invisible, being present, being everything they needed you to be for the few minutes they stood at the bar.

But as the minutes dragged on, you could feel the dull ache in your hand becoming sharper, the wound from earlier throbbing with each movement. Every time you gripped a bottle or wiped down the counter, the skin stretched and pulled, and you had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from wincing. You glanced down at your palm, the red mark still angry and swollen despite the bandage. But there wasn’t time to stop, not with the bar bustling and James already swamped at the other end.

Finally, when you couldn’t ignore the tightness in your hand any longer, you allowed yourself a brief moment of reprieve. You leant back for a moment, blowing on the cut in your hand, trying to quell the pain. As you heard your name being called from the other end of the bar, you turned to the sound and there stood a familiar figure, his blond hair catching the light, his wide grin instantly putting you at ease. Steve. The sight of him made your shoulders relax, and the tension that had been coiling inside you loosened slightly.

“Well, good afternoon, Steven,” you teased lightly, a grin to match his spreading across your face.

He raised an eyebrow, leaning casually against the bar as the tight black uniform he wore stretched across his broad chest and arms. “What, no nicknames today?” he asked, his voice warm and teasing.

You cleared your throat dramatically, playing along. “Sorry, Captain America,” you replied with a laugh, watching as the amusement sparkled in his bright blue eyes. There was something undeniably comforting about Steve—something stable, easy, uncomplicated. A sense of friendship rooted in years of shared banter and harmless flirting, where neither of you expected more than the lighthearted companionship. There was always a natural ease between you and Steve—a rhythm you’d both fallen into over time, like an unspoken dance. Conversations flowed effortlessly, punctuated by teasing quips and the occasional shared glance that said more than words ever could. He wasn’t just another face behind the bar. Steve was steady, like a lighthouse in the storm, always there to keep things grounded when the crowd got rowdy, or when the night wore on and you found yourself needing a moment of respite.

It hadn’t always been this way, though. Not long ago, when Steve first stepped foot in the bar, there was something more intense about him. He used to have that sharp, commanding presence—like someone who could size up a room in seconds and have everything under control with just a flicker of his gaze. He hadn’t needed to raise his voice to keep things in check; his mere presence had a way of calming the chaos, the same way it likely had when he was still in uniform.

Steve had been forced to leave the Army after an incident—a shadowy chapter in his life that no one knew the full details of. He never talked about it, but the scars were there in his posture, in the way his shoulders tightened when someone asked about his past. Whatever happened had changed the course of his life, leaving a mark that still lingered, though he carried it with quiet grace.

Now, instead of leading soldiers or making split-second decisions in the heat of battle, Steve worked security at the bar. It was a far cry from the days when he’d been responsible for a team, the weight of command heavy on his shoulders, but he still approached it with the same focus, the same precision. You could see it in the way he moved—every step deliberate, every glance calculated. He was always scanning the room, making sure everyone was safe, that there was no trouble brewing. Even when he seemed relaxed, arms crossed or leaning against the bar with that familiar grin, you knew his mind was always working.

The Army had shaped him, molded him into someone who thrived under pressure, who could make order out of chaos, and though he wasn’t in command anymore, some habits died hard. Sometimes, when he thought no one was watching, you’d catch a glimpse of the weight he carried. A distant look in his eye, a slight wince when someone mentioned anything military-related, or the way he’d instinctively roll his shoulder, like the strain of responsibility still tugged at him.

You respected the boundary he kept about his past, never pushing for details. There was no need. Whatever he had gone through was his to carry, and it didn’t define who he was in this place. Steve was more than that. He was the guy who made your worst shifts bearable with his easygoing smile and quick wit, the one who had your back when things got tough. There was comfort in knowing that, no matter what, Steve was there, watching over you and the rest of the bar.

And in return, you offered him that same unspoken understanding. You both knew your friendship—the playful flirting, the camaraderie—it wasn’t going anywhere beyond the bar. There was no secret longing, no hidden agenda. Just a shared connection, a mutual respect, and the knowledge that, in some small way, you were both each other's refuge from the more complicated parts of your lives.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “That’s better.” He shifted his weight slightly, his smile softening as he looked around the bar. “Has it been okay today?”

You nodded, feeling some of the stress of the rush starting to slip away now that you had a familiar face in front of you. “Oh yeah. We’ve got Lebeau upstairs in VIP, so I feel like everyone’s on their best behavior today,” you said with a small grin, though the mention of Remy’s name made your stomach tighten again.

Steve nodded knowingly, his expression thoughtful for a moment before he winced slightly, rolling his shoulder. “Well, let’s hope it stays that way. I’m not sure I’m up for dealing with any trouble today. Pulled a muscle in my shoulder last night, and it’s killing me.”

You couldn’t help but smirk at his dramatic tone, reaching across the bar to give his arm a playful rub. “Aww, poor baby,” you teased, your voice dripping with mock sympathy. But your touch lingered for just a second longer than necessary, a brief moment of warmth passing between you before you pulled your hand back.

Steve chuckled, shaking his head at your teasing, but before the conversation could go any further, you noticed James getting swamped again on the other side of the bar, his movements quick and a little frantic as more patrons crowded around.

You turned back to Steve, offering him an apologetic smile. “Looks like I’m needed. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

He gave you a quick nod, his smile still easy and relaxed, before he straightened up and waved you off. “Go save the day, bartender extraordinaire.”

You made your way to the customers, a smile gracing your face as you continued to take orders; but you felt the lingering gaze on you, the way your hairs stand up on the back of your neck the way it does when something feels off in the air.

You looked up and saw him—Remy, seated in the VIP section, surrounded by luxury and comfort. His posture was relaxed, but his expression wasn’t. His brow was furrowed, his gaze sharp, but it wasn’t anger or possessiveness that darkened his features. No, it was something subtler. Something more elusive.

He wasn’t even pretending to pay attention to the woman beside him now. His focus was on you, and there was something in the way he looked at you that made you pause. It wasn’t jealousy, but curiosity—intense, unrelenting curiosity. As if he was trying to figure something out, to understand a puzzle that had just shifted in front of him.

His gaze flickered briefly toward Steve, who was now standing near another staff member, laughing at something they’d said. But Remy’s attention didn’t linger on him. It returned to you, his eyes narrowing slightly, as if he was studying your every move. It didn’t feel invasive, but it was certainly... thorough. Like he was trying to understand why you had his attention at all—why he couldn’t look away.

There was a pull between you, but it wasn’t the kind that demanded anything, not in that moment. It was a slow burn, the kind that made you feel seen in a way that was both unsettling and intriguing. His eyes weren’t staking a claim, nor was there any silent demand. Instead, there was an openness—a question hanging in the air between you.

His expression softened slightly, as if he had come to some quiet realization, though you couldn’t guess what it was. And then, just as quickly, his eyes flicked away, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he turned back toward his conversation, leaving you with more questions than answers.

Your breath caught, not because of any looming tension, but because you could feel the weight of that curiosity—his, and now, your own. But it didn’t make sense. It shouldn’t make sense. You had no reason to feel this way—to feel anything at all for him. And yet, there it was, that undeniable pull, that inexplicable gravity that seemed to anchor you to him, even when you weren’t looking.

You quickly averted your gaze, your heart pounding in your chest as you forced yourself to focus on the drinks in front of you. But the weight of his stare lingered, and as you moved through the motions of the lunch rush, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted—something that you weren’t ready to face.

Because the truth was, no matter how much you tried to push it aside, Remy Lebeau had gotten under your skin. <><><><><><><><> Remy leaned back in the plush VIP chair, one arm draped casually over the backrest, the other holding his phone as he turned it toward Olivia. She grabbed it out of his hand, quickly typing something in before handing it back. He grabbed his phone back and looked at it, the familiar excel spreadsheet now showing a long row of numbers.

His eyes slid away from Olivia and toward the bar area, where afternoon’s rhythm was in full swing. You moved with practiced speed, pouring drinks, laughing with patrons, and keeping the alcohol flowing. It was a well-oiled machine, a dance of chaos and control. But Remy wasn’t interested in what you were doing right now. He wasn’t interested in Olivia or the shallow conversations that filled the air. His gaze moved and settled on the dark-haired bartender who’d caught his eye earlier.

Kate, he believed her name was.

She moved with purpose, her hands always busy, but there was something in the way she carried herself that Remy found intriguing. A slight edge to her movements, a tension in her shoulders when she passed him. Her eyes never lingered too long on any one person, but tonight, Remy had caught her looking. And now, he was waiting.

He watched her with the same casual intensity he applied to most things—his posture relaxed, but his mind alert, always taking in the details. After a moment, her gaze flicked upward, meeting his. There it was. The pause, the hesitation.

Remy’s lips curled into a faint smile as he raised two fingers, gesturing for her to come over. It was a subtle motion, but one that carried weight, a quiet command that didn’t need words to be understood.

Kate’s reaction was immediate—her eyes widened just a fraction, and Remy could see the slight falter in her step, the momentary uncertainty. But she recovered quickly, smoothing her apron as if she needed something to do with her hands. After a second's pause, she made her way over, weaving through the crowd with a practiced grace, though her nerves were evident in the way she glanced around, avoiding eye contact with anyone but him.

When she reached him, she took a deep breath in, holding that tablet and standing a little straighter than before. “Can I help you with something?” she asked, her voice steady, though there was a trace of something beneath it. Anxiety, maybe. Or curiosity.

Remy’s smile widened slightly, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He tipped his head back, studying her for a moment before speaking, his Cajun drawl slipping into his words like molasses. “Don’t be nervous, chère. Jus’ got a quick question for y’.” He nodded toward the lower bar area, where the tall, broad-shouldered blonde had just walked into the gaming room. “That blond man—th’ one who just left the bar. Who is he?”

Kate shifted, her eyes darting toward the gaming room. She saw the blonde hair, the uniform, and then she spotted you, laughing with James as you served a customer. Her stomach dropped. She swallowed deeply, trying to keep her tone neutral. “That’s Steve. He’s, uh… head of security here.”

She said it simply, like that would be enough. Short and sweet, she told herself. Don’t make things weirder than they already are.

But Remy wasn’t satisfied. He leaned back in his chair, his posture deceptively casual, though the atmosphere between them shifted. His fingers tapped thoughtfully against his lower lip, his red-on-black eyes never leaving Kate. The smile that had once played on his lips was gone now, replaced by something far more serious. His voice dropped, losing its earlier lightness, becoming something quieter but harder to ignore.

“Non, chère,” he said, his tone low and measured. “That ain’t what I asked.” His gaze sharpened, fixing on Kate with an intensity that made her shrink slightly under its weight. “Who’s Steve?”

Kate froze, her pulse racing in her ears. She knew exactly what Remy was asking now. He wasn’t interested in some random security guy. He was asking about Steve’s connection to you. And from the way Remy’s eyes bore into her, it was clear he already had his suspicions. This wasn’t a passing curiosity—Remy felt something, even if he hadn’t put a name to it yet.

The silence stretched between them, thick with tension, and Kate could feel her palms beginning to sweat. She swallowed hard, trying to think of the right thing to say, but her brain was moving too fast, her thoughts tangling together. She knew she had to be careful here. But panic, like it always does, betrayed her.

“They’re just friends,” she blurted out, her voice too quick, too loud. The second the words left her mouth, she regretted them. Remy’s eyebrow lifted ever so slightly, a subtle but clear indication that he wasn’t buying it. Kate’s stomach dropped, and she rushed to explain, her words coming out in a panicked tumble.

“Honestly! They’ve got this… weird thing. It’s always been like that since the day he started. They joke around a lot, but it’s nothing serious. I swear.”

She could feel the heat creeping up her neck, her heart hammering against her ribcage. She had definitely said too much now, and she knew it. Her mind raced, replaying what she’d just said, and the realization hit her like a punch to the gut. She had just confirmed there was something between you and Steve, even if it wasn’t what Remy had been imagining. She had given him a thread to pull on, and from what she knows about Remy, he wasn’t going to let it go.

Remy stayed silent, watching her with that same unnerving intensity. His fingers stopped tapping against his lip, and he leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees as he studied her. There was no anger in his expression, no outward sign that he was upset—but his silence was heavy, filled with a quiet, simmering curiosity that felt more dangerous than any outburst.

Kate shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, her hands fidgeting with the edge of her apron again. She wanted to say something else, something to take back the words that had already slipped out, but she knew there was no point. The damage was done.

Remy’s eyes flickered toward the gaming room for just a moment, as if considering something, before returning to her. His voice, when he spoke again, was soft, but it held a weight that made her stomach twist.

“A ‘weird thing,’ huh?” His accent curled around the words, slow and deliberate, like he was tasting them. His lips quirked into a faint smile, but there was no humor in it. “They joke around a lot, you say?”

Kate nodded quickly, desperate to stick to her story now. “Yeah, yeah. It’s like… I don’t know, they’ve got this banter. It’s always been like that. He flirts with her, she flirts with him back. It’s just how they are. But it’s nothing serious, really. They’re just friends.” Her lips fell into a straight line once that came out. She knew what she just said. She just hoped you made it quick when you did kill her.

Remy leaned back again, his gaze drifting from Kate to where you were standing behind the bar, laughing with another bartender. His eyes narrowed slightly, not in suspicion, but in thought. He wasn’t jealous—that much was clear. But there was something about the way you moved around Steve, the way you smiled when he was near, that piqued Remy’s interest.

He tilted his head, his fingers resuming their idle tapping against the armrest of his chair. “Hmm,” he murmured, “So they just got a lil’ banter, is that it?”

Kate nodded again, her throat dry. She could feel the weight of her mistake pressing down on her, but there was no way out now. She had already put her foot in it, and all she could do was hope that Remy would let it go. But one look at his face told her he wouldn’t. Not yet.

“Right,” Remy said softly, his eyes still on you. “That’s all it is, huh?”

Kate could barely breathe. The way he said it—it was like he was testing her, seeing how far she’d go to stick to her story. She nodded one last time, her voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah. That’s all.”

Remy’s gaze lingered on you for a moment longer before he finally turned back to her, his smile returning, though it was small and unreadable. “D’accord, chère. I believe ya.” But the way he said it—it wasn’t a confirmation. It was more like an acknowledgment that the conversation was over, at least for now.

“Merci,” he added, his tone softening as he gave her a dismissive wave. “Go on, get back t’ work. Don’t let me keep ya.”

Kate didn’t need to be told twice. She nodded quickly, mumbling a quick “Thanks” before turning and hurrying back toward the bar. Her heart was still pounding, and she could feel the sweat clinging to the back of her neck as she moved. She cursed herself under her breath, knowing that she’d said too much.

As she put distance between herself and Remy, she couldn’t help but glance back over her shoulder. He was still watching you, his expression thoughtful, almost calculating.

Remy wasn’t angry. But he was curious now. And that, Kate realized, might be even worse.

He leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming lightly on the armrest, his eyes never leaving you. There was no jealousy in his gaze, no possessiveness. Just a quiet, simmering interest. You weren’t an open book to him—you were a puzzle, and Remy loved puzzles.

He smiled to himself, a slow, deliberate smile, as he watched you from across the room. <><><><><><>

It wasn’t the rush that made you hate the lunch shift. The crowd wasn’t the biggest you’d face during the day—not by a long shot. Dinner and night shifts were much worse, especially on weekends when the small, dimly lit club in the basement opened up, drawing in waves of people eager to drink and dance until the early hours of the morning. That kind of chaos, you could manage. You *liked* managing it, in fact. The steady surge of orders, the challenge of keeping up with the pace, the way the energy of a packed bar felt like a living thing, charged and exhilarating.

But lunch? Lunch was different.

It wasn’t just the noise. It wasn’t just the sheer volume of people that filled the space. It was the kind of patrons lunch brought in. The ones who weren’t just loud—they were rowdy, boisterous, and far too handsy for comfort. There was something about the middle of the day that made people drink more aggressively, like they were trying to drown out the daylight itself, as if the brightness outside was something they needed to escape from. You always noticed it—the way they knocked back their drinks faster, ordered another before the first was even half-finished. By the time the second round hit them, the noise level had already soared, and conversations turned into shouting matches over the bar.

And then came the touches.

It was subtle at first, almost innocuous. A hand brushing too close when you leaned over to hand them their change. A casual touch on your arm as someone slurred a compliment at you. But as the hours dragged on and the drinks piled up, those touches became more frequent, more insistent, making your skin crawl. The way some of them leaned over the bar, their eyes glazed and too familiar, made you want to retreat. There was a different energy in the air during lunch shifts—one that rubbed against your nerves and left you feeling raw by the end of it.

So naturally, you hated the lunch shift.

Today was no different. As you caught your breath behind the bar, taking advantage of a brief lull, you wiped your hands on your apron, exhaling slowly. The air was thick with the smell of spilled beer and liquor, the sticky residue of too many drinks mixed with the faint scent of sweat from the crowd. The cacophony of voices had died down for the moment, but you knew it wouldn’t last. It never did.

From your left, you felt someone approaching before you even saw them. A presence that cut through the noise of the bar like a blade. Sharp. Commanding. Unmistakable.

Abigail.

Her arrival was always like clockwork—each step precise, deliberate, the steady click of her heels on the wooden floor like a metronome. Even in the middle of the chaos, she moved with an air of control, like the bar itself bent to her will. In her hand, she carried her ever-present clipboard, its edges worn from constant use, filled with lists and notes you could only imagine were as meticulous as she was.

Without so much as a glance in your direction, Abigail stopped beside you, her eyes already scanning the paperwork in front of her. She was always focused, always thinking several steps ahead, mentally checking off tasks before you even realized they were on the list. Her hair was pulled back into a severe bun, not a strand out of place, her tailored suit as crisp as ever, even in the stifling heat of the bar. The only thing that seemed to move freely about her was the pen she twirled absentmindedly between her fingers, a constant reminder that she was already planning her next move.

She didn’t even look up from her clipboard as she spoke. “We need to restock the top shelf whiskey,” she said, her voice smooth but firm, cutting through the din of the bar. “And the IPA keg is about to run dry. Can’t afford to let that happen again.”

You nodded, wiping a bead of sweat from your brow. “I’ll take care of it.”

Abigail hummed in acknowledgment, still not looking at you. To her, it wasn’t a conversation. It was just another task on a long list of things that needed to be done. You weren’t sure if she ever truly saw you—or anyone, for that matter. She was the kind of person who existed in her own world, where efficiency and control were paramount. The noise, the chaos, the human element of it all seemed to roll off her like water, never sticking.

But you couldn’t let it roll off you. Not today.

You glanced around the bar, your eyes flicking over the patrons still lingering, their voices rising again as the brief lull came to an end. The rowdy energy was starting to build back up, like a wave gathering strength before it crashed. A group near the end of the bar had started laughing too loudly, their hands gesturing wildly as they sloshed their drinks around, already half-drunk despite the early hour. One of them—a man in a rumpled button-up shirt, tie askew—leaned over the counter, his eyes tracking you as you moved.

Abigail, of course, didn’t notice. Or if she did, she didn’t care.

“Make sure the inventory numbers are updated before the evening shift,” she continued, her pen flicking across the clipboard as she made another note. “We’re running behind, and I want it sorted before the weekend rush.”

You nodded again, but your attention was elsewhere. The man at the end of the bar had stood up now, his drink abandoned as he made his way toward you, his steps slow and unsteady. Your stomach twisted, the familiar knot of unease tightening as he approached.

Abigail’s voice droned on, calm and steady, completely oblivious to the growing tension in the air. “Also, I need you to—”

“Sorry,” you interrupted, your voice tense as you stepped away from her and toward the man before he could get too close. “I need to handle something.”

Abigail blinked, finally glancing up from her clipboard. Her gaze followed yours to the man now leaning against the bar, his eyes glassy, a lazy grin spreading across his face. She didn’t say anything, but the faint arch of her brow told you she had noticed him now. Her lips pressed into a thin line, but she didn’t stop you. She didn’t need to. This was your job, after all.

You took a deep breath and moved to the man before he could get any closer, plastering on your best customer service smile. “Can I help you?”

He smirked, his eyes drifting down to your apron, then back up to your face. “You can help me with a refill, sweetheart,” he slurred, leaning in closer than necessary. His breath reeked of alcohol, and you had to resist the urge to pull back. “And maybe with a little… company?”

Your smile tightened. This was what you hated about the lunch shift—the way it brought out the worst in people. The way it made you feel like you were always one step away from something you didn’t want to deal with.

“I’ll get you that refill,” you said, your voice strained but polite, “but for the rest, you’re on your own.”

The man laughed, a loud, obnoxious sound that grated against your nerves. But before he could say anything else, you felt Abigail’s presence beside you again—this time, unmistakable. She stepped forward, clipboard still in hand, but now her eyes were on the man, cold and calculating.

“Is there a problem here?” she asked, her tone devoid of warmth, but not unkind. It was the kind of voice that commanded attention without needing to raise it.

The man blinked, his grin faltering as he looked between you and Abigail. Something about her presence—her sheer, unflinching authority—seemed to sober him up, if only for a moment. He straightened, muttering something under his breath before slinking back to his seat.

Abigail didn’t watch him go. She didn’t need to. Her attention was already back on you, her expression calm and composed, as if the little scene that had just played out was nothing more than a minor disruption in her meticulously organized world. “Get the refill,” she said quietly, her tone business-like. “Then take five.”

You nodded, grateful for the brief reprieve. The tension in your shoulders eased just a fraction, though the knot in your stomach remained tight. You turned to grab the man’s drink, but as you did, you couldn’t help but glance at Abigail from the corner of your eye. She was already back to her clipboard, her pen moving swiftly across the page, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. To her, it probably hadn’t. She was used to handling these situations with quiet authority, never letting anything faze her.

But for you, it was just another reminder of why the lunch shift always left you feeling on edge.

As you reached for the bottle, Abigail’s voice cut through the air again, sharp and clear—though not unkind. “Wanda—” she began, referencing the red-haired waitress who had helped you clean up after your little… incident the other night. You winced at the memory. “—she’s coming in to take over for you.”

You froze, brow furrowing in confusion. “Wait, what? Why?” You glanced instinctively toward James, who was working a few seats down the bar, pouring drinks for a couple who barely acknowledged his presence. He caught your look, shrugged casually, and went back to his task, clearly just as clueless as you were.

Abigail, however, didn’t miss a beat. She flipped a page on her clipboard, her pen clicking as she made another note. “You’re going to take over for Kate so she can go on her break,” she said, flat and matter-of-fact, as if this was the most obvious thing in the world.

You blinked, trying to process. “Take over for Kate?” The question felt ridiculous on your tongue, and yet there it was. “Why me?”

Abigail’s eyes snapped up from her clipboard, fixing you with a look that said she wasn’t asking a question—she was giving an order. And it was clear that there would be no arguing. Her expression remained neutral, but her gaze was sharp, piercing through any resistance you might have thought about mustering.

“Is that a problem?” she asked, her voice cool, her tone making it very clear that this wasn’t a conversation. It was a directive.

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words that slipped out were not the ones you’d planned. “Did Kate put you up to this?” The second the question left your lips, you regretted it. You knew you’d crossed a line. Abigail’s face didn’t change, but her eyes—those sharp, calculating eyes—narrowed ever so slightly, like a predator honing in on weakness.

For a long, excruciating moment, she didn’t say anything. The air between you seemed to grow thicker, heavier, the noise of the bar fading into the background as her gaze locked onto yours. There was no anger, no raised voice—just that terrifying calm Abigail always carried, the kind that made you feel like you were a step away from falling off a cliff.

Finally, she spoke, her voice dry and pointed. “Now why would she do that?” Her tone was dripping with sarcasm, but there was an undercurrent there. An unspoken understanding that hung between you like a weight. She didn’t need to spell it out. You knew. She knew. Kate knew exactly what she was doing by sending you upstairs, and Abigail wasn’t oblivious to it, either.

And the reason?

He was sitting up there right now, lounging in the VIP section, sipping on a bottle of wine that probably cost more than your rent, his arm casually draped around a woman who wasn’t you.

The question wasn’t rhetorical, nor was it open for debate. Abigail’s pen scratched against the clipboard again, her eyes never leaving yours. “Just make sure you’re not tipping any trays of glasses on people today,” she added, her voice as cutting as ever. “I’ve had to file enough paperwork for you to last the rest of the month.”

You couldn’t help the small, sheepish smile that tugged at your lips, though the weight in your chest didn’t lift. “Oh, we’re still mentioning that?” you asked, your attempt at humor falling flat even to your own ears. You knew it was a losing battle, but you couldn’t help trying to lighten the mood. The incident from last night—the one where you had quite literally tipped an entire tray of glasses onto a patron—was still fresh in everyone’s mind. Clearly, Abigail wasn’t about to let it go anytime soon.

Abigail raised an eyebrow, her expression sharpening, though a faint glimmer of amusement flickered in her eyes. To your surprise, she actually smiled—a rare, thin-lipped smile that barely softened the edges of her usual severity. “Oh, this will be talked about and the footage shown to anyone who asks until the day you decide to leave here.”

You groaned softly, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks again. The humiliation of last night still stung, and the idea of it becoming some kind of permanent inside joke made your stomach churn. Apparently, there would be no living it down anytime soon.

Abigail gave you one last look before nodding toward the stairs that led up to the VIP section. “Off you trot,” she said briskly. “And make sure you’ve got your radio on you. Just in case.” She paused, her gaze lingering on you for a beat longer than necessary. “You know how lunch gets around here. If anything happens, call Steve.”

The weight of her words settled heavily on your shoulders. Just in case.

You knew what she meant. You didn’t need her to say it outright. It wasn’t the lunch crowd she was worried about. It was him. Remy. The implications of being up in the VIP section with him, even for just a short time, hung in the air between you. There was always an edge of danger when it came to him, a sense that anything could happen—and that you weren’t entirely sure you could handle it when it did.

Abigail flicked her pen one last time before turning and marching off, her heels clicking against the floor in a precise rhythm, leaving you standing there with a deep sigh. Your gaze followed her retreating form until she disappeared into the back, and then it drifted upward, toward the staircase that loomed like a shadow over the rest of the bar.

Of course. Of course you were being sent up there. Kate had likely orchestrated the entire thing, knowing exactly what she was doing. She had probably seen the way you’d tensed when Remy walked in earlier, the way your eyes had flickered with something—jealousy? Curiosity? Longing?—when you saw him with that woman.

And now here you were. No escape, no excuses.

Your heart thudded heavily in your chest as you started toward the stairs, weaving your way through the crowd of oblivious patrons. The further you walked, the heavier the air seemed to become, like the atmosphere itself was thickening around you, pressing down on your lungs. By the time you reached the foot of the stairs, your pulse was racing, your chest tight with anticipation and anxiety.

You didn’t want to see him.

But the truth was, you did. You wanted to see him more than you cared to admit, even to yourself.

As your hand gripped the rail and you took the first step up, you tried to push the swirling thoughts from your mind. You reminded yourself, as you had a thousand times before, of who he was. Of what he was. Remy LeBeau was trouble—pure, unfiltered trouble. The kind of man who could ruin you without even trying. You’d seen it happen to others, had watched him charm his way into someone’s life and leave chaos in his wake. You knew better.

And yet, despite all the warnings, despite everything your brain screamed at you, you couldn’t deny the pull you felt toward him. The magnetism. The way he seemed to draw you in, like a moth to a flame, even when you knew you’d get burned.

The woman upstairs with him? She didn’t matter. Not really. Not when you knew that Remy didn’t let anyone get too close. Not when you knew that whatever connection you felt with him—whatever it was—it was fleeting. Temporary. A momentary spark that would never be allowed to catch fire.

But even as you told yourself this, you could feel the flutter of nerves in your stomach, the anticipation curling inside you as you climbed the stairs, each step heavier than the last.

Because the truth was, no matter how much you tried to convince yourself otherwise, a part of you wanted to see him again. And that terrified you more than anything else.

Because no matter how hard you tried to deny it, no matter how much you told yourself that Remy LeBeau was bad news, there was no escaping this truth: part of you didn’t care if being near him burned you.

You just wanted to feel the heat.

<><><><><> The VIP room, perched on an indoor balcony that overlooked the bustling main bar below, felt like a world apart—an oasis of luxury and exclusivity suspended above the chaos. Every detail of the space was carefully curated to exude opulence, from the grand chandelier that dominated the ceiling to the rich, dark leather couches that invited the wealthiest patrons to sink into their embrace. The chandelier’s crystals caught the warm, amber light, scattering it in delicate patterns that danced across the room, casting everything in a soft, intimate glow.

The polished mahogany tables, sleek and gleaming under the low light, were arranged in such a way as to provide small pockets of privacy—secluded alcoves where secrets could be whispered and deals could be made. At the far end of the room, a sleek bar stood as a monument to indulgence, stocked with the kind of premium liquors most people could only dream of tasting. Behind the bar, Kate worked quickly, her hands moving with practiced efficiency as she prepared drinks for the waiting woman who sat nearby, her expression one of disinterested impatience.

The air was thick with the clinking of glasses, the low murmur of conversation, and the occasional burst of laughter that felt just a bit too loud, too exaggerated. It was the kind of laughter that came from people who were playing a role—performing wealth, status, and power for the benefit of those around them. These were people who lived in a world of appearances, where every gesture, every word, was calculated to maintain an image. Even the murmurs of conversation carried a certain weight, as if each word exchanged was part of some intricate, high-stakes negotiation.

But despite the hum of activity, your attention was inexorably drawn to one particular table—the one that always seemed to catch your eye, no matter how hard you tried to ignore it.

As you ascended the stairs to the VIP section, your pulse quickened, that familiar combination of anticipation and trepidation settling deep in your chest. You hated how easily your body reacted to him, how the mere thought of his presence could send a ripple through your nerves. It frustrated you, the way he seemed to have this magnetic pull that you couldn’t shake, no matter how much you tried to convince yourself that he was someone you should avoid. Someone dangerous. Someone who was nothing but trouble.

And yet, like gravity, he pulled you in, a force you couldn’t quite escape.

The moment you stepped into the VIP room, you felt it—the shift. Remy straightened ever so slightly in his seat. It wasn’t a dramatic movement, nothing overt that would draw attention, but it was enough. Enough to tell you that he’d seen you the second you walked in. That small, subtle shift sent a jolt through you, a silent acknowledgment of your presence, a reminder that Remy LeBeau was always aware of you. Always watching.

He sat with his usual air of relaxed confidence, his posture loose and lazy, one arm draped over the back of the leather couch. But there was something simmering beneath the surface, a tension in the way he held himself, as if he were a coiled spring waiting to snap. The stubble that shadowed his jawline added a dark edge to his already sharp features, giving him an air of menace that was impossible to ignore. His lips were curled into a subtle, knowing smirk, but it was his eyes—those dark, intense eyes—that truly set your nerves on edge.

They followed your every movement, slow and deliberate, like a predator watching its prey. There was something in his gaze that made your heart pound harder in your chest, though you couldn’t quite decide if it was from fear, excitement, or something far more dangerous.

Seated next to him was a woman who, under any other circumstances, would have commanded the room effortlessly. Her long, dark hair cascaded over her shoulders like silk, and she was stunning in that way only wealth and confidence could craft. Her high cheekbones, full lips painted a deep, sultry red, and flawless skin seemed to glow under the soft lighting. She wore an emerald-green dress that clung to her body like it had been made specifically for her, its plunging neckline designed to draw attention. Every inch of her screamed elegance and poise, and yet, despite her beauty, there was a palpable disinterest in her demeanor.

She lifted a delicate forkful of food to her lips, her movements slow and deliberate, but her eyes never once flicked toward Remy. In fact, she barely seemed aware of his presence at all. Her other hand idly toyed with the strap of her clutch, her manicured fingers tapping against it in a rhythmic pattern. It was as if she were above it all—above him, above the room, above the entire situation. She was playing her part in this little performance, but her heart wasn’t in it.

The contrast between them was stark.

Her indifference was practiced, almost rehearsed, like she knew exactly how this game worked, and she didn’t need to try anymore. She was here for appearances, for the look of it, not for any real connection. But Remy? He wasn’t interested in her, either. Not really. His body language made that clear. He leaned back in his seat, his gaze fixed on you in a way that made the rest of the room seem to blur into the background. It was as if the woman beside him didn’t exist, as if she were nothing more than a beautiful prop in a scene that didn’t require her presence.

His attention, whether you wanted it or not, was entirely on you.

You hated the way your pulse raced in response, the way your skin prickled under the weight of his gaze. It made you feel exposed, vulnerable, even though you were fully clothed and standing in a room full of people. Remy had that effect on you—he made you feel like you were the only person in the room, like he could see right through you, past the carefully constructed walls you’d built around yourself.

And that terrified you.

Your feet carried you toward the bar, your movements automatic, but your mind was spinning. You told yourself to focus on the task at hand, to keep your head down and do your job. But as you passed by his table, you couldn’t help but feel the pull—the gravitational force that seemed to bind you to him, no matter how hard you fought against it.

Remy’s lips curled into a smile as you neared, a lazy, knowing smile that reached his eyes, making them gleam with something dark and dangerous.  He didn’t say anything, didn’t need to.

The woman beside him didn’t even glance up. She was too busy pretending not to care.

But Remy? He cared. He cared in a way that made your stomach twist with equal parts dread and desire.

Kate was practically vibrating with anticipation, her grin sharp and knowing as she leaned over the bar, brimming with whatever delicious gossip she was about to drop on you. You could feel her eyes on you, her excitement barely contained, like she’d been waiting all night for this moment.

She took a quick glance around the room—more for show than out of any real need for secrecy—and her voice dropped to a hushed tone, as if she were about to share state secrets. “Okay, so,” she began, her tone laced with that familiar edge of exasperation. Her eyes flickered toward Table 7. “Our friend over there is about to be cut off. The guy’s been downing whiskey like it’s water, and he’s well past the point of making a fool of himself.”

You followed her gaze to Table 7, where the man in question was gesturing wildly with his drink, his voice carrying a little too loudly over the low hum of conversation. He was already starting to slur his words, and you could tell it wouldn't be long before he became a problem.

Kate rolled her eyes, her lips pulling into a thin line of annoyance. “I’ve already had to remind him twice that this isn’t a frat party. If he gets any louder, I might just throw him out myself.”

You nodded, mentally filing away the warning. You’d clocked the guy the moment he ordered his third double in less than an hour. He was a disaster waiting to happen, and you didn’t envy the poor soul who’d have to deal with him once he hit his breaking point.

But Kate wasn’t finished.

She jerked her head subtly toward another table, her tone shifting, a little more serious now. “Table 9—that one’s a little weird. The guy’s been feeding his date margaritas like it’s some kind of competition. I don’t like the vibe. Something’s off.”

Your eyes darted to Table 9. The man was leaning in close to his date, whispering something in her ear that made her laugh, but her expression was distant, her eyes slightly glazed over. The laughter didn’t reach her eyes, and the unsettling feeling that had been gnawing at you all night suddenly sharpened. The gut feeling Kate mentioned washed over you, too—a heavy, sinking sensation that made your stomach twist.

“Keep an eye on her, will you?” Kate added, her voice low but firm. “I’ve got a bad gut feeling about it.”

You nodded again, this time more seriously, making a mental note to swing by their table more frequently. Something about the way the man’s hand rested on his date’s arm, possessive and a little too tight, made your skin crawl. You didn’t want to wait until something went wrong.

But Kate wasn’t done, and you could tell by the glint in her eyes that she was saving the best for last.

She shifted her weight, pointing a casual thumb over her shoulder toward Table 2. Her expression softened just a little, the edge of her usual sarcasm giving way to something almost tender. “Oh, and Table 2 is celebrating their 40th wedding anniversary. Vis wanted to send them a special dessert, something on the house. Make sure it gets out to them, okay?”

A small smile tugged at your lips. You’d noticed the couple earlier in the night, their fingers intertwined across the table, still holding hands like they were teenagers in love. Table 2 had been nothing but sweet and polite all evening, and you were happy to make their night a little more special. A soft moment of kindness in the middle of all the chaos.

But just as you were about to respond, Kate’s grin widened into something positively wicked. Her eyes sparkled with mischief, and she leaned in even closer, her voice dropping to an almost conspiratorial whisper. You could tell by the way she was savoring the moment that this was the part she’d been waiting for.

“And of course...” She paused dramatically, drawing out the suspense, her smile growing even more smug. “Your favorite person in the world is being the least interesting man in the room tonight.”

Your heart sank, the familiar tightness settling in your chest. You didn’t need to ask who she meant. The sinking feeling told you everything. But instead of letting on, you raised an eyebrow, feigning indifference as you waited for her to spill the rest.

Kate’s eyes gleamed as she said his name, her tone dripping with mock reverence. “Remy LeBeau.”

You fought the urge to roll your eyes. Just hearing his name was enough to send a ripple through you, but you kept your expression neutral. Barely.

Kate, apparently oblivious to your internal turmoil or maybe just enjoying it too much to care, continued with a smirk. “Him and his date? Zero chemistry. Seriously. They’ll talk for maybe thirty seconds, she’ll look at her phone, and he’ll go back to doing his whole brooding, mysterious thing.” She placed a hand over her heart in mock adoration, sighing dramatically. “Which, let me tell you, I’m a little surprised about. I figured he’d at least pretend to care—flash that charming smile, maybe throw a few of his smooth lines her way.”

Kate paused, letting the moment hang between you like a spark waiting to ignite something much bigger. You could see the gleam in her eyes, the way she was savoring this. And then, with a smug little smile, she dropped the bomb.

"But nope. You know what he did ask me about earlier? Steve."

You blinked, momentarily thrown off. “Steve?” What does Remy care about Steve?

Kate’s grin got impossibly wider, clearly enjoying every second of her revelation. “Yeah. Well, not about Steve exactly.” She leaned in a little closer, lowering her voice as if she were about to share some great secret. “He was asking all casual-like, ‘Who’s that who just walked into the gaming room?’ And me, being the genius that I am, go, ‘Oh, that’s Steve. He’s head of security’” She rolled her eyes dramatically, clearly amused by her own mistake. “And then it hits me—he wasn’t asking about Steve. He was asking about you.”

Your stomach twisted, a knot of anxiety tightening into something sharp. The realization hit like a wave crashing over you, cold and relentless. Remy hadn’t been interested in security, not really. He had been fishing, and Kate—without even realizing it—had handed him exactly what he was looking for.

You felt your heart rate pick up, a strange mix of anger and unease threading through your veins. Of course Remy would find a way to get under your skin without even trying. But what really got to you—what really pissed you off—was Kate's casual slip-up.

“Jesus, Kate,” you muttered, unable to keep the annoyance from creeping into your voice. “You didn’t tell him about Steve and me, did you?”

Her smug expression faltered for a split second, and then she gave a sheepish shrug, biting her lip as if trying to contain a laugh. “Well... I might’ve mentioned the whole ‘flirting thing.’ You know, the way you and Steve are always at each other’s throats but in, like, a cute flirting way.” She waggled her eyebrows, clearly not reading the room—or at least, not your mood. “I figured it was harmless. I mean, come on, it’s an open secret around here. Everyone knows you two have that whole back-and-forth thing that isn’t going anywhere going for you.”

You could feel the heat rise in your chest, not from embarrassment but from frustration. The last thing you needed was for someone like Remy to get the wrong idea about your relationship with Steve. While the banter between you and Steve was mostly harmless—a few playful jabs here and there—it was yours, a private dynamic that kept things light on the long, grueling shifts. It was certainly not something you wanted to be shared with someone like Remy, who would no doubt twist it into something else, something he could use to needle you.

“Kate,” you said, your voice strained. “He’s Remy LeBeau. He doesn’t need more ammunition.”

Kate’s grin faded slightly, her expression softening as she noticed the real tension behind your words. She shifted her weight, her tone turning more serious. “I didn’t mean to put my foot in it,” she said, voice quieter now. “I just thought... well, you know. I didn’t think it was a big deal.”

You exhaled sharply, trying to rein in the frustration that was bubbling up inside you. It wasn’t Kate’s fault, not really. She didn’t know the full extent of what you were dealing with when it came to Remy. She didn’t know how he always seemed to be one step ahead, always watching, always figuring out ways to dig deeper under your skin. She saw him as everyone else did—a little dangerous, sure, but charming enough to make it seem harmless. But you knew better. You’d felt the weight of his attention, the way he could turn the simplest conversation into something that left you unsettled and thinking about it long after he’d walked away.

“I know,” you said finally, your voice softer now, the edge of anger replaced with something more resigned. “But he’s not... he’s not like the others. He’s trouble, Kate. Real trouble.”

Kate gave you a long, searching look, her smirk returning just a little, though there was more understanding behind it now. “Sure,” she said, drawing the word out like she wasn’t buying your explanation for a second. “But whatever it is, it’s got him asking about you. And I’m just saying... that doesn’t happen for no reason.”

You swallowed hard, trying to push down the flurry of emotions rising up inside you. “It’s not a thing,” you said, more to yourself than to Kate. “He’s just... he’s just trying to mess with me. That’s all.”

Kate raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Mess with you? That’s what you think is going on here?” She eyed you for a moment longer, then shook her head with a small, knowing smile. “Whatever you say, hon. But if I were you, I’d keep an eye on that one. He’s asking questions—and he’s watching you like a hawk. You can’t tell me that doesn’t mean something.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the words died in your throat. Because, deep down, you knew Kate wasn’t wrong. Remy’s attention wasn’t random. It wasn’t casual. And that fact alone was enough to unsettle you in ways you couldn’t quite explain. “It isn’t whatever the fuck you think it is,” You mumbled to yourself as you moved around the bar.

Kate raised an eyebrow, clearly not convinced, her eyes dancing with amusement. “If you say so,” she said with a casual shrug, though her knowing grin never wavered. She  stepped back, handing you the order tablet with a little flourish. “Go on, then. Try not to make it too obvious when you stare him down, okay? People are starting to talk.”

You shook your head, refusing to take the bait, though your cheeks burned with embarrassment. “I don’t stare,” you muttered under your breath, but Kate was already turning away, making her way towards the stairs, clearly enjoying your discomfort. You tried to shake it off, focusing on the task at hand, but the question Kate had planted in your mind lingered. Was there something else simmering beneath the surface? Something neither of you was quite ready to confront?

You had barely even made your first drink when you saw him approach.

Remy leaned casually against the bar, handing you an empty glass with that same effortless confidence that always seemed to follow him. His eyes flicked down to your hand, and you could feel the weight of his attention settle on you, even as you focused on pouring a drink for the blonde woman beside him. She smiled her thanks before walking away, leaving you alone with him—the man who had been the source of all the uneasy feelings building inside you.

“Th' usual,” he said smoothly, his voice low and rich with that familiar Cajun drawl. A grin tugged at his lips, but the look in his eyes was different—more intense, sharper. He leaned in closer, his presence filling the space between you, and despite the casual tone, there was something about the way he looked at you that made your stomach twist, your pulse quicken.

You reached for the bottle from the top shelf, trying to ignore the way your hands trembled ever so slightly as you poured the drink. As you set the glass in front of him, you could feel his gaze lingering on you, like he was waiting for something—something you weren’t sure you were ready to give.

Before you could say anything, Remy’s hand reached across the bar, his fingers brushing yours as he gently took your hand in his. His touch sent a jolt through you, soft but firm, as he turned your hand over, his eyes narrowing slightly as they landed on the wound on your palm.

“Wha’ happen’, chère?” His voice was lower now, concerned, the playful tone from earlier replaced by something more serious. His thumb traced lightly over the slightly swollen skin, the small movement sending a shiver down your spine.

For a moment, you froze, heart stuttering at the warmth of his hand against yours. The gentleness of his touch was unexpected, and it stirred something inside you—an unfamiliar flutter that made you feel both vulnerable and guarded all at once. You pulled your hand back reflexively, bringing it close to your chest like you could shield it from him.

“Just… had an incident yesterday,” you mumbled, trying to sound casual, though your voice wavered slightly. “I cut myself.”

Remy’s eyes never left yours as he asked, “How?”

His gaze was relentless, pinning you in place, and for a moment, you considered telling him not to worry about it, that it was none of his business. But the intensity in his eyes—the quiet way he seemed to search for something deeper—made it impossible. You sighed, looking away, your shoulders slumping slightly.

“I dropped a tray,” you admitted softly. “Cut my hand cleaning up the glass.”

Remy’s expression didn’t change much, but there was something in the way he studied you—something that felt too perceptive, too knowing. His eyes lingered on your face, tracing over every line, every flicker of emotion that passed through you. The weight of his stare made your chest tighten, and for a brief moment, you felt exposed under his scrutiny.

But then, he gave a small nod, seemingly satisfied with your explanation. “Gotta be careful wit’ tha’,” he murmured, his voice softer now, almost gentle. He didn’t push for more, didn’t pry or lecture—just acknowledged it with that same easy-going tone, as if he understood that the conversation was over.

The tension in your shoulders eased slightly, though your heart was still racing. You slid his drink across the bar, trying to compose yourself, but the knot in your stomach only tightened with each passing second. Remy was still watching you, his gaze heavy, unreadable, and the weight of it made the air feel thick around you. There was something unsaid between the two of you—something that had been gnawing at you since Friday night.

Before you could stop yourself, the words slipped out, driven by a mixture of confusion and frustration.

“Why’d you give me that money?”

It came out quieter than you intended, but the vulnerability in your voice was impossible to hide. You swallowed hard, fighting the urge to pull back, to shield yourself from whatever answer he might give. “I don’t have anything to offer you for it.”

Remy’s eyes flicked up to yours, and for a fleeting moment, something shifted in them. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but it was there—like he understood more than you were ready to admit. He took a slow, deliberate sip of his drink, never breaking eye contact. When he set the glass down, his smile softened, the usual cocky edge replaced by something quieter, something real.

“Was a tip,” he said simply, his voice softer now, the drawl in his words less playful and more sincere. “Y’ did good on Friday nigh’.”

You scoffed lightly, shaking your head. “Not that good,” you muttered, more to yourself than to him. “Not enough for a tip like that.”

A small, knowing smile curled at the corners of his mouth, but his eyes stayed fixed on yours, steady and unwavering. “Maybe y’ did,” he replied, his voice low and sure, like he was stating something obvious. “Bu’ either way, chère, y’ don’ owe me nothin’.”

His words hit harder than you expected, catching you off guard. There was a sincerity in his tone that you hadn’t anticipated, and it lodged itself deep in your chest, unsettling you in a way you couldn’t quite explain. You wanted to argue, to push back against the strange kindness he was offering, but the way he looked at you—like he saw past all your defenses—made it impossible. Your breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to respond to Remy’s steady gaze. His sincerity had thrown you off balance, and the weight of his words had left a strange warmth in your chest. Before you could even formulate a response, Remy tipped his head back, finishing the last of his drink in a single, smooth motion. The glass clinked softly against the bar as he set it down, and without a word, he turned on his heel and walked away—back to his waiting date.

You watched him, feeling the energy between you shift abruptly, like a door closing with a soft yet definitive click. His date, the brunette with her perfectly styled waves and an emerald-green dress that hugged her like she’d stepped out of a fashion editorial, had been watching the entire interaction. Her eyes, sharp and calculating, flicked between you and Remy as he sat down. There was a flicker of something in her gaze—curiosity, maybe, or amusement—but whatever it was, she kept it carefully masked behind an air of cool detachment.

She looked at Remy as if expecting some explanation, some acknowledgment of the strangeness of what had just occurred. But he didn’t give her any. He didn’t even spare her a glance. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, his posture relaxed, one arm draped casually over the back of his seat. His attention had already shifted, as if the brief exchange with you was all he needed for the moment, like it had been a checkmark on a list, a box neatly ticked.

The room buzzed with noise—laughter, clinking glasses, the low hum of conversation—but it all seemed to fade into the background as you stood there at the bar, frozen in place. Your mind raced, trying to make sense of the strange feeling that settled over you, a feeling you couldn’t quite name but that gnawed at your insides nonetheless.

Remy’s words, few as they were, lingered in the air around you. They echoed in your thoughts, replaying on a loop—the tone of his voice, the way he said your name like he had known you far longer than the two times you have crossed paths, the way his gaze seemed to cut through every bit of armor you’d built around yourself.

And that touch—just the briefest brush of his fingers against your hand—still ghosted on your skin. It wasn’t the touch itself that unnerved you; it was the intent behind it. It wasn’t flirty, not overtly seductive like the Remy you’d heard about. It was something else. Something quieter, more deliberate, like he was trying to convey a message you weren’t quite ready to hear.

For the first time, you wondered if there was more to Remy LeBeau than the swagger, the effortless charm he used like a weapon. Maybe, just maybe, there was something deeper lurking beneath the surface—something he didn’t show to just anyone. And maybe, just maybe, he saw something in you that you hadn’t yet seen in yourself.

As that thought crept into the far corners of your mind, you stood frozen at the bar, your heart pounding in your chest. The moment replayed itself over and over in your head. His words, his touch, the way he looked at you—not with the casual interest that he might’ve shown anyone else, but with a focus that made your skin prickle, made you feel seen in a way that was both exhilarating and terrifying.

You weren’t used to that. You were used to blending in, to keeping your head down, to being just another face in the crowd. But with Remy, it was different. He had a way of zeroing in on you, of making you feel like the only person in the room, even if only for a moment. And that feeling… that was dangerous.

It was dangerous because you knew who Remy LeBeau was. He was the kind of man people warned you about—the kind of man who could get under your skin, who could make you forget who you were if you weren’t careful. He was dangerous in a way that had nothing to do with physical harm and everything to do with what he could do to your heart, to your mind.

And yet, here you were, standing at the bar, replaying every subtle nuance of the brief conversation in your head as if it meant something—something more than just a casual exchange between two people who happened to be in the same place at the same time.

You didn’t know what to make of it, or of him. But one thing had become clear to you in that moment: Remy LeBeau wasn’t just dangerous because of the things you’d heard about him. He was dangerous because he had a way of making you want to know more, of pulling you in even when every part of you knew you should stay away.

And as you watched him lean back in his chair, his eyes flicking briefly toward you before settling somewhere in the distance, you realized that the real threat wasn’t Remy himself.

The real threat was what you might do if you ever let yourself get too close. You watched as Kate sauntered back from her break, a smug smile plastered across her face—the kind of grin that made it clear she’d enjoyed herself way too much. She slid behind the bar with the casual ease of someone who’d just spent the last thirty minutes indulging in something delicious.

"God, I love the Chinese place down the street," she sighed dramatically, leaning against the counter like she was about to launch into a monologue. "I swear, their noodle dish? Life-changing."

You chuckled, placing a glass in the washer. "Careful, Vis will be heartbroken hearing you rave about someone else’s cooking."

Kate snorted, waving a hand dismissively. "Vis can live with it. Besides, I needed something to break up the monotony of this shift." She leaned further into the bar, tapping her fingers rhythmically on the polished wood. "Speaking of monotony, you’re free to go save poor, hard-done-by James, who’s been spending the last ten minutes scrubbing someone’s vomit off the floor."

You winced in sympathy. "Better him than me," you muttered, mentally bracing yourself for the rest of the shift. You went to move, but Kate’s persistent finger-tapping on the bar caught your attention. Her eyes were a little too bright, and her lips were pursed in that familiar way that told you she was sitting on something she was dying to say.

“What is it, Kate?” you asked, turning to face her fully.

She hesitated for a moment, her mouth twitching as if trying to decide whether it was worth saying out loud. But Kate was never one to hold back, and before long, she looked like she was on the verge of bursting. Finally, she leaned in, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "So... did you talk to Remy?"

You rolled your eyes, a mix of irritation and amusement bubbling up inside you. Of course that’s what was on her mind. "Have a good afternoon, Kate," you said, brushing her off with a playful tone as you moved past her.

You didn’t wait for her response, heading down the stairs and back to the main floor. The bar had quieted considerably since earlier; the rowdy patrons had either left or settled into a calmer rhythm, leaving the room feeling almost peaceful. The low hum of conversation and clinking glasses filled the space, but it was a far cry from the chaos you’d seen earlier.

You approached James and Nat, who were standing by the bar, both looking like they were done for the day. James was just finishing loading the last tray into the washer, his face twisted in the kind of grimace that spoke volumes about the unspeakable things he’d had to deal with. Nat stood beside him, arms crossed over her chest, her expression neutral, but you could see the exhaustion in the way her shoulders slumped slightly. Still, there was a hint of amusement in her eyes, visible only if you knew her well enough to catch it.

"How’s it going?" you asked, leaning casually on the counter next to Nat.

"James is traumatized," she replied dryly, though you could hear the teasing edge in her voice. "You missed quite the show."

James groaned dramatically, casting a look of pure disgust in Nat’s direction as he wiped his hands on a towel. "If I never have to deal with that again, it’ll still be too soon."

You couldn’t help but chuckle, shaking your head. "Well, you’re almost done. Just clock out and try to erase the memory. Pretend it never happened."

James rolled his eyes but grinned, tossing the towel onto the counter. "Easier said than done."

Nat shot him a sideways glance, her lips quirking up into a small smile. "I’ll help distract him," she said, her voice softer now, more playful. "We’ve got plans this afternoon."

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Oh yeah? What’s on the agenda?"

Nat uncrossed her arms and leaned against the bar, her posture relaxing slightly. "We’re heading down to the riverwalk. There’s this new place—well, new to me—where you can rent bikes or take a boat. Figured we’d check it out, get some fresh air, maybe have lunch by the water."

James nodded, though he still looked half-dead from the day’s work. "If I don’t pass out first," he added, earning a light elbow jab from Nat.

"Don’t be dramatic," she teased, rolling her eyes. "A little sunshine will do you good."

You smiled at the thought of Nat and James spending the afternoon together. It was rare to get a break from the constant grind of work, and the idea of them sneaking away for a few quiet hours by the river seemed perfect. You could hear that subtle excitement in Nat’s voice—the kind she didn’t show often, but when she did, it was impossible to miss.

"Sounds like a perfect plan," you said, glancing at your watch with a dramatic sigh. "I’ve still got a whole afternoon here, so I guess I’ll just go die in a corner somewhere." You grabbed the list of tasks that still needed to be tackled before the night shift took over, waving it like a white flag of surrender.

Nat chuckled, shaking her head. "At least you’ve got good company." She gestured toward Steve, who was standing a few feet away, deep in conversation with one of the security team, his arms crossed over his chest in that casual yet commanding way.

You rolled your eyes, laughing. "Yeah, he can be okay sometimes," you teased, but the grin tugging at your lips betrayed more than your words did.

James snorted, drying his hands with a clean towel. "Don’t tell him that—you’ll inflate his ego."

"Too late," you quipped, casting a glance toward Steve, who seemed to sense your gaze and gave you a small, curious look from across the room. You quickly turned back to Nat and James, grinning. "Besides, a little ego boost never hurt anyone."

Nat raised an eyebrow, catching the playful edge in your tone. "Careful," she said with a smirk. "Flirting on the job is a slippery slope."

"Who, me?" you said, feigning innocence. "I have no idea what you’re talking about."

James shook his head, tossing the towel onto the counter. "Alright, enough of that. Let’s get out of here before this conversation gets dangerous."

Nat chuckled, giving you a quick wave. "We’ll see you later?"

"Yeah," you nodded, giving them both a mock salute. "Have fun. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do."

James grinned, his arm casually draping around Nat’s shoulders as they made their way toward the door. "That leaves us with a lot of options, doesn’t it?"

You laughed, watching them go, feeling a warm sense of contentment settle over you. They deserved the break, and it felt good to see them heading off to enjoy some time together.

As the door swung shut behind them, you turned back to the list in your hands, ready to dive into the never-ending tasks of the day. But before you could get too far, Steve wandered over, his presence as steady and noticeable as always.

"Looks like they’re off to have a nice afternoon," he observed, leaning casually against the bar next to you.

"Yeah," you said, glancing up at him with a smile. "Some of us aren’t so lucky."

Steve tilted his head, his blue eyes twinkling with amusement. "I don’t know, seems like you’re doing just fine here."

You chuckled, shaking your head. "Oh, yeah, you know me—just living the dream behind the bar." You paused, then added, "Speaking of which, I heard you’re going to your sister’s place next week?"

Steve nodded, and there was something so genuine about the soft smile that crossed his face. His eyes seemed to warm at the thought, the kind of smile that made you forget, for a second, the chaos of the bar around you. "Yeah," he said, his voice carrying that quiet sincerity he was known for. "Heading out for a few days. Haven’t seen her in a while. Figured it was time."

You couldn’t help but tease him, your lips curving into a smirk as you gestured around the bar with an exaggerated sweep of your arm. "Going to miss all this?" you asked, mock disbelief in your tone. "How could you possibly survive without the endless excitement of dealing with customers, broken glasses, and, of course, vomit?"

He laughed—a deep, rich sound that somehow made the room feel smaller, like the world had momentarily shrunk to just the two of you standing there. The way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he laughed always got to you, even if you’d never admit it. "Yeah, it’s gonna be tough," he said, shaking his head as if the thought amused him. "But I think I’ll manage."

You leaned against the bar, feeling the cool wood press against your palms, and tilted your head slightly as you looked up at him.

"You sure?" you asked, the playful edge in your voice hiding the undercurrent of something more. "Because, you know, I could always tag along. Make sure you don’t get too bored."

For a moment, there was a flicker of something in his eyes—something that made you want to take a step back. His grin widened, that easy confidence of his coming to the surface as he leaned in just a fraction, lowering his voice as if you were the only two people in the room. "I think I’d enjoy the company," he said, and there was something in that tone, something teasing but also sincere, that sent a shiver down your spine.

Your breath hitched slightly, but you quickly covered it with a playful smile, your eyebrow arching as you fought to maintain your composure. "Careful what you wish for, Rogers," you shot back.

His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, and you could feel the weight of it. But before either of you could say anything else, the moment was broken by the sound of footsteps approaching the bar. You straightened up instinctively, pulling away from the invisible thread that had been tethering you to Steve.

Remy strode into the bar, his presence as magnetic as ever, but now, there was something different in the air around him. It was as if a storm had followed him in, darkening the space with a tension you could almost feel on your skin. If Steve’s energy was like a calm breeze, steady and grounding, Remy’s was the opposite—intense, electric, and demanding attention. He didn’t need to say a word; his mere presence was enough to shift the atmosphere.

You noticed it immediately. The easygoing swagger that usually accompanied him, the smooth confidence that seemed to follow him like a shadow, was gone. His movements were stiffer, more deliberate, as if he was holding something back. His dark eyes scanned the room, but when they locked on you and Steve standing by the bar, something flickered behind them—something raw, something unsettled.

"Hey," you greeted him, trying to keep your tone light, but even you couldn't ignore the sudden weight in the air. There was an edge to Remy right now, one that hadn’t been there before when you saw him. The playful banter that had existed between you and Steve just moments earlier seemed to vanish in an instant, like a candle snuffed out by a gust of wind. The room felt heavier, more charged, as if something unspoken had filled the space between all of you.

Remy’s eyes flickered between you and Steve, and you saw it—the brief tightening of his jaw, the way his gaze lingered on Steve just a moment too long. His usual charm, that effortless grin that could disarm anyone, was nowhere to be found. Instead, his expression was unreadable, dark, as if he were fighting to keep something buried beneath the surface.

You could feel it too, that subtle shift in the air. Remy had always had a way of commanding attention, but this was different. It wasn’t just intensity—it was something darker, more personal. As his eyes moved back to you, there was a moment where you thought you saw something flash in them—hurt… jealousy? But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a rigid mask of indifference.

He didn’t waste time on pleasantries. His voice was low, clipped, as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a large bill. "Can you pass this to Kate for me?" he asked, his words sharp, like he was eager to get the interaction over with. His tone was so unlike the Remy you knew—smooth, charming, always with a joke or a teasing remark. There was none of that now. Just cold efficiency.

You blinked, momentarily thrown by the sudden shift in his demeanor. "Uh, sure," you said, taking the bill from him with a small nod. "I’ll make sure she gets it."

His eyes lingered on you for a moment longer than necessary, dark and unreadable. There was tension in the set of his shoulders, the way he stood as if ready to bolt or explode at the slightest provocation. And then, just as quickly, his gaze flicked toward Steve, something hard flashing in his eyes. It felt like a silent confrontation, a challenge neither of them was willing to voice.

Steve, to his credit, remained calm, his posture relaxed—though you noticed his blue eyes narrow slightly, as if sensing the shift as well. He didn’t say anything, but the air between the two men seemed to crackle with unspoken words, unacknowledged tension.

Remy gave a tight nod, his jaw still clenched, before turning away. His hand rested lightly on the back of his date as they moved toward the door, but even that gesture felt different—less affectionate, more mechanical, as though he was going through the motions. His usual fluid grace seemed absent, replaced by something colder, more deliberate, like a man who was forcing himself to keep control.

As you watched him go, the knot in your stomach tightened. The air between you and Steve felt heavier now, thick with something unspoken, as if Remy’s tension had seeped into the room and refused to leave. The moment Remy had appeared, the playful ease between you and Steve had evaporated, replaced by a strange, lingering weight.

Steve, who had been quiet through the entire exchange, finally spoke, his voice low and concerned. "Everything okay there?" he asked, his brow furrowed as he glanced at you with a mixture of curiosity and something else—something protective.

You shrugged, trying to shake off the strange vibe that had settled over you. "Yeah… fine," you said, though even as the words left your mouth, you weren’t entirely convinced. Something had shifted, and you couldn’t quite put your finger on what it was. It wasn’t just Remy’s sudden coldness, or the way he had looked at you. There was something deeper, something that felt unresolved.

Steve’s eyes lingered on you, searching your face as if he could sense that something was off. He didn’t press the issue, but his presence beside you felt steady, reassuring in a way that made the knot in your stomach loosen just a little. Still, the unease remained.

As you glanced back toward the door where Remy had just left, the feeling gnawed at you. You couldn’t shake the way his demeanor had changed the moment he’d approached, or the way his gaze had lingered on you and Steve. Was it jealousy? Had he overheard the playful banter between you and Steve? Was that what had gotten under his skin? The thought made your chest tighten, and you wondered if you’d unknowingly crossed a line with him.

Remy had always been enigmatic, but this was different. There was something raw in the way he’d looked at you, something almost vulnerable beneath the surface of his coldness. And that vulnerability, that hint of something deeper, unsettled you in a way you hadn’t expected.

Steve leaned in a little closer, his voice dropping back into that familiar teasing tone, as if trying to pull you back from whatever thoughts were swirling in your mind. "So… where were we?" he asked, his smile warm, inviting you to return to the ease you’d shared before Remy had appeared.

You managed a smile, grateful for the distraction, but your thoughts kept drifting back to Remy. Something had changed. The way he had looked at you, the way his usual charm had been replaced by something darker, more guarded—it all left a knot of unease in your chest. You couldn’t help but feel that whatever had shifted between you and Remy wasn’t over yet.

[kayesfanfics]

Being Friends with Benefits with Gambit

Warnings: NSFW, AFAB reader, mentions of cheating, one sided love, love triangles around every corner, Morph lowkey has a crush on you

You and Gambit had always been flirty with each other, but nothing that got physical, at least until he came to you one day. He was sick of chasing after Rogue when she didn’t want him back, so he wanted to both make her jealous and let out some pent up energy. You decided to indulge him, admitting to yourself that you really did need a good lay, and you wanted to see Rogue get jealous because of you. So you agreed and let him lead you to his bedroom, which happened to be a couple doors down from Rogues’

After that first night, the two of you went to each other when you were either horny, frustrated, jealous, or all of the above. You didn’t explicitly tell the team but they all knew, having either heard you themselves or hearing it through the gossip that quickly spread through the Mansion. Rogue had shown she was a bit upset, but she also couldn’t blame Remy after making him chase after her and leading him on when she was still shacking it up with Magneto. Still, that didn’t stop the pang in her heart when she saw him whisper to you before you giggled and followed him upstairs. You and Gambit both knew you were hurting her, but Gambit was sort of okay with it and you egged him on, saying she deserved it for leading him on all these months

You watched with disdain as Gambit’s eyes were on Rogue across the table, whom was not paying him any attention. You longed for Gambit to look at you that way, but his heart was still set on the southern belle, yet his dick was set on you. You convinced yourself you were okay with that, thinking that at least he came to you for something, even if it was just sex. But truly deep down, you wished he came to you for so much more. For now though, you pined after him as he pined after Rogue.

“Meeting dismissed. Gambit, Y/N, Jubilee, don’t forget you’ve got the Danger Room with me in an hour. Good luck.” Scott grinned, before leaving the table to go tend to his pregnant wife.

“Looks like we’re gonna get our asses kicked together, chere.” You smiled at Gambit, using the nickname he used on him.

“Yeah, looks like.” He mumbled, watching Rogue leave the room, no doubt headed to Magnetos office. You glared at the back of her head, jealous that Remy was so focused on her that he couldn’t even see you throwing yourself at him right next to him. You glowered and left the table, crossing your arms, knowing he wasn’t watching you leave. You went towards the kitchen to get a drink, definitely needing a beer before fighting Wolverine soon.

“God, that’s gotta suck hard.” You heard a playful voice from somewhere behind you. You turned and saw Morph grinning at you like a creep from the hallway, before he jumped onto the counter you sat at.

“No shit, Morph.” You grumbled, taking a swig of beer as you wallowed in your self pity. “I just…I don’t get it! Why can’t he see I’m better for him? She doesn’t pay him any mind!”

“That’s what he’s thinking about her and Magneto,” he shrugged. “You can do better than him, y’know? You deserve someone who pines after you, Y/N.”

“Yeah? Like who?”

“I don’t know…maybe-“

“Oh, this is pathetic.” You both turned to see Wolverine watching you two from the fridge.

“What is?” You asked, looking at Morph in confusion.

“You two! Both of you! All of you! It’s ridiculous, really.” He grouched at you, grabbing a beer for himself.

“Aren’t YOU pining after Jean?” You teased, making him glare at you and Morph snicker.

“This ain’t about me, I’m talking about you! Morph after you, you after that southern weasel, him after Rogue, Rogue after magnet man!” Wolverine ranted before chugging some beer.

“What do you mean ‘Morph after me’?” You asked in confusion, looking up at Morph’s embarrassed face.

“Nothing! He means nothing!” Morph glared at Wolverine, who simply rolled his eyes and went back to his beer.

You grumbled in frustration, finishing your beer and tossing it before leaving. Everything was so confusing in this place, there were love triangles everywhere you looked and apparently, you were in a few of your own. You just wanted Remy to look at you how he looked at Rogue, why was that so hard?

*later that day…*

“Ya know jus’ how ta rile Gambit up, don’ ya chere?” Remy growled in your ear as he kicked shut his bedroom door behind him, your lips locked on his jawline, leaving large and dark hickies behind as your hands clawed at his trench coat. He moaned slightly at your actions, his hands feeling up your body that he carried in his arms, your legs wrapped around his waist and his hands grabbing handfuls of your ass and plush thighs as he walked the both of you over to his bed. His room was dark and smelled of his colonge, his sheets surprisingly soft as he laid you down on it, immediately climbing on top of you and letting his hands trail up your sides to your breasts, squeezing them and making you toss your head back and bite your lip as he played with them.

“Remy, please!” You whined, desperately needing to feel his touch without your suits blocking his skin. He raked his hands down your chest and abdomen before holding both your thighs in his hands, keeping them wrapped around him as he started to attack your neck with his soft lips. You moaned and grabbed a handful of his wild hair, pushing him closer to you as he sucked at that sweet spot behind your ear that sent shivers down your spine, making your back arch off the bed and press your clothed chests together.

“Why ya always gotta mess wit’ me durin trainin, dollface? Nearly fucked me right there in front’a ol Morph and Scott.” He said between kisses, his red and black eyes watching your face as you moaned and but your lip for him.

“I can’t…can’t resist you!” You pulled his hair so his lips would meet yours in a frantic kiss. “So handsome…so sexy…so wonderful…” you moaned between kisses, out of breath but not caring as you kissed him again and again.

“Aw, you charm Gambit, mon cherie~” he smiled and pulled away from the kiss, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it somewhere behind him. “How bout you show Gambit how sexy he is, huh?”

You smiled excitedly as he got off you so both of you could undress quickly, tossing clothes carelessly onto the floor, so focused on each others bodies you couldn’t care less about the mess. As soon as the both of you were undressed, you grabbed Remy by the shoulders and pushed him onto his back, climbing on top of him and straddling his waist, your pussy sitting atop his dick but not penetrating yourself just yet. You started with kissing his chest and teasing his nipples with your tongue as he folded his arms behind him to watch the show, his usual shit eating grin on his face as he watched you ravage his body. Your hands glided along his sculpted abs, following his happy trail down to his cock, one hand palming it while the other continued to feel up his body. After some more teasing, he bucked his hips up into your hand and raised an eyebrow at you, giving you the signal that he was getting tired of your teasing.

“So impatient~” you purred, trailing a finger down his chest as you crawled down the bed until your face was level with his cock. You grabbed it fully in your hand finally, making him sharply inhale as you started to move your hand slowly up and down his shaft. His arms moved to grip the sheets as you opened your lips to suck on his tip gently, swirling your tongue teasingly and watching him squirm below you. You smirked with a mouthful of his dick until his hand grabbed your hair and shoved you down, his cock quickly hitting the back of your throat, making you choke and gag around him. He heartily laughed at your reaction as he moved your head at the pace he pleased, eventually letting go once you found a good rhythm for him. You gripped his thighs when his hips bucked up into your face, warning you that he was about to cum. You braved yourself by squeezing his thighs until his semen sprayed down your throat, then rubbed his thighs as you swallowed everything he gave you.

“Fuck, chere!” Remy panted as he came down from your high, watching you sit up and wipe your mouth elegantly, your eyelashes batting at him sexily as he caught his breath. He suddenly sat up and pushed you face first into the bed so your ass was up and your face buried in the covers. You moaned as you felt his hand grab a handful of your ass and grope it, before smacking it hard enough to leave a red mark, making you yelp and grip the sheets beneath you. “Think ya can take Gambit now?”

“Yes! Please, Remy! I need you so badly!” You begged him, tilting your head to make eye contact with him behind you. He smirked and slapped your other cheek, chuckling when you squeaked and buried your face into the covers to hide your blushing face. You gasped when he tugged your hair harshly, before feeling the tip of his cock prod at your entrance. Your back arched impossibly more as he slowly entered you, whining as you felt every inch of him in detail slip into you.

He leaned down to press his chest to your back and place a few kisses on your bare shoulder, asking, “Ya alright, chere? Ready for Gambit?”

You nodded desperately and soon felt his cock pumping in and out of your pussy. You let out a choked out moan as he picked up his pace, hearing the smack of his hips against your ass as he thrusted harder and harder. You whimpered out his name pathetically like a prayer, before feeling his free hand slip beneath you and his fingers beginning to rub and pinch at your clit. You cried out at the feeling of all this stimulation at once, Remy’s skilled fingers and hips fucking you just right into his mattress.

“R-Remy, please! Fuck! Rem, I-I’m gonna…ah!” You screamed as he pistoned in and out of you, his hand pulling your hair harshly and his fingers playing with your clit expertly. “Please please please please please! Gambit! R-Rem!”

“Cum fer Gambit, mon ange! You can do it!” He huffed, out of breath from the workout of fucking you. You gripped the sheets so hard your knuckles turned pale as you shut your eyes, feeling the coil inside of you snap with one last harsh thrust of his hips into your pussy. Gambit slowly fucked you through your orgasm, pulling out and rubbing your pussy softly as he set your shaking body down on his bed, getting up and heading to his bathroom. You heard the sink run, before he returned with a washcloth to wipe down your inner thighs. Your chest heaved as you caught your breath, your abdomen spasming as you came down from your high.

Once clean, he tossed the wash cloth onto the floor with the rest of your clothes and got back into bed with you, tugging the covers over you as he pulled you to his chest. You cuddled into him, hands around his abdomen and face buried into his hairy chest. He mindlessly played with your hair as the both of you relaxed and rested together, holding the other in comfortable silence as your eyes began to feel heavy.

“Remy?” You shyly spoke up, finally breaking the silence.

“Yeah chere?” He asked, not moving his eyes from staring up at the ceiling.

“I um…what are we?”

You felt his hand stop playing with your hair and his breath hitch, before he let go of you and sat up, fidgeting with the covers as you slowly sat up with him, holding the covers up to your chest.

“What’s this about, mon chere?”

“You know what it’s about. I can’t…I can’t keep doing this if this is all we’ll ever lead to. I have too many strong feelings for you to do this to myself. I…I love you, Remy.”

He finally looked you in the eyes, and unreadable expression on his face, before he slowly dissolved into laughter. You glared at him and smacked his shoulder, pouring that he wasn’t taking this seriously.

“I’m, I’m sorry, Y/N! Gambits sorry, it’s just…why does this shit always gotta be so damn complicated?”

“You’re telling me.” You grumbled. “Well? What are we? Answer me.”

“We are…we are friends with benefits currently, no?” He grabbed one of your hands. “Y/N, Gambit loves ya very much, it’s just…he also loves Rogue still too. He couldn’t give ya the full attention ya wanted, not right now at least. It ain’t fair to ya, but I love ya both, at least for now.”

You looked at him sadly, despite already knowing he still loved Rogue. You thought about how Morph felt the same way you did about him, and how Gambit felt the same way about Rogue. It was a complicated love triangle…square? Whatever. It was complicated, full of strong feelings, but you knew what you all felt was real and valid for each other.

“I think I can live with that for now.” You sighed, giving him a sad smile before leaning in to kiss him.

[atomicfoxx]

Have I ever mentioned his HANDS BC HOOH

[taintandviolent]

Taco Tuesday ; Gambit x reader!

summary: You live across the hall from Wade Wilson, and one Tuesday, he invites you over for tacos. 🌮 And that’s where you meet him. The Gambit. Post-Void, everyone got out alive and everything is fine. [PART TWO HERE]

word count & w a r n i n g s: 5.4K | smut with very little plot, alcohol mention, slightly drunk (but very consenting) reader, French and typing out accents/dialects, pet names (cher, mon ami, mon coeur, etc.), dirty talk (cos he is a dirty talker, don't argue with me on this), fingering, unprotected sex, p in v, no use of y/n.

a/n: this is based 100% on Deadpool and Wolverine Gambit / Channing's version of Gambit!! sorry for the lack of plot here, he deserves better than this filth, but I am down ASTRONOMICALLY and I needed to get it out. I spent so much time trying to get his accent right, I hope it comes off the way I wanted it to... anyway! i'm not certain if anyone will read this, but if you do - thank you a million times over! as always, requests are open! - banner by @/strangergraphics, and Remy gif by @scintie!

↓ full fic under cut! ↓ / ao3 link here! / I don’t have a taglist anymore, but please turn on post notifications if you’d like to be notified of future fics!

He’s handsome. Like really handsome. 

Your stomach does a flip as he smiles at you, reaching for the bottle of Jack between your legs — wait. Pause. Rewind. How’d we get here?

Living in the same apartment complex as Wade Wilson was a trip. Even more of a trip was living across the hall from him. The things you heard coming from that apartment... nobody would believe you. So, you never told anyone. 

He’s kind. Albeit, zany but kind. Your interactions have been cordial and nauseatingly neighbourly. But on one regular ol' Tuesday afternoon, Wade invited you inside. He said something about having a party later that night, making tacos and being neighborly. He assured you that it wasn't a sex party... which to be honest, you weren't worried about until he'd mentioned it. Against your better judgement though, you'd agreed, and said you'd bring some liquor.

So, that evening, you opened your door, one bottle of Jack tucked under your arm, and another in your left hand. You shut the door to your apartment and walked straight across to your neighbour’s door. Your fist had rapped against the wood only twice before the door swung open, revealing Wade, and a very… strange and very bald looking dog in his arms. 

"Oh, what the fuck?" You asked, looking down at the creature. "I didn't know you had a dog…?"

Wade’s voice rose an octave or two, in a cutesy tone. "She's a new addition, yes she is!" 

"I brought... well, this. Sorry, it was all I had in my cabinets and to be perfectly honest, I wasn't about to go out and spend money on this. I like… barely know you."

"HA! Brutal honesty. We love to hear it." 

Wade took hold of your shoulder and yanked you inside, harsh enough that you made a small sound as he did. He shut the door with his foot, and towed you towards the table, where everyone was gathered. And that was when you first saw him. He wore all black, save for a tan trench coat with a high collar. He lounged casually on one of the dining chairs, playing with a deck of cards. They fluttered from hand to hand effortlessly, and for a moment, you were stuck, mesmerized by the dexterous way he handled them. You weren't sure what was pulling you towards him harder, your heart or your cunt, but you felt an undeniable draw to the man.

Wade's arm wound itself around your shoulders, guiding you around the room to meet each of his friends. At that point, living next to him, mutants were a forced transition. You were used to the concept of them, so meeting a giant silver man, for example, wasn't unexpected. Vanessa was the most normal - you were pretty sure she was human.

Finally, he got to the one you really wanted to meet. The one that your eyes had been darting back and forth to the entire time, the one that when he briefly met your gaze, your heart thudded in your chest. 

"And this... handsome slice of man, is the Gambit. Good luck understanding him, he's a real mouthful."

I’ll bet he is, you thought. 

He pocketed the cards in a quick motion and stood up from his chair. With a syrup-smooth chuckle, the man laughed and said: "You can call me Remy." He did in fact have a thick Cajun accent and spoke quickly – almost too quickly. You blinked once, focusing hard on his words.

"Remy," you repeated finally, before saying your own name and extending your hand. He took it gently and as he shook it, your palm tingled with what felt like electricity.

"Enchanté." (Enchanted)

Your cheeks burned, and you knew they were flushing. You couldn’t control it. "De même..." (Likewise.)

His brows lifted, surprised. "You speak French, mon ami?" (my friend) 

"Heh, uhh... comme un enfant." (Like a child) You chuckled low, averting your eyes for a millisecond. "I took a few years of it in high school and again in college. I’m by no means an expert."

Wade's eyes were wide, flicking back and forth between the two of you. There was obvious chemistry there, and a knowing smirk drew itself across his lips. Abruptly, he yanked one of the bottles of Jack Daniels from beneath your arm, before leaning against the nearby wall.

"Oh, fuck me. You understand Gumbo here? That’s cute. No idea what either of you are saying though, someone forgot to turn the subtitles on. I'll leave you two to get acquainted." Whatever that meant. You scoffed, but turned your attention back to Gambit, looking at him.

“Sit a while, cher.” 

You happily took the chair that he pulled out, not caring that it was facing away from the others, and plopped down onto it, situating the other bottle of Jack between your legs. You gripped the neck of the bottle tightly, and looked at him with a timid, but a come hither sort of smile. After a moment, you twisted the cap off, and flicked it off somewhere to your right. Wade would find it later, or he wouldn’t. You didn’t really care. 

You two talked for hours, most of which consisted of him telling you about the Void, and how hard it had been, while you pretended to comprehend it. Between words, you passed the bottle back and forth, taking mouthfuls, and inadvertently swapping spit as you did. The thought occurred to you about halfway through the conversation, and your stomach tightened. You shook your head lightly and clenched your thighs together, trying to stave off the arousal that was bubbling in your core. 

There we go. That’s better.

He’s handsome. Like really handsome. 

Your stomach does a flip as he smiles at you, reaching for the bottle, which was still situated between your legs. His fingertips just graze the side of your thigh and his eyes flit to yours. He holds his smile, waiting for you to either protest or move the moment forward, and all you can do is gawk, because your cunt starts throbbing. 

As the evening wears on, though cautious, it’s obvious that Remy feels the same pull that you do. He remains cool on the outside, but internally, he was battling the magnetic tugging he felt from you. He couldn't shake it. He’d compliment you, you’d compliment him. At one point, in between sips, you casually drop that you think his accent is hot and he whispers something underneath his breath, something you don’t understand. Before either of you realized it, you had started to lean closer to each other, your faces inches apart, and you felt the warm rush of his breath over your cheeks.

It was as if you both realized it simultaneously. You rear back, an embarrassed expression plastered on your face. Remy clears his throat. His attraction to you was stifling; something that he rarely felt. He was powerless in his want for you, the draw you had was irresistible.

"Maybe we should... uh..." You murmur, looking deep into his eyes. In a room full of people that were starting to fade away the closer you two got to each other, you were thankful you were still sober enough to suggest a different setting. Any longer and you surely would’ve just straddled him and gone to town. 

Remy moves first. 

"We gon' take a walk." He announces to the others, getting to his feet. 

The conversation stops abruptly, silence hanging heavy. You straighten up, trying your best to avert your gaze, but you still see everyone’s reaction. Someone clears their throat and your heart sinks, feeling like you might die on the spot. The one that had been introduced as Logan, gruff looking dude, raises a single brow at you. In true Wade-character, he ugly cackles, shattering the moment. Your shoulders sink, embarrassed, as you head towards the door, doing the proverbial walk of shame. 

Remy meets you at the door and pulls it open, holding it for you. You duck underneath his arm, looking sheepish and as you exit into the hallway, you think you heard Wade mutter something about a fanfiction but Remy yanks the door shut before you can react. 

“You want to… get some air? Or um… I have… well, no I had liquor, but I brought it to Wade’s.” 

He smiles, and looks down at the floor, before lifting his eyes back to you. “We can do whatever you want, chère. You ain’t gon’ catch me complainin’ eitha’ way.”

You chew on the inside of your cheek, considering the options. Your heart was hammering in your chest at the prospect of just being near him without the others around. You two had been close to kissing in Wade’s living room, and now, you had the opportunity to continue that… or take a walk. The latter seemed less appealing. 

“Y’know what, why don’t we… just…” You take a few steps backwards, jerking your head towards your front door. Concerningly, you had forgotten to lock your door. However, it allows you to open it quickly, and walk backwards into the apartment. Gambit follows you in, his attention never leaving you. 

"You sure 'bout dis, mon ami? I can walk away righ' now." His words land heavy, a promise behind them. He was a gentleman at heart, you could tell. Fortunately for him, you were very sure, and wanted every inch of him.

Mon ami - something that in the few hours you'd spent with him, he'd called you often. Among other things. Mon ami meant my friend, but you knew you two weren't just friends. You saw how he acted with others, and the comments he made. Sure, he had a quick wit and a mouth on him, but the flirting... god, the flirting.

He stands in the doorway, his shoulders filling the frame. Silently, you nod and take another step back, giving him some room to enter. He takes one wide step towards you, leaving the door open behind him. He reaches for your hip, and you immediately take to playing with his large hands. Delicately, you pay attention to each long digit, trailing your middle finger along the knuckles, and up and down the length of them. You dip into the spaces between, your fingers barely ghosting over the webbing. 

Was that a shiver? Your eyes flit to his, searching them for a hint.

"You sure do know how to make a man feel good." 

Your heart flutters at his words. With his accent, even the simplest of things sounded charming. At least to you. You felt that he could ask if you wanted coffee or how the weather was and you'd be twirling your hair around your finger like a desperate schoolgirl. Embarrassing. 

You’re about to respond and defend yourself by saying that all you had done was play with his hands, which was hardly considered foreplay, but his fingers come up underneath your chin, gently closing your mouth with a dull click of your teeth. He tilts it upwards to an angle where he could easily kiss you. And kiss you, he does. 

It was the kind of kiss that makes your knees buckle, sends a violent shudder from the nape of your neck down to the base of your spine. It’s the kind of kiss that needs to come with a warning; Danger: Will Result In Sex. As his lips move against yours, you feel the urgency of his need, of his want, and hum into his lips. Remy takes that as a green light and deepens the kiss, moving his body so that it’s pressing flush against yours. The action leaves you immediately breathless and in response, you break the kiss, tucking your chin to your chest. Your hand finds his torso, pressing hard against the muscles underneath the shirt.  

"Ah, don't you be actin' shy now. You been teasin' me for hours."

“I have not!”

“You think I didn’t notice all ‘dem touches an’ looks you were givin’ me? I may ‘ave been born at night, but I wasn’t born last night.” 

He had you there. You couldn’t deny that, at all. Even if you’d wanted to. Which, part of you did. Part of you was very nervous, standing before this very handsome man, with the taste of his mouth still lingering on your lips but another part of you, the louder one, was delighted that he’d noticed. Furthermore, that he’d enjoyed them enough to come to your room.

You lift your hand behind him, pushing the door shut with a harsh shove. With a twist of your fingers, you activate the locking mechanism, sliding the deadbolt into place. Gambit chuckles, grinning down at you. Your heart leaps into your throat, but you press on bravely, lacing your arms around his neck. They trail down the front of his body, feeling the muscles as they twitch with each ragged breath. 

He quirks a brow as if to ask, 'Oh, really?' You simply smirk back at him. The contact is electric, and you find yourself resisting the urge to grind against him immediately. Instead, you focus on his hands again, bringing one of them up to your lips. You press a delicate kiss on the pads, before slipping one into your mouth and sucking gently. Remy makes a deep, husky sound in his throat, and brings his other hand to your hip, where he pulls you roughly against him.

For a man that uses his hands often, the sensations are high. The way your mouth envelops his finger, your tongue writhing around the digit had his jaw clenching, muscles fluttering on the side of his face. When you draw his finger into the confines of your throat, deep-throating it, his eyes roll back in pleasure. He pulls his hand back, shaking it off as if the inside of your mouth was hot to the touch.

"Woo, you nasty, huh? Nevah’ woulda' guessed... you been actin' like a good little girl 'uhround me." 

After that, it all happened very quickly. Gambit takes a step and connects his lips with yours again, pushing them into you in an act of desperation. Without breaking the kiss, he shrugs out of his jacket, tossing it onto a nearby surface. You push against him until his back hits the door with a heavy thud, definitely loud enough for any innocent bystanders to hear. Your fingers undo the button of your jeans, breaking the kiss for only a second to slide them down your legs. 

Once you return to his waiting mouth, the kiss deepens and the coil in your stomach winds tighter, claiming your body in a deep, fiery arousal. His big arms wrap around you, enveloping you in a heated embrace. Just for a moment, it’s tender — but shortly after, his hands drop to your ass, fingers slipping underneath the band of fabric to take greedy fistfuls of each cheek. 

Your hands find their way to his shoulders, gripping the roundness of them to use as leverage. Letting out a little hum, you sweep your hips across his groin, pressing tightly against him. His eyes drift shut, head bumping against the door as he leaned it back, a low growl coming from his throat. Keeping at it, you grind your hips against him, feeling the outline of his length as it hardens.

“You be drivin’ Remy crazy, grindin’ on me like ‘dat.”

“That’s the intention….” You stand on your tiptoes to pepper kisses on his lips, your warm breath fanning over his face, smelling faintly of Jack Daniels. Remy trails his hand carefully up your rib cage until he gets to the side of your breast, where he quickly slips around to the front, his large hand cupping the fullness of it outside of your shirt. Your reaction is visceral; your breath hisses through your teeth at the sensitivity. 

Remy laughs again and with his free hand, pulls your hips back to his. Swiftly, he spins you around, pinning you between his body and the hard surface of the door. He presses himself tightly against you, shifting slightly so that his thigh was between your legs. The sensation of something that close to your core is dangerous and brings a weak, mewling whimper from your mouth.

“We gon’ have ourselves some fun.” His voice is low, tinged with a new sort of lustful tone that you hadn't heard before. Your mind is spinning, growing dizzy with lust. The alcohol had certainly helped your nerves, you were never usually this brazen. Your core burns with desire at his words, silently begging for everything he was about to give you. His lips hover just over yours; you can feel his breath on your skin and the heat that radiates off his body as it presses into yours.

"Oh my god," you whisper into his mouth. "Fuck..."

His teeth nip at your bottom lip before he captures your mouth in a heated, passionate kiss again. His tongue explores the inside, swirling along your own wet muscle. With every passing second, your heart beats faster and his hands grip your hips tighter, thumbs massaging the flesh above your jeans.

“Wrap ‘dem legs around me, mon coeur.” (My heart) Remy’s voice is husky with want; amongst his playful, lilted tone, a possessiveness lingered, and the thought sends a chill down your spine. He nods once, encouraging you into his waiting arms. You jump up, and he catches you effortlessly, gripping your thighs tight and hoisting you up into his grasp. Feeling secure, you wrap both legs around his waist and encircle his neck with your arms. Your gaze meets his and you can see the wanton need mirrored in his own eyes, darkened with desire.

Remy's smirk is dripping with confidence. Your body's response to him was causing his ego to swell within his chest, and his cock to swell within his pants. He leans in close, his lips against your ear, nipping at the lobe softly before pulling back slightly. In one fluid movement, his hips buck up against your center, teasing you over the layers of clothing. You let out a moan, throwing your head back against the door.

He thrusts up into you again, chuckling low against your ear. The hard line of his cock grinds against you, making you stutter out expletives as it presses against you with a needy demand. 

"You like 'dat, cher? Talk t' me..."

You nod, swallowing and wetting your throat. "Y-yeah, fuck... I do... need you – it – so bad."

“Whaddya’ need?”

“N-need you… so bad.” 

“You can do betta’. Tell Remy what you need...” 

He presses you harder against the door, your back sliding against the wood as he kisses a trail down from your mouth to your shoulder, sucking and biting with all the right intensities. As his hips grind against yours, you feel the damp fabric slide across your cunt, alerting you to just how wet he’d made you. Fuck. 

“Need… need you to fuck me. Hard. Need to feel you everywhere.”  

A few hours ago, you’d agreed to Taco Tuesday at Wade’s. Now, you were getting dry humped by a really hot Cajun guy and moaning into the curve between his neck and his shoulder. You were positive that if someone opened their door, they’d hear you. Somewhere in your brain, the thought should have been moderately embarrassing, but you were far too invested in Remy to care. 

Without warning, Gambit lifts you away from the door and carries you to the nearby couch. He never breaks the kiss, still feverishly claiming your mouth as he moves. Your back hits the cushions and before you can process it, his body weight is on top of you. He slots himself in between your legs, and his hard-on bumps into your stomach as his hips rut against you, finding some relief in the friction. But not enough. 

Remy’s hand finds the hem of your shirt, lifting it just enough to allow his fingers underneath the fabric. You bite down on the pillow of your bottom lip and push your hips up into his. Thick, strong digits sweep across your skin, leaving a burning trail of fire in their wake. Every touch brings your temperature up, and it isn’t long before your entire body is consumed in flames. You sigh contentedly, arching up into his touch. 

Abruptly, Remy straightens up, crosses his arms over his torso and pulls his shirt over his head, revealing his tan skin and bulky muscles. His stocky stature makes your tummy clench with anticipation. He was fit, as you assumed, but that didn’t stop your jaw from falling open at the sight. 

“Wow,” you finally choke.

Remy grins. “You like what you see?” 

You nod furiously, hands snapping to his toned abdomen. He’s warm and his skin is soft, begging to be touched. The muscles flex underneath your fingers as you trace a long stripe from his belly button to his collarbone. Your hands claw at his shoulder, attempting to pull him back down on you, but he resists. 

He spoke with a playfulness, almost a sort of pleading. His thumbs flicks at the hem of your shirt. “Ah, c’mon, ‘dat ain’t fair. Enlève-tout toi, huh?” (Take it all off.)

You thought you understood, but if you didn’t, it didn’t matter. Remy was quick to translate his words, busy undressing you, pulling your worn t-shirt over your head, and reaching around your back to unclasp your bra. Most men would’ve fumbled with the clasp, but not him. His adept fingers make quick work of it, allowing your breasts to fall free. He throws your bra somewhere behind him. 

“Hooo, cher…!” His eyes light up at the visual and you feel heat blooming on your cheeks again, half expecting him to make a lewd comment. Instead, his hands cup your tits, kneading the soft plumpness like dough, thumbs grazing the nipples. He exhales through his mouth, jerking his head to the side. 

Finally, he kisses you again. It’s wet and sloppy and his mouth is consuming you, tasting you hungrily. His hips are still moving, sweeping into yours with a calculated precision. You try to spread your legs but the back of the couch thwarts your attempt. He notices this, watching as you struggle with the space. 

“You got a bed?” He asked in between smearing kisses along your neck and collarbone. 

“Yeah-yeah…. Down the hall.” 

“Remy be needin’ more room for what he wanna’ do t’you.”

His weight is suddenly gone from you, an unwelcome sensation, even though you know he’s about to carry you wedding-style down the hallway. He bends down, one arm sliding underneath your neck, the other in the crook behind your knees. For the second time that night, he lifts you into his arms.

You rest your cheek against his warm pectoral muscle, rocking back and forth, as he walks you both down the dark hallway. The only light in the room comes from the window, the city outside alive and humming. Carefully, Remy sets you down on the bed, unmade from this morning, your dark gray sheets cool to the touch. 

In nothing but your underwear, which at this point, are damp to the touch, you’re left feeling very exposed. But you can’t muster up any shame, not when he’s looking at you with such hunger, such want. Your tummy feels tight, and the feeling gets worse when Remy’s hands drop to his waist, unzipping and unbuttoning his pants. They fall loose at the waist, and he shucks them down the rest of the way, leaving him in nothing but a pair of deep purple boxers. Your eyes swing heavy to the outline that’s now presented to you. 

Oh my god. 

Your breath hitches in your throat. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise; Remy was a big guy, and that proved true downstairs, too. You can barely pull your eyes away from it, but you begrudgingly rip them away, to look up into his gaze. 

“Please,” you beg. “You’re too far away…” Your cunt is aching and nothing but him, his hands, his dick, will sate her. 

He leans forward, flattening both hands on the mattress and walks them back until his face is in front of yours. He sweeps you into another kiss and your heart races. His hands are perfectly positioned on either side of your hips, you feel them graze the flesh. His finger hooks around the elastic of your panties, twisting it around his pointer finger and gradually, he tugs them down over the curve of your hip.

You nod lazily against his mouth, as you feel the warmth of his hand near your core. Your legs drop apart, knees touching the mattress as you allow him access. One hand sweeps across your inner thighs, stroking them, while the other palms your soft mound. His other hand comes to pause at your knee, and pushes his weight into it softly, forcing you to stay spread-eagle for him. No way you could’ve done this on the sofa. 

There’s no hesitation in the way he fingers you; sweeping up through your slick folds, smearing your arousal around until she’s coated in it, splaying your pretty, wet cunt apart with his fingers, looking upon it hungrily. He knows what he’s doing, and how to do it right. You briefly wonder if that’s another mutant power he has… though being an expert at fingering someone seems outlandish. But he’s just so good at it. His middle finger barely touches you, circling the bundle of nerves delicately. Your back arches up towards him, a desperate groan vibrating your vocal chords. Delighted by your reaction, his finger flicks upwards at your swollen, sensitive clit, making your body literally quiver. 

“Uhugh – god…. Shit, oh my god.” 

He continues like this for several minutes, until your cunt is blazing hot and clenching with every moan you give. 

By the time he presses one finger inside, you’re teetering on the edge of an orgasm and your voice fills the room with needy, desperate sounds. You let out a shrill whine, and he slips in another finger, feeling the stretch of muscle as he does. His heart is pounding in his chest, overcome with lust. The way you sound, the way your body is moving and writhing on the bed, he can’t wait to sink himself into you. 

Amidst a laugh, he says: “People gon’ think we up in here watchin’ porn.”

Did he just insinuate that you sounded like a pornstar? You lifted your head, wearily, to look at him. Your chest heaves with each breath as you try to formulate a snarky remark to no avail. He looked so good – well, always – but he looked particularly good on top of you, his bright eyes lust blown and hungry. 

“We’re… we’re… porn… it’s…  oh god.” 

He shushes you. “You just lay back and keep moanin’.” 

Defeated, you huff and your head hits the sheets again, but not before you catch a glimpse of the way the muscles in his forearm ripple as it pumps back and forth into your cunt. You can’t help but moan at the sight, feeling a shockwave rupture your core. Your hips meet his fingers, rutting and writhing against the mattress in a needy rhythm.

Your first orgasm claims your body before you can stop it. You’re clenching around his fingers as they move, crooking upwards into your sensitive spots. Your slick coats his fingers and when Gambit pulls his hand back, thick, clear strands string from between them. He smiles down at you. 

Remy raises himself to his knees. “Turn ‘round…” 

You flip over and back yourself towards him, thinking that he’s going to go at it doggy-style, but to your surprise, he pulls you upright, pressing your back against his chest. His dick is hot between your legs, and when he reaches down to line it up, you let your head loll back against his shoulder. Gambit’s mouth finds the side of your neck, streaking it with wet, suckling kisses. He was taking his time with you, savouring you and you hum happily through closed lips, reaching behind you to thread your fingers through his hair.

“Fuck, you feel so good…” Instinctively, your hips undulate and his cock slips between your folds. Remy’s hips buck once, letting out a groan that comes from somewhere deep. 

“You ready, cher?” He asks, sweeping your hair away from your neck. You nod furiously. You’ve been ready – you were ready the moment you laid eyes on him.

Remy reaches down to sweep his fingers along your entrance briefly, before gripping himself and guiding the head of his cock into the slit. You keen at the feeling of his velvet-soft head pressing into your entrance, warm pre-cum leaking from the slit. He murmurs words of encouragement into your ear as you feel his hips press against your ass, urging his thick, veiny shaft inside your cunt. He does it gently, allowing you time to adjust to the girth, but the sting still makes you cry out. “Fffuck!”

He begins to thrust his hips shallowly, your cunt stretching around his cock. The feeling is all-consuming, and your body feels heavy in his grasp. One hand is gripping your waist tightly, the other, fingers splayed out on your stomach just above your cunt. There’s a pressure building in your cunt, and each thrust magnifies it. The sting of his cock fades to an ache, then to a dull throbbing that makes you want more and you lean forward slightly and press your ass into the curves of his hips, meeting his thrusts. 

“Mm, ‘dat’s it, cher…” His voice is hot on your skin. 

His thrusts get deeper, but there’s a lingering tension in his body that makes you feel like he’s not getting what he wants. You’re right; all at once, Remy pulls his cock from you and switches positions. 

You’re suddenly on your back, looking up at him as he looms over you, all muscle. His cockhead nudges your entrance again, but doesn’t penetrate. 

“Say my name, cher… I needa’ hear it leave ‘dat pretty mouth.” 

“Which one? Gambit? Or Remy?” You ask, breathlessly.

The way his eyes rolled back at the second option told you everything you needed to know. A smirk twisted your lips cruelly and you lifted your body slightly, just enough for your mouth to reach his ear. You moan his name over and over again, knowing full well the effect it’s having on the mutant man.

“Remy, Remy, Remy….” Your tone is high-pitched and whiny, but he seems to enjoy the lewdness of it all. He bucks his hips hard into you, and the fullness reaches an all-time high as he bottoms out, his pelvis hitting yours with a slap.

“Huhhh—!” You gasp, breathing ragged. “Fuck!”

“Gonna’ make you cum so hard you ain’t gon’ walk right for days.” His voice is low and filthy and leaves a stain on your mind. Your cunt clenches around him possessively, pulling him somehow deeper inside of you. 

As your head bangs into your headboard, the tip of his cock bumps your cervix over and over again, and your jaw goes slack, literally fucked silent. Remy hears the thudding of your skull and puts a hand between it and the wood, but he doesn’t stop his relentless, deep thrusting. 

The pleasure reaches a peak and your nails dig into his back, leaving crescent moon shaped indentations on his golden skin. Remy’s groaning loud into your ear as he cums, muttering in an almost incoherent melange of French and English. His accent is somehow heavier, and you can barely make out the words as he’s saying them into your skin. It doesn’t matter though, because you feel how full you are, and Remy’s hot, white completion is leaking out the sides and staining your sheets. 

He stays like that for a moment, hovering on top of you. His cock softens inside, completely spent and eventually, he slips it out, rolling over onto your bed.

“Ah, joi de vivre, huh.” (the joy of life), he says drowsily.

You laugh, and nestle underneath his arm, in the space he’s left for you. 

If you had your way, you’d do it all over again. 

Though he doesn’t say it, so would he.