#The Gambit

[honeypiehotchner]

The Gambit (Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- part twelve

I need y'all to know that I'm writing part 18 rn and it's getting GOOD I can't wait this fic is so fun to write and I'm so happy you guys are loving it as much as I'm loving writing it!!! 🤭💞

Warnings: once again they're...getting along? never fear they still argue though, things are...about to get crazy, (i hope we are picking up on the subtle moments of attraction bc they're only going to get worse xoxo)

After three days of straight paperwork — and one annoying HR meeting because someone from a different department must’ve heard you and Hotch arguing and decided to tattle — you’re going insane. You need something else to do besides sit in a chair staring at files all day, listening to Morgan and Reid bicker, and glaring at Hotch every time you catch him looking at you through his office window.

You’ve heard nothing new from the case in Alabama. Radio silence from the unsub. Radio silence from the police. Nothing new from the sketch Lila helped with, too. Nothing at all, with anything.

You’re going stir crazy. 

You need a new case to come in. Given what Strauss told you in that meeting, you expect a new case to come in any minute.

What you do not expect is to come back from lunch on the fourth day to find Strauss in Hotch’s office, or for them to be arguing. With the door open, for god’s sake, so everyone in departments three floors down can hear.

You don’t think before you haul ass up the stairs, especially not after you hear your own name in the midst of their poor attempts to not shout, turning everyone’s heads. Your mind immediately conjures up the worst case scenario: that they’re arguing about your father, about how Strauss let you seal that part of your file, and somehow Hotch found out that she let you, and now it’s all getting blown out of proportion.

You can’t make out the source of their arguing, though, because they’re just shouting nonsense at one another, bordering on insults. 

Jesus, is this what it sounds like to everyone else when you and Hotch argue?

Strauss and Hotch both stop bickering as soon as they spot you hovering in the doorway. You raise your eyebrows at them like a parent catching two siblings in the middle of an unnecessary fight — which isn’t that far off the mark.

“Ma’am,” you nod to Strauss. “Hotch,” you look over at him. “I heard my name. What’s going on?”

Strauss answers, turning toward you, “Richard Monroe has stopped cooperating with the authorities. He’s said he’ll cooperate again, but he wants to speak with you first.”

“No,” Hotch says firmly, one hand planted on his hip, his other hand pointing an accusatory finger in Strauss’s direction, then at you. “There is no reason for Richard to speak with her.”

“Why not?” you ask, trying to keep your tone on the calmer side, at least while Strauss is present. “If it’ll make him cooperate, I’ll talk with him.”

“Thank you,” Strauss says, relieved, before turning to give Hotch a lethal glare. “See? I told you you’re getting worked up over nothing, Aaron.”

“I’ll be fine,” you say, whether to assure yourself or Hotch, you have no idea. “It’s one conversation. It’s not like I haven’t spoken to him bef—”

“It’s not just one conversation,” Hotch fumes.

“Stop acting like I can’t handle this job,” you argue.

Hotch almost looks offended. “That’s not what I’m—” 

“I don’t care what it is,” Strauss shouts over the both of you. “Agent, you’ll speak with Richard tomorrow. I’ve already scheduled it, and I’ll forward you the details. Hotch, I’ll let them know you’ll be attending as well.”

“Excuse me?” Hotch says.

“What?” you blurt at the same time. “I don’t need him to come with me.”

“Well, you’re not allowed to go alone, and frankly, Aaron, if it bothers you so badly, you should go with her, as Unit Chief,” Strauss says, her phone ringing in her pocket halfway through her sentence. “I’m late for a meeting. This is settled. Understood?”

Hotch looks like he’d rather put his own foot up his ass until he tastes the sole of his shoe. “Understood.”

“Yes ma’am,” you nod, stepping aside to let Strauss leave. “Thank you.”

You don’t bother waiting for Hotch to speak before inviting yourself into his office all the way. It takes everything in you not to slam the door behind Strauss. He yanks the blinds closed with just as much anger, chest practically heaving. You’re surprised he didn’t rip them off the wall with the force.

“What the hell was that?” you hiss. These walls, no matter how much you wish they were, aren’t soundproof, and by now you’ve probably attracted the attention of the entire goddamn floor, let alone your nosy teammates who are returning from lunch.

“I might ask you the same thing,” Hotch fires back, rounding his desk. You know what he’s doing, trying to tower over you and intimidate you. It won’t work, not with you. He should know that by now. “Did you know about this?”

“About Richard Monroe being a manipulative piece of shit? Of course I’ve known— I’m not a fucking idiot, Hotch.”

“I never said you were! Stop putting words in my—” he curses, pinching the bridge of his nose before resting his hand on his hip. “I don’t want you speaking to him.”

“Why?”

“Do I need to remind you what happened in that interrogation room?” Hotch says, voice surprisingly calm for how angry you remember him being that day. “He recognized you and you won’t tell me why—”

“Because I don’t know why,” you shoot back. It’s the honest truth, even if there’s pieces of information you could share. But you don’t want to; you’re not ready. “And I don’t know why you don’t trust me, but it’s grating on my nerves, Hotch. You say I’m a valuable asset to this team, yet you’re acting like I’m not capable of speaking to an unsub that I've spoken to before — for an hour.”

His chest is heaving, but he doesn’t say a damn thing. He just keeps standing there, looking down at you, clenching his jaw.

“I’m going to speak with Richard Monroe tomorrow,” you say, standing nearly toe-to-toe with Hotch. “Whether or not you join me is entirely up to you. But if you’re just going to act like this, then,” you gesture between the two of you, shaking your head. “Don’t bother coming. I’ll get someone else to go with me. You can call out sick for all I fucking care.”

You storm out of his office then, slamming the door behind you so hard you’d be surprised if the window didn’t rattle.

You jump when you realize Rossi is standing in his office doorway, watching you.

“What?” you snap. You don’t mean to take the frustration out on him too, but it’s hard not to when he’s lurking like that. 

Rossi raises his eyebrows, backing into his office without another word. 

You can’t deal with this right now.

Hotch’s door opens behind you and you spin around, freezing when you’re face to face with him. His expression is as unreadable as it always is, but you know he’s pissed at you.

“I’m going home to rest up before tomorrow,” you say, making sure your tone conveys it not as a request but a statement of fact. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Hotch nods once and that’s good enough for you, so you turn and head for your desk, gathering your things.

“I’ll see you guys tomorrow,” you say, flashing a tight smile to the rest of the team. “Bye.”

“Um…bye…?” Reid looks around to be sure everyone is as confused as he is. They are, but they all shrug, letting you leave.

Up the stairs, Hotch watches you go, knuckles white from where he’s gripping the railing. He shouldn’t have let you go so easily, but you both need to cool down, and if you’re really going to do this tomorrow, you need your rest. 

From beside him, Rossi pointedly clears his throat.

Hotch turns his head, following Rossi’s silent request to follow him into his office. He pushes the door closed behind him.

Hotch starts to pace, then stops in the middle of the room, lifting his arm and dropping it in a what the hell gesture. “She’s going to speak with Richard Monroe tomorrow.”

“I heard,” Dave smirks. “And you’re going with her?”

“I have no choice, do I?” Aaron replies, rubbing his forehead. “I’ll have to tell her tomorrow. If he says anything else about recognizing her—”

“Are you sure he wasn’t saying that just to get a rise out of her? She’s a new agent, she’s attractive—” Rossi cuts himself off when he sees Hotch’s glare. “You know what I mean.”

“Yes,” Hotch says. “I know.”

“She doesn’t know him, Aaron,” Dave says. “How would she? He’s a serial killer who’s been on the run—”

“He knows things about her childhood, Dave,” Hotch cries. “If he knows about the kidnapping, and her father, then who knows what else he’s heard— who knows what he’ll do—”

“Aaron,” Rossi shakes his head. “I know you want to help her, but you can’t protect her, and she can take care of herself.”

“I know she can,” Hotch says, dropping his hand in defeat. “I know.” You’ve been taking care of everything ever since he first met you. He knows you’re more than capable.

He just doesn’t want to find out what happens when you face something you can’t handle alone — and if he’s the one who lets you go at this alone, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself.

He can’t shake the gut feeling that you’re in way over your head and you don’t realize it. Because you don’t even know what you’re dealing with.

+++

You hardly sleep at all, so you’re in a piss poor mood the next morning, and you blame Hotch for it. Naturally.

So, of course, it also irritates the fuck out of you when you arrive at the office and there’s a coffee waiting on your desk. And an apologetic looking Unit Chief standing next to it, identical coffee cup in hand.

You toss your purse down in your chair, glaring at Hotch. “Are you in a better mood today?”

“Peace offering?” he says instead, gesturing to the coffee on your desk.

“Did you poison it?”

He stares at you tiredly.

You pick it up, keeping your eyes on him as you inhale the steam still rising from the hole in the lid. “What is it?”

“Your favorite,” he replies. “Thought it might make the drive easier.”

“Oh?” You smirk. “Am I driving?”

“No,” he scoffs — which oddly almost sounds like a laugh.

You snicker, bringing the cup to your lips. You don’t miss the way Hotch’s eyes follow the motion, or the way they get stuck on your lips before he averts them, like he senses he’s been caught.

It takes everything in you not to call him out on it. You settle for tasting your coffee and letting out a noise of surprise.

“What?” Hotch asks. “Is it wrong?”

“No, it’s good,” you reply quickly. “It’s right. Thanks.”

He nods once. “Good. Um, I’ll be in my office. We’ll leave in about an hour.”

“Sounds good to me,” you nod, raising your cup in cheers. “See you in a bit.”

Hotch heads up to his office without another word, leaving you with a whole world of confusion. 

He’s buying you coffee now? Seriously?

Thank god no one else was here to witness that. You’d never live that one down if Morgan heard all of it.

You shove your purse aside and sit down, putting your head in your hands. You take a deep breath, steadying yourself, continuing the long process of mentally preparing for speaking with Richard Monroe today.

“Long night?” 

You raise your head to glare at Morgan, but it holds no real heat. You’re too tired and you’re not even mad at him. “Don’t even get me started.”

His mouth forms an ‘o’ as inhales sharply. “That bad, huh?” He drops his bag next to his desk, instead coming over to prop himself on the edge of yours. “Talk to me.”

“Morgan,” you sigh, dropping your head back into your hands. “Not today, seriously.”

“What’s happening today?” he asks. “You never did say why you left so suddenly yesterday.”

You lift your head and glance toward Hotch’s office, slightly relieved to find his door closed and his head turned down toward paperwork on his desk. When you look back at Derek, he does the most not-subtle look over his shoulder at Hotch before looking back at you.

“No.”

You lean back, eyebrows furrowed. “No what?”

Morgan starts to grin. “You two finally get your shit together?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I see how it is,” Morgan chuckles, lightly tapping your shoulder. “Come on, tell me. Who made the first move?”

“Get off of my desk,” you say through gritted teeth, shoving his leg. “Nothing happened. I have to go speak to Richard Monroe today and Hotch is coming with—”

“What?” Morgan asks, incredulous. “Richard Monroe? Why him?”

“Because he’s not cooperating with the investigation anymore but says he will if he speaks to me first,” you explain like it’s nothing — because it is. “Strauss told me about it a couple weeks ago.”

“No,” Morgan shakes his head. “I don’t like the idea of this.”

You roll your eyes, grabbing your coffee. “Now you sound just like Hotch.”

“Good,” Morgan slides off your desk, shrugging. “‘Cause this doesn’t sound like a good idea. You had a panic attack after talking to him.”

You shake your head. “That’s not—”

“I know what those look like,” Morgan argues. “Whether or not that’s what you call them, that’s what they are.”

“Leave it alone,” you warn.

He holds up his hands in surrender. “Alright. Just— You know the drill. Call me if you need me. And try not to kill him,” he adds with a quick glance up to Hotch’s office.

“No promises,” you reply, tipping your coffee back.

+++

When Hotch comes down to the bullpen an hour later, you notice everyone’s eyes zeroing in on his coffee, then yours, taking note of the matching cups. Prentiss is first to raise her eyebrows at you. You give her a look that just says don’t. She says nothing, but her smirk tells you she’ll be messaging the group chat about it later.

“Ready?” Hotch asks.

“Yep,” you nod, grabbing your purse and standing. You offer a mock salute to the rest of your team. “See you on the other side.”

Morgan laughs, shaking his head at you. “Try not to kill each other. Please.”

You and Hotch roll your eyes at the same time, freezing when you catch the other doing it.

It takes a surprising amount of effort on your part to not smile.

You swipe your coffee off your desk, downing the last remaining drops as the two of you walk toward the exit. “Thanks for this again, by the way,” you say quietly, tossing your empty cup in the trash can in the hall. “You didn’t have to.”

“It’s not a problem,” he replies, tossing his as well while you hit the down arrow on the elevator.

The silence blankets you both inside the elevator as you stand as far apart as possible. Like you both know you need to cherish your personal space before you’re stuck in a car together for three straight hours — one way.

Since Hotch is driving, you head toward where you know his car will be in the parking deck. The spaces aren’t even assigned; he’s just a creature of habit. You, on the other hand, hardly ever park in the same spot. Hotch has always wondered why.

“If this radio turns on and starts playing some classical music bullshit, I’m going to be so disappointed in you, Hotchner,” you tease as you buckle yourself in.

Hotch says nothing as he turns the key in the ignition. A second later, The Beatles’s white album fills the car. Namely, the song “I Will”.

“Seriously?” you grin. “The white album?”

“What’s wrong with it?” he asks, immediately on the defensive.

“Nothing,” you hum, looking out the window. “I’m partial to Abbey Road.”

“Of course you would be.”

Your head whips toward him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugs. “Nothing.”

If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he’s smiling. 

You narrow your eyes before turning your head, biting back your own smile for the second time this morning.

Maybe you are warming up to each other — slightly — or maybe it means nothing. 

Whatever it is, you don’t have time to think about it today. You have a serial killer who wants to speak with you, who somehow knows who you are despite you having never met him before, and the only explanation must have something to do with your father — who Hotch still knows nothing about.

[fandomaddictwut]

I’ve seen some people complaining about Channing Tatum/his accent in Deadpool & Wolverine, and I just want to set a few things straight.

Channing has been on the docket to play Gambit since 2005, but each and every time, the character was cut from the script, he had a prior contract, or the director kept getting replaced until the project was scrapped 4 years later with the Fox/Disney merger.

He has family in Louisiana and grew up in the bayous (albeit in rural Alabama). This character has meant something to him since CHILDHOOD when it comes to representation in media.

Gambit doesn’t speak SAE (Standard American English). He’s a street urchin from Acadia/New Orleans. He grew up speaking Cajun (a mix of Southern American, Canadian French, and España Spanish grammar applied to a mostly English vocabulary) and Louisiana French (an offshoot of Canadian French from Acadians).

Every person I’ve seen online who ACTUALLY GREW UP around people who speak Cajun, Creole, and/or Louisiana French has said that his accent is SPOT ON, maybe even a little too clear.

All this to say: if you can’t understand Gambit in Deadpool & Wolverine, you’re not supposed to. That’s the bit: unless you’re used to those dialects and accents, you’re shit outta luck trying to parse it out without help. Hell, even Rogue, who grew up in the South, doesn’t know what he’s saying half the time.

[atomicfoxx]

Your Honor I love him‼️

[choerypetal]

Hickeys / Wade, Logan and Remy

summary: small prompts, on how the xmen boys would be when given hickeys.

ps; i apologies if there is a few grammatical errors, as english isn't my first language.

enjoy!

Wade: 

That man can’t resist keeping you in his sight and making sure to give you at least a kiss, or some small gesture of affection, before heading off to work.

This means his lips would form an adorable pout as he insists on leaning in. When you give in, his lips curl into a smirk, and before you can protest, you feel his hungry kiss.

Of course, it doesn't end there. His fingers slide around your waist, gripping tightly as he pulls you onto his lap. "The boss can wait a little while," he murmurs, his voice rough and laced with a hunger that demands to feel his teeth on your skin. That's how his habit of leaving hickeys began. "Not until I'm done."

"Wadee," you tried to protest, glancing at the clock to remind him not to be late, but his priorities were elsewhere. You knew it when you felt his tongue tracing the crook of your neck, followed by the slow press of his teeth against your skin. He left a few more bruises, as if the ones from yesterday weren’t already enough for him.

"Shh…" he purred, his eyes darkened by lust and the passion in his voice. "I need to finish my little masterpiece." You rolled your eyes, letting out a slight chuckle, but before you knew it, a moan escaped your lips as he nipped harder with his teeth. "That's it, princess, I want to hear you moan," Wade whispered, the desire and need evident in his gaze.

He finally stopped, as always, to admire his work—several new hickeys on your neck. Just the sight of them made him bite his bottom lip. When your eyes met his, he leaned in for a sloppy kiss, leaving you breathless, with pouty lips and fluttering lashes. "Oh, so now the princess wants more? It's a shame I have to go to work. And so do you," he teased. Typical bastard, you thought to yourself.

Logan: 

Unlike Wade, Logan isn’t the type to be vocal about what’s his. As the Wolverine, it wasn’t surprising when you ended up covered in hickeys. One time at the X-Men Labs, Logan immediately noticed a coworker checking you out. It wasn’t just the hickeys on your neck but also an outrageous comment that set him off. If those hickeys weren’t enough, you were in for a session where Logan would mark you as his—completely and everywhere. EVERYWHERE.

Naturally, he chose the Lab as the perfect place to do it. Despite his wild nature, Logan is surprisingly traditional, which might catch anyone, including you, off guard. But with his Wolverine instincts, he didn’t hesitate to grip your waist, pulling you up from your chair despite your protests, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist for support. "You really thought I’d let you leave work that early? That’s the kind of question that would make me feel ashamed, love."

Before you could say anything, his lips caught yours in a hungry kiss. His voice was hoarse, thick with the impatience and craving he’d been holding back all day—especially after seeing you with your coworker. When Logan’s jealousy flared, you knew there was no stopping him. “Logan…” you whispered, your soft, vulnerable voice a huge turn-on for him. He purred as he nodded at your call. “Yes, sweetheart?” he murmured, his gaze never leaving you. “I need you, so bad…” Your confession was all he needed. He began by nuzzling his head against your neck, his teeth sinking in without hesitation.

The neck was just the beginning for Logan; he wasn’t satisfied yet. He needed more, which meant leaning you over your Lab desk. Your blouse clung to your curves as his fingers, both gentle and eager, began unbuttoning your jacket. The typical work attire—a short skirt, sheer lace, and a blouse that matched the color of your nail polish—was what truly captivated him. Even his own attire seemed to complement yours. One of the many things he adored about you, he murmured, “Man, you look gorgeous…” 

“You don’t look bad yourself either,” you echoed the words you’d whispered when you first met Logan. He adored this gesture, finding it endearing. Just moments before unbuttoning your blouse, he asked, “May I?” with the gentlemanly demeanor he always displayed. You smiled and nodded in response. “Since no one else will be coming to the Lab, my body is yours, Logan.”

That response alone pleased the Wolverine. As his fingers delicately and slowly unbuttoned your blouse, he took a moment to admire your breasts, beautifully outlined by the cup of your bra, before nuzzling his head against your stomach. His teeth sank into your flesh, leaving more hickeys than he had originally intended. “Now, I hope this will stop your coworker from looking…” he murmured.

Remy Lebeau: 

Of the two, Remy is undoubtedly the most proud when it comes to showcasing his affection. His love language includes plenty of flirtation, and he makes sure that most of your hickeys are prominently displayed. He’s also quite vocal about it, especially when your best friend, Peter Maximoff, notices the sudden marks on your neck and expresses his concern. “Geez, Y/N, someone was feisty last night. I’m curious who the lucky one is.”

In no time, an arm wrapped around your shoulder, with Remy’s shadow looming over your petite frame and a smug look of pride on his face. “Ma chérie, you look a bit tired today,” he remarked, prompting you to shoot him a death glare. Despite your effort to remain professional, Remy’s public displays of affection made Peter gulp silently. “I guess that’s my cue to leave,” he said. “See you at lunch?” 

That question was an offer Remy was inclined to refuse, as he had other plans in mind. Everyone knew it, especially you, which surprised him when you agreed to join. His grip around your waist tightened, and a smile spread across his face. As polite as ever, he said, “It would be a shame if Y/N didn’t join us. But my chère has other plans. Sorry, mon cher Peter.”

Wanting to protest or suggest otherwise, it was clear that Remy had different plans. Sneaking out of work hours only seemed to please him more. As he planted a few kisses in the crook of your neck, his silhouette lingering behind you, Peter took the opportunity to excuse himself. He shared a glance with you, his expression teasingly reflecting his amusement at Gambit’s protective nature.

“Now, chère,” he said, his voice hoarse and his accent more pronounced. His fingers gently caressed your waist. “We have some unfinished business to attend to, don’t we?”

He wasn’t wrong. Your eyelids grew heavier as his teeth sank in, a soft moan escaping your lips just before he covered your mouth with his hand. “No, no, no,” he purred. “Not here.” Yet, he continued, and when he finally stopped, his fingers intertwined with yours, leaving you breathless. With a look of typical smugness, he found you adorable and said, “Alons, y.”

[ranputation]

remy lebeau pulling up to the function

[noodelak]

Gambittttt 💜🩶🖤

[queenxxxsupreme]

Before the Storm

(Remy Lebeau x reader)

A/N: This is just a super tiny little drabble because I wanted to get a feel for Gambit’s character. Please if any of it (or all of it) seems out of character for him, let me know. I just wanna do this man some justice

Warnings: cigarettes and alcohol, a little bit of angst but mostly fluff

Summary: It’s the night before the ragtag group of forgotten heroes goes to fight Cassandra Nova, and you share a little moment with your Gambit.

“What took you so long, mon coeur?” Remy spoke from where he was laid out across the bed. To even call it a bed was probably an overstatement. It was just a mattress on the floor, but it was all you had in the Hell that was quite literally the Void.

“Had to find a good bottle.” You held up a bottle of rum.

”Why, I think that’s a fine choice, Miss Y/L/N.” He grinned just a little, then beckoned you over with a wave of his hand.

You kicked off your boots before climbing into the bed. Remy adjusted himself so that he was leaning against the wall. You made yourself comfortable, tucking yourself under his arm.

You twisted the bottle of rum open and took a swig of the sharp alcohol, then passed the bottle to him.

“How do you think tomorrow is going to go, Remy?” You spoke quietly, looking over your shoulder to him.

“I don’t know. But I do know one thing for sure, mon coeur. It ain’t gonna be pretty.”

You shifted yourself around so that you could see his face better.

“You got a smoke?” You asked him. He reached behind him on the bed, blindly feeling for wherever he had set the pack of cigarettes down last.

Remy picked up the box and flicked it open, holding it out for you to take one.

“Thanks, mon amour.” You took the cigarette from him and placed it between your lips. You dug around in the pocket of your jacket and pulled out a lighter. You lit the cigarette before tossing the lighter down on to the bed.

“Are you scared, Y/N?” His deep voice was quiet, almost like he was afraid to even ask the question.

”Yeah, Remy. I am.” You admitted, blowing the smoke from your lips. He took the cigarette from you to take a hit of it. ”We’ve never gone up against Cassandra Nova before. We just fight her little pawns and stay as far away from their territory as possible.”

”It’s gonna be real interestin’. That’s for sure.” The smoke that left his lips as he spoke fanned over your face. You leaned further into him, resting your head on his shoulder.

“I just don’t want anything to happen to you.” Your fingers wrapped around the glass bottle of alcohol and you took a sip. “Don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”

”You ain’t losin’ me no time soon, mon coeur.” He pressed a kiss to the side of your head. “Just don’t go doin’ anythin’ stupid tomorrow.”

”Me?” You raised an eyebrow and turned your head so you could admire his features. “Honey, we both know I’m not the one going and doing stupid things on a whim. That’s all you and Johnny’s bad influence.”

He chuckled quietly, bringing his arm that was behind you around your shoulders to pull you close enough so he could seal a kiss on your cheek.

“I miss that fella, Y/N.” The smile that had been on his lips slowly faded.

“I know. Me too.” You took the cigarette from Remy and put it between your lips. “We’ll do it for him, and all the others.”

“To Johnny.” Remy lifted the bottle of rum up as if to toast his dear friend.

“You think we have a chance at beating her, Remy?”

“I think that whatever does happen tomorrow, we’ll be just fine, mon coeur.”

[ladybekool]

In Deadpool & Wolverine when Deadpool says "Who taught you to speak English? The minions?" to Gambit. ... IT IS SUCH A CLEVER JOKE because Gambit is from Louisiana which was a French colony so the Patois still has a strong French influence AND the minions language was co-created and voiced by a french man. Big brain moment, me love it.

[honeypiehotchner]

The Gambit (Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- part four

(Yes I'm posting another one don't look at me) Happy New Year's Eve everyone! Another treat for the holidays from me as I keep writing at the speed of light xxx

Warnings: angst angst angst!

When you get downstairs to the hotel lobby in the morning, Hotch thinks it’s time to play twenty-fucking-questions.

“Did you sleep?”

You give him a weird look. This is question number seven. “I took a nap. I’m fine.” Never mind the fact that Hotch doesn’t look like he slept a wink. He probably stayed awake, mulling over files all night.

“How much did you smoke?” he asks. Number eight.

Behind you, Derek joins in as he walks up with coffee. “You bought cigarettes? We talked about this.”

“Can both of you get off my dick?” you laugh, trying to hide how annoyed and uncomfortable this is making you. “We have a missing girl. Shouldn’t we focus on that? Can we go?”

“Does everyone have what they need?” Hotch asks, though he’s already moving toward the door. His phone lights up in his hand and he takes it, muttering, “This is Agent Hotchner.”

You all wait anxiously for Hotch to finish the call, but continue walking toward the parking lot. It’s not until you’re nearly at the cars that the call ends, and Hotch begins speed walking.

“That was the sheriff,” he says, opening the driver’s side door. “Richard Monroe turned himself in five minutes ago.”

“What?” you blurt, hopping in the passenger seat of Hotch’s car without thinking. You see Derek get in the backseat and think thank god someone else got in. “Does he have Lila?” As much as you hate Hotch’s view of this case, you still feel the need to ask.

“No,” Hotch says, and you feel a spark of pride in yourself. “He claims to not know where she is.”

You groan, but it’s cut off by a surprised yelp as Hotch speeds onto the main road, putting the lights on, and squealing the tires. You reach up for the safety bar, holding on for dear life as Hotch races to the precinct.

+++

Richard Monroe looks like a ghost.

He spends the first few minutes of the interrogation asking Morgan where Lila is. And when Morgan finally says “we don’t know,” Richard starts to cry.

“Hotch…” you shake your head, looking away. “He’s telling the truth. He doesn’t have her.”

Hotch stays silent, arms crossed over his chest as he watches Richard and Morgan. “Or he’s playing a game.”

“Can you be serious for one second?” 

Hotch doesn’t even turn his head to look at you. Instead, you get a glare from the corner of his eye. “I am being serious.”

“We need to ask him if he knows anyone that might pose as him,” you press. 

Hotch ignores you.

Morgan stands and leaves the interrogation room, coming out to stand next to you and Hotch. “He’s distraught, man.”

“Because he doesn’t have her,” you insist. “Let me talk to him.”

“No,” Hotch says.

“You didn’t even think about it.”

“Because I don’t need to,” Hotch replies, still cold. “You don’t have clearance.”

“Clearance?”

“Hotch, what does that even mean?” Morgan butts in, surprising you. “It can’t hurt, man. I think he needs someone in there that’s not me or you. He’s just going to get angry if you walk in there.”

“Exactly,” you nod in agreement. “He needs to feel in control again. So let me.”

Hotch takes a moment to at least think about it, and then he says, “Go.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Go before I change my mind.”

You smile. “Is there a box of tissues around?”

+++

You set the box of tissues in front of Richard Monroe, also giving him a cup of water. He keeps his head down, his fingers clenched together.

“Here,” you barely whisper. “I’m really sorry about my colleague. He can get a little…aggressive.”

Richard says nothing, but he does nod.

“I’m Agent L/N,” you begin. “I’m new. I just felt so bad for you, I had to come say something.” You pause, taking the seat across from him. “I’m really sorry about your daughter. We’re doing everything we can to find her. I know you had nothing to do with this.”

“I really didn’t,” he says. The words are as quiet as they are pitiful. “I wouldn’t. Not her.”

“I know,” you nod. You need to ask your next question. You just hope it won’t set him off again. “Do you know anyone who would?” 

He shakes his head, but doesn’t seem angry or upset. “No one knows about her. And if they do, they know not to fucking touch her.”

That sounds about right. “I understand,” you nod. “Is there anyone who would,” you pause and chuckle, playing up the dumb newbie act, “have ‘beef’ with you, so to speak? About anything?”

He looks up then, and grins. It makes your stomach turn. “They don’t live long enough.”

You lean into your startled reaction. You can see he’s opening up more and more with how vulnerable you let yourself seem. 

He grabs the cup of water and downs it in one go. “How new are you?”

“It’s my first day,” you reply sheepishly, making yourself smaller and smaller. “I’m not supposed to be in here, but I just felt so bad.”

“You’re a sweet girl,” Richard says, still with the same smile that makes you uneasy. It takes too long for you to realize that it’s the same crazed look your dad used to have. “What’s a sweet girl like you doing working for the FBI?”

“What’s someone like you doing turning yourself in to the FBI?” you counter. “I’ve heard about you, y’know.”

Richard leans back in his seat. “Yeah? What have you heard?”

“That you’ve gotten away with it all thus far,” you shrug. “Been completely off the FBI’s radar. So why’d you jump back on it now?”

He narrows his eyes at you. “How new did you say you were?”

You ignore him. He’s halfway onto you now anyway. “Surely it’s not just because your daughter has gone missing. You couldn’t possibly love her that m—”

He slams his hands on the table hard, and you almost jump, but you don’t move an inch. He stares at you, that same wild look you’ve seen before.

“You don’t scare me,” you say. “What’s the real reason you’re here?”

His left eye twitches. “Why do you look familiar?”

Your blood runs cold but you don’t show it. “Why are you avoiding my question?” You cross your arms over your chest. “I know you don’t give a shit about your ex-wife either, Richard, so what is it?”

“You think we’re all the same, don’t you?” he taunts. “That just because we do what we do means we can’t feel love.”

I know you can’t, you think. “Do you love your daughter?”

“Yes,” he answers instantly. Zero doubt. “And despite what my ex-wife tells you, I love her too. I just want to keep them safe.”

“Safe from what?”

“People like me,” he replies. “Who do you think?”

You stay silent for a moment. He’s studying your face in a way you don’t like. That’s your cue to leave.

You nod like you’ve figured him out and stand up, pushing your chair in. “Do you want more water?”

“No.”

“Suit yourself,” you shrug, turning for the door.

“What’d you say your name was?”

You repeat it, knowing it will tell him nothing. There’s a reason you changed it. He seems dissatisfied as you expected because if your hunch is right about his, it wasn’t the surname he expected you to have.

He shouldn’t have expected you to keep the name. Lila probably won’t keep hers.

You return to the other room where Hotch is waiting and watching. His eyes follow you as you step inside, looking through the window at Richard.

“I’m not sure if any of that was remotely useful,” you admit. “But maybe he’ll be more amenable now. I seem to have caught him off guard.”

Hotch says nothing. And he won’t stop looking at you.

You sigh, turning to meet his eyes with a tired stare. You raise your eyebrows. “What? Do I have something on my face?”

“Why did he recognize you?”

You keep your expression neutral. “I don’t know, Hotch. Ask him. He’s the one in handcuffs.”

Hotch seems to accept your answer — or if he doesn’t, he doesn’t show it. You leave him to brood and head back into the conference room to help Reid. Rossi goes to join Hotch and you pointedly don’t think about how they’re probably talking about you.

+++

Richard must really love his daughter. He’s not happy to learn there’s someone posing as him on said chatting site, and that they convinced Lila to run away with them. 

He swears up and down that he’ll do anything to help find her. It makes you angrier than it should.

You’re not angry at him, not really. You know it’s misguided anger. You know who you’re really angry at. But you refuse to admit that to yourself, so instead you’re picking fights with your boss.

Although, in your opinion, Hotch started it.

“You’re seriously going to keep me from speaking to him just because he thinks he recognizes me?” You nearly roll your eyes at Hotch, but you stop yourself. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“You’re being defensive,” Hotch points out, his arms crossed like he’s trying to prove a point. “What are you not telling me?”

“Why are you so interested?” you counter, crossing your arms too. You’re not trying to mock him, but if it comes across that way, then so be it. “Trying to get in my pants or something?”

Hotch’s gaze might as well be laced with fire. “Take a walk. Now.”

“Fuck off.”

“Agent—”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m going.” You glare at him over your shoulder as you head for the doors of the precinct.

You shove the doors open with a huff, turning and walking to the left of the parking lot. You’re really wishing you didn’t leave the pack of cigarettes in your hotel room right about now.

What the hell is Hotch’s problem— No, what the hell is Richard’s problem? Why does he think he knows you? How is that even possible? 

You think back. Your dad would’ve been in his sixties now, pushing seventy. Richard is 54. The possibility that they knew each other is small, but still there, and not impossible like you’d prefer. The fact that the possibility is there at all is pissing you off.

You’re not stupid. You know this comes with the territory. You know this is what you get for testing fate like this. But there’s a reason you changed your name. There’s a reason your mom packed everything up and moved halfway across the country with you when you were a teenager. It was a new start, a new life. One where you had no ties to him. None.

So why does some random FBI’s Most Wanted act like he’s seen your face before? Has he? How?

“You’re gonna start a tornado if you keep turning in circles like that.”

“Not in the mood, Morgan,” you say calmly, despite the anger raging through you. “Sorry if he’s being a jackass.” You raise your hand and gesture to yourself, “My fault.”

Morgan scoffs. “Right.”

You shrug. As much as Hotch irritates the shit out of you, you’re well aware you bring it on yourself sometimes. It doesn’t help that he gets under your skin so easily and will have you firing off at any little thing. You bring it on yourself just as much as he starts it on his own.

You’re both at fault and neither of you will admit it. Ever. Over your dead body.

“Come back inside.”

“Can’t. I’ve been exiled.”

“Y/N,” Morgan tries again. “What’s going on?”

You stop pacing. “Nothing is going on.”

“Hotch told me the guy recognized you.” 

You roll your eyes. “Hotch is paranoid.”

“Really? ‘Cause right now you’re looking just as paranoid.”

You shoot him a glare. “Don’t.”

“I’m just saying.”

“I know you are, but don’t, okay?” you all but plead. “Leave it alone. Please.”

Morgan tilts his head. He looks ready to do everything except leave it alone. “You’ll tell me if it’s a problem?”

“Yes,” you nod, meaning it. He’s dead, anyway, so it won’t be a problem. “But it’s really not. And I’m not paranoid, I’m just thinking. Well— Maybe I am paranoid. We need to find her.”

“We will,” Morgan says. “Now, come inside. We need everyone on deck.”

You can’t argue with that and you’re cooled down enough now, so you relent. “Alright.”

You follow Morgan back into the precinct and into the conference room with the rest of the team. You share a look and single nod with Hotch. A silent truce, for now. 

+++

Turns out, a serial killer like Richard does have a lot of enemies, including some who would jump at the chance to torment his daughter. Go figure.

They’re easier to narrow down and pinpoint once Richard actually starts to work with the team. Hotch struck a deal, apparently, to make his sentence lighter if he helps. No death penalty, but still life in prison, after all he’s done.

To your surprise, Richard is relieved about no death penalty. Because, he said, if there’s any chance his daughter will see him one day, he wants to be alive.

It sends a spark of anger through you so hot that you have to walk away. 

You spend the rest of the day with Reid, decoding messages, silently nodding back and forth, and chewing on as many pen caps as you can. It’s probably not good for your teeth, but neither of you care about that right now.

You’re both shocked out of your trances when Morgan comes flying into the room, Garcia on speakerphone, with Hotch and Prentiss right behind them. 

“I found her phone, I found it,” Garcia’s voice comes through the speaker. “Sending coordinates to everyone now.”

“Rossi and JJ are on it,” Hotch answers. “They’re already out.”

“It’s not moving, so it might be nothing,” Garcia says.

You worry for a moment that her phone is thrown in a bush somewhere. And then you feel sick to your stomach when Rossi confirms as much.

“They’re bringing it back here,” Hotch says, his phone still pressed to his ear. “It’s broken, like someone threw it out. Garcia, can you get me any and all CCTV footage in the area?”

“Already ahead of you, sir,” she replies. “Give me five.” The call ends abruptly, no doubt so she can focus and type faster.

“Should we tell Richard?” you ask. “He’s been cooperating, but this could be an extra push.”

Hotch studies you for a moment. “Fine. But wait until they bring the phone. Show it to him.” 

He gives you a look that just screams and if he recognizes you again, you’re out.

[fandomaddictwut]

Here’s a video from The Tonight Show with Jimmy Fallon, where Channing Tatum goes more in depth about his love for Gambit and how long he’s been waiting to play the character.

[atomicfoxx]

Have I ever mentioned his HANDS BC HOOH

[choerypetal]

Off Days / Remy Lebeau

summary: While working at the X-Men labs and growing increasingly close to Remy, it was on one fateful day that he decided to seize the opportunity. He figured that stealing you away for more than just five minutes before work might be his chance to make you truly his.

ps; english isn't my first language, so i apologize for any spelling errors of grammar, enjoy!

"Mon cher..." Remy's morning voice purrs softly against the crook of your neck. His head nestles closer, his plan clear as he hopes to gently rouse you. His teeth graze your skin, followed by the warm press of his lips as he tenderly sucks at the spot, a loving wake-up call.

"Remy," you called his name with a teasing lilt, making him freeze in his tracks. His lips formed a pout just as he was about to sigh, a sigh filled with both longing and frustration. He glanced at you, only to catch the sneaky grin spreading across your lips—a grin he nearly missed while considering stealing you away before work. "Just five more minutes," you echoed, mimicking the exact tone he used when begging for extra sleep on weekdays. But this time, sleep was far from Remy's mind, and you knew exactly what was.

"But mon cher," his accent thickened, drawing your attention back to him. He knew exactly how to captivate you, not just with his words, but with his touch. His fingers trailed down your back, pulling you closer as he maneuvered himself on top of you. "Why risk five more minutes of sleep without giving me at least a few kisses in return, hmm? Je suis ashamed."

He feigned hurt, placing a hand dramatically against his chest, his pout deepening as he spoke with playful disdain. Yet, his act worked its magic on you. As much as you adored him, the temptation was hard to resist. You knew better than to underestimate him—after all, he wasn’t called Gambit for nothing. So, you decided to challenge him. “Alright, tough guy, if you’re so eager to keep me here all day, you’ll need to help me come up with a good excuse for missing the lab. Remember, I’m working with Charles today.”

That bastard, Remy thought, his brows knitting together at the mere mention of your mentor's name. He knew the two of you were just colleagues, nothing more, but Remy despised any hint of competition. The idea of having to fight for your heart ignited his ego, and he knew that acting impulsively could cost you not just your job, but possibly him as well. So, he decided to be cunning instead. A subtle smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as a plan began to form.

"Perhaps I can figure something out..." he murmured, releasing your back as his fingers traced a path from your waist to your chin. His thumb gently tilting your chin, making you meet his gaze. Just as you were about to protest, his fingers brushed against your lips, teasing every inch of your body. "Let Gambit handle it, will you?" His voice carried a subtle threat, yet the promise behind his words left you completely disarmed. Whatever he was planning was clearly working in his favor. "Just stay still," he whispered, his breath warm against your ear before he bit down on its edge, a soft whimper escaping your lips.

"Will you be silent, mon cher?" he continued, his voice low and commanding. Your eyes met his once more, and this time they glowed with a magenta hue, the once familiar white pupils now darkened. You nodded, but he pressed further, "I didn’t hear you, cher." Cocky bastard, you thought, knowing full well he was in control. “Yes, Rem—” you began, but he shook his head, a subtle gesture of disapproval that made you quickly correct yourself. “Yes, Sir.”

Remy was as satisfied as ever. He leaned in, locking eyes with you as his fingers traced their way back to your chest, sending tingles through your body. The sensation shifted from cold to warm as his fingers teasingly slipped beneath your underwear. His brows furrowed slightly, and he tilted his head. "Already wet for me, cher?" he murmured, his eyes filled with curiosity, though he restrained himself from looking further—for now, at least.

“It’s you and your stupid handsome face...” you muttered, your cheeks flushing a delightful shade of pink that Remy savored. He relished how vulnerable you were before him, even without a single touch. You tried to avert your gaze, pretending to check the clock on the nightstand, but that didn’t please him. Before you could, his right hand gripped your chin, almost squeezing as your cheeks puffed slightly under his touch. “I’m sure Charles won’t mind a few minutes, will he?”

You remained silent for a moment, then nodded again. "Good... Now, be a dear, mon amour, and let him do all the work." Before you could protest, he leaned in for a hungry, sloppy kiss that left you breathless. As he pulled away, it wasn’t his fingers that slipped beneath the covers this time—it was his head, his hands firmly gripping your hips as his tongue began its work. In that moment, any thought of being late faded away. Just then, the door swung open. One of Charles' assistants, whom you knew well, shyly informed you of your boss’s illness, suggesting you might take the day off. You thanked him, struggling to stifle a moan. Remy’s head peeked back from beneath the covers, a mischievous grin on his face as he saw your disheveled state. "Now, cher, I suppose you have no excuse. Today, you’re all mine..."

[tourturestarradio]

𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐇𝐈𝐌

"𝐌𝐚𝐦𝐚 𝐢'𝐦 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭, 𝐢 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐬."

"𝐃𝐨 𝐢 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐦?"

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Pairing: Worst Wolverine x Vampire reader (platonically)

Prompt: You lost him...he was gone, so why was he here how was he here?

Warnings: Angst with no comfort, Deadpool 3 spoilers, Wade being Wade. (this is connected to Enjoy the silence)

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆☆ ★ ✮

Was this a joke? Blinking you stared at him fingers twitching. He was gone, you watched him die, right in front of your eyes. You'll never forget that moment, you lost him, you lost the single most important person in your life and you lost him.

So how?

How was he standing here right in front of you, the rest of the group looking at you wondering what you're gonna do.

Wade gasped as he looked between the two "is this the start of a found family trope-oh nevermind."

You tackled him down in an instant catching him off guard, growling in anger. Growing your nails out you stabbed into his sides "ah fuck!" prompting him to release his claws stabbing them into your side as well, just like old times.

"Well this is NOT how I thought this would go...oh gosh"

Wade gulped the others trying to pull you off of Logan as you two continued to claw at each other "it's like watching a cat fight." Blade looked over at him "will you quit your yapping and help us!" Wade nodded dragging Logan away from you.

"The fuck is your problem! You asshole!" Logan shouted yanking his arm away from Wade.

You hissed at him again, prompting Laura to speak up "they can't talk. Well at least not that well" Logan glared at you and you did the same.

"Well nothing can be worse trying to hear this guy try to do a public speech?" Wade said lightly patting Gambit's shoulder, Blade and Elektra letting go of you.

"L...iar ..."

Logan looked at you "the fuck?" he muttered his wounds slowly healing, your scratchy rugged voice calling out again.

"...L..iar"

"The fuck are you talking about?"

Wade nodded "I agree with peanuts here I can't really understand, you need some whiskey to clear out your throat since we don't have a drop of water anywhere." he joked.

You could feel tears bubble up in your eyes as you hissed again turning and leaving too angry to get a grip on yourself.

"Well that went about as well as a priest going to a school playground."

Elektra rolled her eyes "shut the fuck up" she groaned, Laura followed you out, Wade trying to make small talk "So...anybody up for uno..." he asked

The silence lingered for an uncomfortable amount of time as no one was in the mood for talking.

"Dear God the author needs to change scenes. I can't keep making jokes to fill this awkward silence" Wade said shaking his head.

.

The night drew close as you stayed up on a tree branch sitting staring at the moon your nails tapping against the tree bark, dried tear streaks on your face. Your brain remembering everything about him and the comfort he gave you, that void he filled.

He was the father you never had, he cared about you even when no one else did, even when everyone turned their back on you after the accident. He was there, you stuck like glue to his side never thinking the man you held so dear to your heart could ever die.

He was a hero? He wasn't supposed to die.

He was your hero.

And he left you.

He promised he wouldn't leave you.

He promised.

And he lied, he lied right to your face. You'll never forget the anger you felt after he took that final breath, the hate you felt. But it wasn't towards him, it was towards yourself. You let the one person who meant the most to you die, you let him slip through your fingers just like that.

But now. He's here again. Your eyes glued to him as he drank and talked with Laura for a little bit before she walked away. You didn't understand it, you wanted to lash out you wanted to scream and shout at him for leaving you but you couldn't. You had so many questions, so much you had to tell him about what happened in your life, there was so much to say but you just couldn't say it.

"I know you're there."

Blinking you stared at him, how did he know...?

"I can smell you. Come out."

You jumped down from the tree slowly walking up to him you sat down keeping your eyes on the flames, "what do you want, here to stab me again?" he asked glancing over at you.

You shook your head, signing 'sorry' to him. He looked at you confused and you signed it again, "I don't understand that." he commented, you cocked your head to the side, maybe he just forgot?

So with the best you could you strained out a small "s...orry" Logan looked at you, as you continued "..f..or. hur...ting" he only waved you off.

There was silence before you spoke again "..h..ow?" it hurt to speak but you did so anyway, Logan knew what you meant regardless "look kid. I'm not who you think I am." he started, you gripped onto your pants "I'm not him." he finished.

You shook your head getting up walking away for a second before coming back, you had a picture in your hand showing it to him, it was a bad picture you took of your first mission, it was you and Logan you had a grin while Logan was trying to swat away the camera.

Logan looked at it "that's not me." he stated firmly, you pushed the picture towards him again "kid listen to me. That ain't me," you didn't believe him.

Were you gone too long? Why didn't he remember?

Showing him another picture he swatted your hand away making you drop the picture into the fire, your eyes growing wide as you scrambled to grab the picture.

Logan quickly grabbed you seeing as you were burning yourself to grab it "hey! hey! damn it stop it!" you faught against him to grab the picture burning your hand in the processes.

Putting the fire out you looked at it half Logans face was burned off. Looking at the male you shoved him with a shout "stop that." he commanded, annoyed just hoping you'd go away.

You shoved him again "w..hy!" Logans claws shot out pointing at your throat "look kid I already fucking told you i'm not him! Get that through your thick fucking head!" snatching the two photos away from you he held them up shouting at you "we are not the same person! I'm not that fucking man you used to know! That man is dead!" he yelled.

You could feel more tears fill your eyes, not wanting to believe what he was saying. "He's gone! You've seen it for yourself! He's Dead! And there is nothing you can do about it!" He shouted throwing the pictures down before shoving past you angrily.

You hurried to pick up the pictures holding them close to your chest as hot tears ran down your cheeks, sitting on the ground you pulled your legs up to your chest.

He was right about one thing he was nothing like the Logan you knew. He may have looked like him but he was nothing Logan, he was an imposter, a fake, a lie. The Logan you knew and loved was dead.

And no one could bring him back.

.

.

A/n: This was a tough one, should I do a part two?

[lavendervulcan]

hooimbouttamakeanameformyselfhere

[chremes007]

me after deadpool&wolverine 😭 (couldn’t stop drawing them)