#The Gambit

[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 💜🩶🖤

[honeypiehotchner]

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

I'm backkk 👀 Reminder that y'all do NOT like each other (for now 🤭)

I did a lot of math to make sure I had my timeline in order but I won't bore y'all with all the numbers. Some basics, tho: we're somewhere in s5/6, Foyet doesn't exist here but Haley and Hotch are divorced and Jack lives with Haley, Reader is in her mid 30s and Hotch is in his mid 40s. That's all for now, happy reading! xxx

Chapter warnings: these two are at each other's throats! and a new case begins ofc

Your day started out perfectly.

You sorted more of your belongings into boxes for the movers. Everything will be shipped ahead so it arrives shortly after you do at your apartment in Virginia. You’re running ahead of schedule, so you even have time to stop for a good breakfast before heading into the office.

The day felt…too good to be true. And you quickly find out why. 

“The BAU?”

Your superior, Agent Reynolds, sits across from you and raises an eyebrow, assuming incorrectly that you haven’t heard of the branch. “The Behavioral Analy—”

“Yes, I know what the BAU is,” you cut him off, something he’s used to, waving your hand sharply. “Why the BAU?”

“You were requested,” he replies simply with a slight shrug.

“By who?”

“Agent Hotchner, as I’m told.”

That is the last name you ever expected him to say. 

“Hotch?” you echo incredulously. “You’re kidding.”

Reynolds sighs. “I’m really not.” You know deep down Reynolds will miss you, but he’ll also thank god every day that he doesn’t have to put up with your attitude anymore. 

“Huh.” You could laugh. You almost do. “Interesting.”

Your now ex-boss gives you a look, and a sigh. “What now?”

“Oh, nothing,” you shake your head. “Agent Hotchner and I have met before, that’s all.”

+++

Ten and a half years prior to the present day, you worked on a case with Aaron Hotchner. 

Key word: case. One singular case.

You were joined by agents Gideon, Morgan, and, of course, Hotchner. You were the only woman with them at the time, and that already threatened to drive you up a wall. To make matters worse, you and Hotch could not get along to save anyone’s lives. 

The two of you butted heads for two weeks straight, but even that is sugar coating it. He raised his voice at you and you raised your voice right back. Of course, only in private. In the field, you were as professional as can be. But in the tiny conference room that you had to set up for them coming in unannounced? All bets were off.

You’ve never been a particularly angry person, but something about Hotch brought all your anger to the surface.

He was the most arrogant man you had ever come across. He explained things to you that you already knew, and even when you told him you were aware of the topic, he’d continue explaining like he hadn’t heard you, just out of spite.

He underestimated you in ways that had your blood boiling. He wouldn’t send you to interview anyone, despite that being your area of expertise. He had you doing busy work, like a goddamn intern. 

You were your office’s own little BAU. You had read Gideon’s papers, been to profiling lectures. You became a profiler because you knew your city needed one, and by your fifth year in the office, you were one. You knew what you were doing, and Hotch treated you like a newbie. 

He always walked around in a damn suit and tie. Does he not own a t-shirt? Does he know what that is? Would it kill him to breathe once in a while?

Why does he have to look like he constantly has a stick up his ass?

Of course, you aren’t totally innocent. You found his buttons and pushed them since day one. He hated being talked over or shouted at, so those became your favorite things. Especially after he began doing them to you.

Don’t disobey direct orders, he said. You did. And you got the results needed, so he had no choice but to move on.

Don’t come into the interrogation room unless asked for, he said. You did anyway. The unsub needed to feel important, a high priority, and he wasn’t. So, you walked in and told Hotch that the Attorney General of the United States was on the phone. It worked. While Hotch “spoke with the Attorney General,” you got a confession. Hotch had to thank you through gritted teeth.

When the case was solved and the BAU left town, you popped a bottle of fucking champagne. Good riddance you screamed and drank straight from the foaming top.

+++

You mutter under your breath the entire drive to the BAU. Your boxes arrived this morning, but you haven’t had a chance to unpack them, so your apartment is currently a shitshow. 

And now you’re driving to deal with another shitshow. 

You haven’t received any emails or texts from Hotch, which is odd, but you’re sure as hell not questioning it. The less you have to deal with him, the better. He probably shares the same sentiment, which is why he hasn’t contacted you.

From far away, Quantico looks more like a prison than it does a headquarters. You hope it doesn’t feel the same way it looks.

The BAU office is just a short elevator ride up from the parking garage, and you dread every second of it. When the doors open on the BAU floor, you want to scream.

But you’re a professional, not a toddler, so you walk your ass through the glass doors and into the bullpen, your head held high like an adult.

“No. Fucking. Way.”

“Hi Morgan,” you mirror his grin, accepting his hug. “Miss me?”

He’s in the same black t-shirt and black jeans he always wears, his haircut just the same but shorter. And he finally got rid of the “shaving my face every morning” routine. Stubble looks much better on him.

“For ten years,” Morgan reminds you. “What brings you here?”

You shrug cheekily, feigning innocence. “I heard there was an opening.”

His grin, somehow, grows wider and brighter. “Come here!” He tackles you in another hug, this time lifting you up and spinning you. “God is on my side to-day. Where’s Reid?”

“Putting a disastrous amount of sugar in his coffee,” a blonde woman says as she passes, then stops. “Oh, hi. I’m JJ, you must be Agent L/N. I heard you were coming in today.”

You escape from Morgan’s grip to shake JJ’s hand. “That’s me. JJ, you said?”

She nods, shifting her feet to a more comfortable position in her heels. “I’m the BAU liaison, so you’ll see a lot of me. And very little of me. It’s complicated.”

“I hear that,” you chuckle, just glad to see another woman has joined the team.

And to your surprise, another joins the circle, this one with black hair parted down the middle. “Emily Prentiss,” she says, sticking out her hand. “Are we finally getting another woman around here?”

You nod, glad to hear she agrees with your unspoken comment. “Looks like it.”

“Did someone call my name?”

You turn and see the infamous Dr. Reid stirring a mug of sugar with a splash of coffee. He’s wearing a cardigan, per usual, and what looks like the same pair converse from when you first met him five years ago at a lecture the BAU put on. He was brand new back then. His eyebrows furrow when he sees you, and then they go wide.

“Y/N? Hi!” he says excitedly, nearly spilling his drink. “It’s been so long! Wha— What are you doing here?”

You give JJ and Emily a look that only you three truly understand. “Why do none of the men assume I’ll be joining the team?”

Emily laughs. “Believe me, I wish I knew.”

“Wait, seriously?” Reid blurts. “Are you really joining us?”

“Sure am,” you grin. “And once I get out of this meeting with Hotch, you’re telling me when the hell you joined a boyband.”

“Oh, ouch,” Morgan taps Reid’s arm lightly with a grin.

“Uh, you too, Derek,” you punch him, letting him know he isn’t off the hook either. “What’s up with the shirt? Do you not own another color?”

“Damn, momma,” Morgan groans. “You haven’t changed.”

“Neither have you,” you pat his cheek.

“I like you already,” Emily grins.

“Agent L/N,” an unmistakable voice comes from the top of the stairs, effectively ruining the moment. 

He definitely hasn’t changed, you think to yourself as you slowly turn around. 

“Agent Hotchner,” you mimic his tone. “Nice to see you again.”

He grips the railing a little too tightly. And he’s still wearing a damn suit, with a damn tie knotted so tight you wonder if it’s choking him. If it’s not, you want it to be. Maybe he’ll shut up then. 

“I believe our meeting was scheduled for 9am,” he says, earning a sideways glance from the other man standing on the balcony. 

“It still is,” you reply, looking beside his head at the clock on the wall and shit. “I’m late. That’s my fault, sir. I apologize.”

“Yes, it is,” he says. “We need to make this short. Hurry up.” 

He turns and disappears into his office like some imitation of Dracula. You give Derek a helpless look.

“Welcome back,” Reid says, grimacing.

“Thanks, bud,” you reply, knowing he means well. “If any of you hear any screaming, pay no mind, that’s just how we greet each oth—”

“Agent L/N!” Hotch shouts from his doorway.

“Coming!” you shout back, just as loud and just as annoyed. “For fuck’s sake,” you mutter to yourself.

You hop up the stairs two at a time, reaching Hotch’s office in seconds. 

The man that was beside Hotch offers you a smile. “I’m Agent Rossi,” he extends his hand. 

“Agent L/N,” you return the friendly expression, shaking his hand, just glad that he at least seems happy to meet you. “I’ll see you soon, I’m sure.”

Rossi nods slowly, mouthing, “Good luck.”

You like him already. You smirk.

Hotch is standing behind his desk when you walk into his office, anger written all over his face. His arms are crossed over his chest, fingers picking at his nails ever so slightly.

“Close the door.”

“Promise not to shoot me?” you joke, but it doesn’t land. You shut the door and take a seat in front of his desk while he remains standing. “Well?”

Finally, he speaks. “What the hell are you doing here?”

You let out a laugh. “Oh, great.” You sit up because this is just stupid. “Are you kidding me? This is the last division I wanted to work in, but I was transferred here. At your behest, might I add—”

“I can assure you, Agent L/N, I did not request that you join my team,” he says as he sits down, rolling toward his desk and placing his arms over the files littered before him.

“Well then Agent Reynolds is a fucking liar, I guess,” you deadpan. “He’s the one who told me I was assigned to the BAU — because of you.”

“Well it wasn’t me.”

“Glad we got that settled,” you shoot back, wanting instead to add, like I fucking care if it was you or not. “Listen, whether either of us likes it or not, I was assigned here, so I’m here. If you want me to leave, take it up with Agent Reynolds or whoever the fuck really requested me. But I can’t do shit about this, and this is now my job, so I’m not leaving just because you want to have some pissing contest.”

He looks like he’s chewing on fire. “Your job security is not my problem—”

“For God’s sake, call your fucking boss, it won’t make you any less of a man to ask a goddamn question about why you have a new agent in your office.”

Hotch glares at you, but does as you say, picking up his desk phone and pressing a few buttons.

You sit back in your chair, waiting in silence. You turn your head to look through the blinds because Hotch didn’t close them all the way, and you nearly start to laugh. Huddled around one desk, Morgan, JJ, Emily, Reid, and another blonde woman dressed in bright colors and shapes are listening intently to Reid who is no doubt lip reading and translating this entire conversation.

Finally, the line connects and Hotch starts speaking. Almost as quick as the phone call begins, it ends.

“Well?” you ask.

“There was some miscommunication,” Hotch admits, though he does not look happy about it. “Welcome to the Behavioral Analysis Unit.”

You smile sarcastically. “Thank you, Agent Hotchner.”

“You’re dismissed,” he says. “We’ll meet in the conference room in five minutes to discuss the rest of today. Don’t be late.”

“Yes, sir,” you mutter as you escape his office, just glad he didn’t torture you with a handshake.

Emerging from Hotch’s office, you stand against the railing and ask the team where the conference room is.

Morgan points to your left. “Why?”

“He told me we’re meeting there to discuss—”

“That’s on hold now,” JJ says, whirling around the BAU with an armful of files. “We’ve got a case. Missing girl, thirteen years old.” She passes out files in the bullpen, handing one to you as she ascends the stairs.

“Shit,” you mutter. “How long has she been missing?”

“Starting without me?” Hotch asks as he walks out of his office. He takes a file from JJ and says a quiet, “Thanks.”

“Yep, we are,” you say right back, scanning your file. You think you hear Rossi let out a chuckle at your response. “Gone since this morning. Are they certain it wasn’t overnight?”

“The mother dropped Lila off at school this morning at seven, and by nine, she was absent,” JJ explains as everyone fills into the conference room. “They paged her at school over the intercom, but she’s not in any of the classrooms.”

“How are we hearing about this so quickly?” Morgan asks. “I mean, I’m glad, but it’s been…just over an hour. We don’t normally have this much time.”

“Because,” JJ pauses, pointing the remote toward the TV. “This is Lila’s father.”

On the screen, the FBI’s Most Wanted are staring back at you. JJ clicks again, and one face comes forward.

“Who?” Emily says.

“Richard Monroe,” Reid says aloud. “He’s been on the run for almost two years. He’s said to have killed a dozen people, all females, but they suspect there might be more. Every time we’ve come close to catching him, he gets away.”

“And now his daughter is missing,” Rossi adds. “I’m guessing this guy is our unsub.”

“I don’t know,” you stare into Richard’s eyes on the screen. “When was he last seen?”

“You can investigate that when we get there,” Hotch says curtly. “They’re waiting for us and we’ll lose time by flying. Wheels up in ten.”

Everyone files out of the room and Hotch stays back, waiting for you to be the last one in the room.

“Agent L/N,” Hotch gets your attention. “Since you’ve never tackled a case like this before, try your best to follow orders, and watch what the team does. Don’t make any rash decisions and don’t go off on your own.”

None of his comments anger you as much as the first one. “You don’t know that I’ve never encountered something like this.”

“Don’t argue with me when we have a missing girl,” Hotch snaps. “Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal,” you reply, pushing past him.

“I hope you have a go bag,” he calls after you. “There will be no time for shopping when we’re on the ground.”

“Then I’ll just wear your clothes!” you yell back, knowing it’ll get a rise out of him. You hear Morgan snicker down in the bullpen. 

“Agent L/N,” Hotch says, and when you turn around, you see he’s giving you his famous stare.

You sigh. “My bag is in my car. It’ll take me two minutes to grab it. That’s clearly less than ten. Unless you have anything else to say that might delay me further?”

“Go,” he says, waving you away as he heads into his office to grab his bag. “Now.”

+++

While you’re on the jet, you do some research on Richard Monroe. He’s a grade A piece of shit if you’ve ever seen one.

But he’s not the type to go after his daughter.

“Garcia, can you check and see if Richard tried at all to contact Lila on her cell?” you ask.

“I would, sweets, but I can’t find Lila’s phone. Their house phone, however, has no calls.”

“He wouldn’t call the house phone, not with Lila’s mom watching over her like a hawk,” you murmur. 

Hotch lifts his head. “How do you know that?”

“Know what?”

“That her mother would be overbearing.”

“Her father’s a serial killer on the run, Hotch,” you reply. “Any mother would keep tabs on her daughter’s every breath if she had a father like that. It’s logic.”

“She makes a fair point,” Rossi says.

“It’s unfounded,” Hotch ignores him, still dead set on irritating you. “Until you talk to her mother, don’t jump to any conclusions about her behavior.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Until I do?”

“Yes, you will be talking to her mother when we get on the ground. Morgan will go with you.” He nods to Derek. “Reid, you and JJ get set up at the precinct. Prentiss, Rossi, and I will go to the middle school. We’ll meet back at the precinct to discuss our next steps.”

You share a look with Morgan before sinking back in your chair, glaring at the file instead of Hotch.

It's going to be a long fucking day.

[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.

[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..."

[lavendervulcan]

hooimbouttamakeanameformyselfhere

[chremes007]

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

[honeypiehotchner]

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

I'm bored so [smashes plate] ANOTHER! I've been writing this faster than I thought I would 🤭 Hope everyone is having lovely and relaxing holidays xx

Warnings: just angst and the case progressing! Hotch is kinda an asshole but it's just how they show their love to each other xoxo

“You and Hotch still got it, huh?” Morgan teases, leaning his head over to grin at you. Part of you missed car rides with Derek, and the other part of you remembers just how much of a little shit he can be.

“Shut up and look at the road,” you mutter, pushing his face away from you.

“I’m looking, I’m looking,” Derek taps the wheel, shaking his head to get your hand off him. “What is it with you two, anyway?”

You shrug nonchalantly. “We’ve never gotten along, you know that. You were there when we met.”

“Uh, yeah, I remember being glad Hotch got all the heat instead of me,” Derek chuckles. “You’re intimidating when you’re pissed off.”

“Good,” you say, smirking. “That’s the point.”

“Alright,” Derek says, letting the topic go. For now. “We’ve got five minutes ‘til we reach her house. What are we telling her?”

“Well, I want to take a look around, if you’d like to talk.”

“I can stall,” Derek nods.

“Five bucks says there will be no pictures of the father in the house, at least not in the living area or hallway, where family photos most commonly are.”

“You sound like Reid,” Morgan quips.

“Our IQ’s are really close,” you remind him. “I just don’t have a damn eidetic memory. That shit is insane. I don’t envy him there.”

“Me either,” Derek shakes his head. “I remember things plenty without a magic memory.”

“I hear that.”

Derek turns into the driveway of Lila’s home. One car is in the driveway, a silver Ford. Her mom’s car.

“Ready?” Derek asks.

“Never,” you reply, opening your door. “But it’s our job.”

Derek knocks on the front door, but stands back so you’re the first face the mom will see. Given who her ex-husband is, you suspect she might be distrustful of all men, regardless of whether or not they’re here to help.

As expected, the mom eyes Morgan’s badge more closely than yours.

“May we come inside?” you ask.

“Yes,” she says, pulling the door open to let you both inside. 

“Thank you, ma’am,” Morgan says politely.

After shutting the door, the mom begins talking — rambling incoherently, more like.

“I don’t know what I was thinking, dropping her off at school this morning. I knew something felt off when I woke up, it just— I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Ma’am,” Derek says. “Please, sit down.”

“I can’t,” she says, waving both of her hands like windshield wipers in front of her body. “I need to pace. Helps me think better.”

Derek looks at you, and you shrug. She’s obviously too wound up to sit down. Which is a good sign. If she was indifferent or resigned, there would be a bigger issue at hand. Clearly, she had no idea this would happen, so she definitely wasn’t in on it.

You take a look around the living room while Derek calms the mother down, mostly just letting her ramble, and take mental notes of what to ask her about later.

As you predicted, there are no photos with the father in the picture. All of them are the mother and Lila, mostly baby photos. Lila is a pre-teen, she clearly doesn’t want her photo taken. There is one where Lila looks older, but she’s not happy.

You take a closer look. She’s really unhappy.

“Mrs. Monroe?” You turn toward her, a sympathetic smile on your lips. “Has Lila been depressed lately?”

Her mom nods. “She’s been struggling ever since uhm— Ever since her father left. I’ve had her in therapy every week, but her therapist says she’s not really opening up. She might later, but right now she just doesn’t talk at all. She doesn’t want to.”

“I understand,” you murmur. “You’ve done the right thing by getting her help. Even if it doesn’t seem like it right now.”

“She still ran away!” Mrs. Monroe cries.

“Please,” you move toward her, resting your hand on her arm. “Let’s sit. Can Agent Morgan get you a glass of water?”

She nods, looking up at Morgan. “Thank you.”

Derek disappears into the kitchen.

“What makes you think Lila ran away? Other than her mood, were there any other signs?”

Mrs. Monroe shakes her head. “She’s talked about it before, told me she wanted to run away and that she hated me. I thought therapy would help with that, but it hasn’t.”

“Would her father help her at all? Run away, I mean.”

“Richard?” Mrs. Monroe asks. Derek reappears with a glass of water, handing it to her. “Thank you. No, he wouldn’t, he— She doesn’t even know what he’s done. I’ve never told her.”

“Would she be capable of finding out?” Derek asks. He takes a seat in the chair adjacent to you, resting his elbows on his knees.

“No,” Mrs. Monroe shakes her head. “I monitor all of her Internet searches, who she texts, who she emails, everything. She thinks I drove him away. That I didn’t love him anymore and told him to get out. She doesn’t know that it was because I caught him burying a body.” She sobs into her hand, her words barely decipherable now. “And now she’s gone and she hates me and I don’t even know where she’d go— it’s like I don’t even know my own daughter.”

You take the glass from her hand and allow her to sob into your shoulder. You know what this is like. Because you were once Lila, a runaway who left her mother in pieces until she returned home. Your circumstances were different, but not by much at all.

“We will bring her home, I promise,” you say, despite yourself. Despite not knowing what the rest of this case will entail, what else you’ll uncover. “Did Lila have any friends that you didn’t approve of?”

Mrs. Monroe shakes her head again. “She doesn’t have many friends, but she talks to one girl, Marie, almost every day.”

“Where is Marie right now?”

“At school,” Mrs. Monroe says, sniffling. “I called her mom right away. My mind went to the worst case scenario, you know, I thought Lila would grab Marie and convince her to go with her—”

“Convince?” you question. 

Derek hears you and asks the next question you have on your mind. “Does Lila ‘convince’ Marie to do things she doesn’t want to do often?”

“Sometimes,” Mrs. Monroe admits, beginning to sob again. “Oh, God.”

You share a look with Derek, not liking where this is going, but you don’t know if you’ll get much else out of her right now.

“What things would Lila convince Marie to do?” you ask.

“Just small things, I don’t know,” Mrs. Monroe replies. She’s shutting down. “I don’t know why I said that, I—”

“Okay, okay, it’s okay,” you try to calm her down. “Do you mind if Agent Morgan and I take a look in Lila’s room?”

“How will that help?”

“We might be able to find something that could tell us where Lila might have gone,” Morgan explains. “Sometimes kids leave clues. We might be able to find them.”

Mrs. Monroe nods. “Okay. Can I— Is it alright if I lay down while you do that?”

“Of course,” you smile. “Come on, let’s get you to your room.”

You help her stand and walk back toward her bedroom, getting her inside. She lays down on top of the covers and shuts her eyes.

You close her door and meet Morgan back in the living room, his phone pressed to his ear.

“Y/N’s back, you’re on speaker, Hotch.”

You roll your eyes involuntarily. Hotch couldn’t leave the two of you — mainly you — alone, could he? 

“Alright, I want the two of you to stay there and go through Lila’s room. Tell us anything you find. The school has given Garcia their security camera footage; she’s going through it now. It’s like she’s disappeared into thin air and that is not good.”

“We’ll find her, Hotch,” Morgan says.

Hotch is quiet.

“Mrs. Monroe doesn’t think Richard had anything to do with this. She says Lila doesn’t even know—”

“Morgan told me,” Hotch says. “Call me back when you have something new.” He hangs up and you roll your eyes again.

“I’m gonna keep a tally of how many times you do that,” Morgan teases.

“Be my guest,” you reply. “And keep me updated. I bet it’ll be in the hundreds by the time this case is over.”

Lila’s room is everything you’d expect from a regular pre-teen girl. And reminds you too much of your room when you were her age.

It’s almost like she’s too open. Posters are everywhere. Her favorite movies, actors, and bands. Her bed is made. Her closet is neat. The desk is covered in schoolbooks, yet also clean. 

“Morgan, I know this room.”

He turns around. “What?”

“We can know everything about her from one glance. She’s organized. She loves English, hates science, but is very good at math. She likes alternative music, not boybands,” you point to the posters. “Fantasy movies only. Her closet is too neat. It’s like she’s not even living here.”

“I’m not following.”

“I think she’s been planning her escape for a long time,” you say. “Which makes me think she had help.”

“Okay,” Morgan goes with it. “From who? You heard her mom, she watches everything Lila does.”

My mom did too, you think to yourself as you pull out your phone. You already have Garcia on speed dial, something she suggested for you.

“What can I do for you, my new angel?” 

Morgan chuckles while you answer Garcia. “Can you possibly see the search history after it’s been deleted?”

“Duh,” Garcia says. “Give me the IP address and I can show you all the dirty, dirty secrets on there.”

“Perfect, I’m going now,” you leave Lila’s room, peeking in Mrs. Monroe’s room to be sure she’s still resting. She is. 

You head to the living room where you saw Mrs. Monroe’s computer. Thankfully, after wiggling the mouse, it comes right up. No password or anything.

“Okay, she must really watch what Lila does,” you mumble. As in, Mrs. Monroe must stand over her daughter’s shoulder before even letting her turn the computer on. “How do I…?”

Garcia laughs and tells you what to click to pull up the information she needs. You recite it to her and she quickly works her magic.

“Oh, no.”

“Garcia,” you reply warily. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

Morgan hears you and comes into the living room. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” you glance at him. “Garcia, what is it?”

“I’m going to need a minute to go through everything but…”

“Garcia, spit it out,” you put her on speaker, lowering the volume so only you and Morgan can hear her. “Garcia?”

“I don’t know for sure, but at first glance, this looks…it looks like she wanted to go with this person.”

“Shit,” you mutter. “Okay. We’ll call Hotch, you keep digging.”

“Aye, aye.”

You turn the computer off and pocket your phone. “We need to go back to the precinct. I don’t want to risk her overhearing.”

“Okay. Good call.”

“I’m gonna let her know we’re leaving,” you say. “I’ll meet you in the car.”

You wake Mrs. Monroe briefly to let her know you and Agent Morgan are leaving. You assure her that you’re going to bring Lila home, but that you’re needed at the precinct right now, and don’t want to disturb her rest. You hand her your card, telling her the number is the same, even though it doesn’t have BAU yet on it. 

Morgan is leaning against the car when you emerge outside, sick to your stomach.

“You alright?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you say. “Just hate lying to mothers.”

+++

You and Morgan decide to wait until you’re at the precinct to tell everyone what Garcia found. Better to break this news quietly in person than on the phone.

Hotch is speaking to a deputy when you walk in, but you flag him down with a nod, hoping he won’t take it personally. You’re too on edge right now to bother being irritated with him.

Once everyone is in the conference room, you shut the door.

“Garcia should be calling any minute,” you begin. “She’s going through Mrs. Monroe’s computer. Mrs. Monroe said she watches everything Lila does, but clearly not close enough, because Lila was on a popular chatting site talking with someone regularly.”

“Right she was,” Garcia joins in, having been listening on the nearby computer. Her smile is sad. “And it does not look good. I’m still digging, but a Rich34 was in constant contact with her. I’m talking every single night for hours. Mostly from 1am to 4am, while I’m assuming her mother was sleeping.”

“What do the chats say, Garcia?” Emily asks.

“Nothing more than small talk right now, but I’m digging. It’ll take a while though, sir, I’m afraid they’ve been talking for months. Almost a year, I think.”

“Dammit,” you mutter. “I was afraid of that.”

Morgan sends you a sympathetic look.

“Garcia, see if you can track Rich’s identity in any way possible. It could be her father,” Hotch says.

“Or someone posing as her father,” you suggest, earning a glare from Hotch.

“Hey Garcia, send over all the chats, I can help you look through them,” Spencer offers.

“Alright kiddo, PG out.” The line clicks.

“Reid, look for anything relating to Richard Monroe’s history, or maybe Lila’s mother. Lila and her mother haven’t been getting along, and Rich might’ve used that to get Lila away,” Hotch instructs. 

Reid nods, already leaning over to grab the chat messages off the fax machine. Garcia knows him so well; she sent over hardcopies instead of electronic.

“Do we think it’s Richard Monroe in the chat room?” Emily asks.

“I’m not convinced,” Rossi says with a small shake of his head.

“I don’t,” you answer, shaking your head. “The username is too obvious.”

“He could be taunting us by using an obvious screen name,” Hotch counters. “He’s evaded us for this long. Why would he bother hiding now?”

“Yes, but I don’t think Richard Monroe is behind this,” you argue. “Murder in cold blood is his thing. So why wouldn’t he just go grab her from the house? Why is he playing the long game like this? Why form this emotional connection if he’s just going to kill her?”

“Because he’s a murderer with no regard for anyone’s emotions other than his own,” Hotch fires back. “And because he likely holds a grudge against his ex-wife for divorcing him and taking Lila away.”

Now all eyes of the team are on the two of you, going back and forth like a tennis match.

“He murders women his own age. Lila is barely thirteen. If he wanted her so badly, he could have easily grabbed her by now and killed her. Why wait almost a year?”

“Her mother is watching her closely, and he—”

“Oh now you agree that her mother is overbearing.”

“Yes, because you met with her and confirmed it with actual evidence,” Hotch snaps. He pauses, staring at you. “We cannot rule out Richard Monroe.”

“We’ll be wasting our time if we don’t.”

“Why are you so insistent?”

“Call it a gut feeling.”

“You haven’t been doing this job long enough to have a trustworthy gut feeling,” Hotch says coldly. “Now, if you want to continue arguing, I suggest you do so with the wall. Otherwise, we have a young girl to find and her father is a priority suspect. Am I clear?”

“As river water,” you mutter. “Excuse me.” You push past your new boss, hating that he’s already gotten so deep under your skin. Again.

[tourturestarradio]

𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐇𝐈𝐌

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

"𝐃𝐨 �� 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 standing them into your side, 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 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. The 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 would 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 could never 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." 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.

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 "I'm. not. him! 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! And there is nothing you can do about it! He's Dead!" 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 like him, 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?