#ask remy
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Happy birthday MWAH MWAH đđ ur my fav rat on this website remy
MWAHHH THANK YOU <333
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Be afraid â¨
Remy gasps dramatically, "OH MI GOSH ITS A QUWACK WITH A KNIFE!!! HELLO FRIEND!!! WE SHALL BE FEARED!!" They bounce on their feet with a grin and give a quick excited handflap.
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HOT, SINGLE, UNSTUDIED SPONGES. 3000 NAUTICAL MILES AWAY. Come sail the distance and read Tiger Tiger!
#tiger tiger#ludovica bonnaire#remy bonnaire#jamis arlesi#This comic has been on my radar for *years* and I only recently - finally - sat down to read it. And by god is it amazing.#I don't want to spoil anything! But if you like amazing art and character writing *and* high seas adventure? READ TIGER TIGER.#If you asked my who my favourite character is I could not tell you. I truly like them all!!!#I even like the sleezeball who has less charm than a dead rat. He's *my* darling little rat man. With every disease.#A special shout out to my lad (he is the lad of all time) Jamis Arlesi.#Who - upon walking into frame makes me go 'Sir! Is your bosom too heavy? Do you need a new bra? My hands are free on Thursdays!'#And Ludo! My lass! I love her dearly! Every page made me more fond of her.#Book smart and uses it in very good ways! Naive enough to think it is all she needs! Learns a lot and stays kind through the horrors!#I could go on and on but...you...the person reading this...you *are* going to read it - aren't you?#So I'd hate to spoil you any more! Go read Tiger Tiger! Do it! For the sea sponges!#Rumour has it they are also freshly divorced. It was messy. Sea sponge needs a distraction. That could be you. Distracting that sponge.#You wont know until you click that link and start reading!
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Opinion on rats?
very rat like
#remy the ratatouille the rat of all our dreams#yes I did buy and watch the ratatouille tiktok musical#the day it came out#2020 was certainly a time#ask#the hellsite answers#hellsite hall of fame curatorâs bullshit#hellsite hall of fame curators bullshit#anonymous#rat
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Rogue and Gambit in Episode 3's Intro of X-Men '97!
#rogue#gambit#xmenedit#x-men#x men 97#romy#xmen#x men#xmen 97#x-men 97#remy lebeau#anna marie lebeau#i asked for so little and am receiving so much#my gifs
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Tiny skk adventures!
not like they're also cranky and tired and touch-starved
#tiny skk adventures#''why is chuuya at the ada'' you're asking too many questions. why is any of this happening.#this skk flavour (like most i offer) comes with a free choice of romantic platonic something in-between or whatever else you may want#but here the longing is mandatory#bsd#bungo stray dogs#bungou stray dogs#bsd fanart#bsd dazai#bsd dazai osamu#bsd chuuya#bsd nakahara chuuya#skk#soukoku#and friends#nawy's comics#AH DANG I FORGOT TO WRITE#dedicated to remi who's enabling me and bombarding me with ideas for the tinies
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i cannot for the sake of me get the thought of channie putting us in a headlock whilst he pounds us in doggy style đ¤đ¤ The image in my head is making me dizzy đĽ´
STOP IT RN BECAUSE THIS IS GONNA BE WHAT I IMAGINE WHILE I GO TO SLEEP TONIGHT
He would definitely wrap his hand around in your hair to pull you up towards him before he latches his big arm around your neck & you let out a yelp, not really expecting it.
His hair would definitely be sticking to his pretty face but he canât have enough care at all in the world to care as he is bullying your cunt with his cock, pistoning in & out of you so quick & hard you genuinely cannot get a single word out as your eyes roll to the back of your head, only strange sounding gasps & grunts leaving your throat as he tightens his arm around you just slightly, the big muscles under his skin hard against your own.
âyouâre such a slut,you know that? letting me choke you out like this n you just take it, just like this?â he remarks as his chest is touching your arched back, your hands finding themselves wrapping around the arm that is around your neck, your nails digging into the skin, trying to find anything to balance yourself on.
Chan nibbles down on your ear, knowing it will push you closer to the edge since itâs a sensitive spot for you & you clench around him uncontrollably.
âYou gonna cum for me? i can tell by how much youâre clenching around me babe, tell me youâre gonna cumâ he teases as he moves his head into a slightly uncomfortable position, just enough to see your eyes completely gone & your face flushed & red.. of course he knows you canât speak, itâs too good for your poor brain to even process.
âIf you cum without telling me, iâll not stop until youâre completely used, mkay? cmon, cum then, since i know youâre too stupid to keep holding it.â
main master list here
#remis asks/thoughts#i need christopher bangchan#straykids hard thoughts#skz smut#stray kids#bang chan#bang chan smut#bangchan headcanons#skz hard thoughts#hard thoughts#skz imagines
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Well then... since we got a anti Gem.... anti pearl is next
oh man she was much harder to design than anti gem. pearl doesnt really shy away from any styles, so i went with a more classic âevil twinâ vibe. she changes her outfit to match pearl, so i drew a design for classic anti pearl and season 10 anti pearl
a common theme for pearl is that she likes to help her fellow hermits with services, so anti pearl ofc would do the opposite! if pearl is a postmaster who delivers sweet messages, than anti pearl is a postmaster who delivers harmful messages
as you can see, i tried going for an eclipse theme, though it translated more to a âdark versionâ of pearlâs actual skins- which inspired the whole anti pearl matches pearl thing
five am pearl definitely made this a challenge bc sheâs kinda designed like a helsknight/evil xisuma version of pearl, and i didnt want the design to look too similar so i had to keep trying new things until i settled on her gimmick. the black sclera is just bc its fun, and it separates her from 5am pearl :)
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SO LIKE. TIGER TIGER RIGHT
YEAH. YEAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH LOOK I LITERALLY JUST DREW THIS YOU GET TO SEE IT FIRST
DO YOU REMEMBER THAT DREAM JAMIS HAD. DO YOU REMEMBER OR AM I JUST LOSING MY MIND. MAYBE I SHOULD JUST GO TO SLEEP
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age gapđ? NOTHING CRAZY, CHILL, but yk, like,,, just a little young thing in her 20s or sumn being scooped up by one (or twođ¤) of these older, more mature, aged like fine wine, and experienced men,,, that's allđĽ°.
I am thirsting so hard for remy after watching the movie⌠with this I can just imagine a young yet powerful mutant coming to the void and she never got the experience in sex in her timeline. So remy takes it upon himself to teach her the ways of the bedroom⌠first time may have involved a mistake with her powers when she cums for the first time but heâs so understandable and says like âyou need to practice your control mon cherieâ so he just dives back in for more (he makes her cum like 5-7 times from head alone cause he makes his woman feel amazing I bet) this is so long sorry hope you like this đ
đŠˇ
đđ
đđđđđđđđđđđđđđđđđđđđđ
đđđđđđ !!!!!
first of all,,, never apologize for length, especially to me who makes everything way longer than need be, we (I, it's just me, idk who "we" is lol) love and appreciate that shit over here. ppl who love absurdly long fics, requests, and other media uniteâđ˝ !!!
second of all,,, *ugly sobbing* I'm always the writer and never (how does one actually say this properlyđ¤?) the writee, so for someone to have actually dropped this for me in my inbox is SO flattering and sweet and ughghfhf, you guys, I HIGHLY encourage more of this, I love it, I truly do.
third of all,,, THIS IS SO GOOD omg literally giggling and kicking my feet (I do that a lot on this app) !!! I am the same way, I saw gambit and just... idk what happened to me, something in my organic chemistry just altered forever and while I'm not and will probably never be a channing tatum girly, he did his goddamn JOB in that role, ATE IT TF UPđđ˝ (and I knew he would, it's about damn time like c'mon, he'd been promised the role for idk a decade or so like, again I say, about damn time) so while I might not be all over tatum, I am all over his portrayal of remy lebeau and I need more fics/content NEOOOWWđž (plzđ˝) from y'all's little writer brains of yours.
anyways, onto what you've sent in specifically lmao, you said "young yet powerful mutant" and "mistake with her powers" and "...practice your control..." and for whatever reason, my brain conjured up a mutant reader with wings or just a power that involves maybe floating/telekinesis...đâđ˝hear me out...
so, remy's getting busy, right, and he's making reader feel so good and, like you mentioned, she ain't got much control over her powers yet cuz she's younger than him, so she cvms and boom, her wings (whether they be feathered or fairy) just pop out without her realizingđť. or with telekinesis, the better she's feeling/closer she's getting, the more stuff/higher she's causing things around them to float because again, little and/or loss of control because he's making her feel that good (we all know he's got the tongue work of a god, I mean, just listen to the man speak for fuck's sake lmaođĽ´).
I think it'd definitely be a cute touch and fs something she'd get teased about from remy lmao.
#theyluvlyss#I'm so down bad for this man omfg#this french cajun man and his silly little card tricksđť#x reader#fanfic#y/n#anon#anon ask#xmen#remy lebeau#remy lebeau x reader#deadpool & wolverine#deadpool and wolverine#deadpool#wolverine#gambit#gambit xmen#gambit x reader#fem reader#xmen x reader#xmen fanfiction#fanfic writing#anon writes#appreciation post#smut#x reader smut#remy lebeau smut#gambit smut#xmen smut#age g4p
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What hairstyle do you think femme Remus would have?
Like this hehe
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You fascinate me.
what can i say i love my fruits & veggies đĽđ§
đ§đżđ
#ask remy#howling because i didnt think for a second how that would look in your notes lmaooooo#i kinda forgot that sideblog existed until i saw that post & i was like. i wish i had a way to look at every post about garlic that i have#& then i remembered thats why i made that blog hahahahaha
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9 and 10 for the ask game >:3
9. Whatâs your greatest achievement? Why do you consider this your greatest achievement?
"Hnh.... My greatest achievement..? Making people feel understood, even if nobody understands them. Validating who they are.." The ginger mumbles thoughtfully, "Nobody likes to feel left out, different, like they don't belong.... it's a very sad feeling. Very lonely.." There's an odd melancholy in Remy's voice, the shine from their eyes seems to dull... "I don't want people to feel like that."
10. Whatâs your biggest goal? How do you hope to achieve this?
"To be happy I guess?" Remy shrugs nonchalantly, "There's not really a plan for happiness."
"I also one day hope to Trap Crowley in a cursed mirror or a snow globe!" They beam, "It's a current long term project between me and a few others!"
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may I suggest some Remile?
yes you may
partner is a Professional yapper listener
#lycheeleechesâs art#llâs asks#LLâs AR#sanders sides#cartoon therapy#remy sleep#sleep sanders#remy sanders#emile picani#dr picani#remile#Rewatched cartoon therapy for this and forgot how much I adored dr picani
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It must be exhausting always rooting for the anti-hero.
Requested by my darling anon. Warnings: Smut. Assault. Tags: @anukulee
It was supposed to be a regular nightâjust a quick stop at the corner store after work. You hadn't thought much about the usual route; it was familiar, the kind of path you could navigate half-asleep. But tonight, the shadows felt longer, and the streetlights flickered as if struggling to stay awake. You pulled your jacket tighter around yourself, the chill biting more sharply than you remembered.
You heard them before you saw them: footsteps that were too close, voices that were too low and deliberate. You picked up your pace, hoping it was just your imagination, but the sound followed. Then, a hand grabbed your arm. Your breath hitched as you spun around, only to face a smirking face too close for comfort. Panic surged, adrenaline making your thoughts blur.
Your pulse quickened as you took in the sceneâa group of three men, their grins twisted with cruel amusement, eyes scanning you like you were prey. The one holding your arm had a grip like iron, his fingers digging into your skin hard enough to leave bruises. His breath reeked of alcohol, and his eyes held a leering confidence that made your stomach turn. You tried to wrench your arm free, but his hold only tightened, pulling you closer.
"Hey now, don't be so cold," he sneered, his voice dripping with mockery as his friends moved to close in on either side of you. The alley felt narrower, darker, as if the walls were closing in, trapping you. You glanced around frantically, but there was no one in sightâjust rows of empty buildings, closed shops, and flickering streetlights that offered no real safety.
"Let go of me," you demanded, trying to sound firm, but your voice wavered, betraying the fear clawing at your chest. The man just laughed, a harsh sound that echoed off the brick walls.
"Ain't no one comin' to save ya," another one said, stepping closer until you could smell the stale cigarette smoke clinging to his clothes. "Why donât you play nice, huh?"
You pulled harder against the manâs grip, panic rising as you twisted your arm, but it only made him laugh louder. He pushed you backwards and you stumbled, your back hitting the cold, rough surface of the alley wall. The impact knocked the breath from your lungs, your head spinning as you tried to get your bearings. Hands were everywhereâgrabbing, pushing, pinning you against the wall as your mind raced to find an escape.
"Stopâ" you gasped, trying to shove one of them away, but it was like fighting against a brick wall. One of them leaned in, his hand rough as it grazed your cheek, his thumb tracing your jaw in a mockery of tenderness. You jerked your head away, disgust boiling in your throat, but he just laughed, the sound sending a chill down your spine.
"Feisty, huh? I like that," he taunted, his grip shifting to your throat, pressing just enough to make your breath hitch in your chest. You clawed at his hand, desperate for air, but he just smirked, his friends watching with sick amusement.
In that moment, time seemed to stretch, every second dragging as you struggled, fear and adrenaline making your vision blur. The laughter, the taunts, the pressure at your throatâit all blended into a nightmarish haze, your senses overwhelmed by the sheer terror of being completely out of control. You wanted to scream, to call for help, but your voice was trapped, strangled by the hand at your throat and the icy grip of panic.
Then, without warning, the man was ripped away from you, his grip disappearing so suddenly that you nearly fell forward. You gasped, stumbling back, your hands flying to your throat as you coughed, desperate to fill your lungs. You looked up, disoriented, your vision still swimming, and saw the blur of movementâa figure in a dark coat, moving like a shadow through the alley.
As the grip on your throat vanished, you fell forward, coughing and gasping for air. Your vision was still blurry, your thoughts disoriented, but you saw flashes of motionâThe person who saved you was already in the thick of it, moving with a deadly precision that left no room for doubt. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed in a dark coat that flowed around him like a shadow as he moved. A bandana covered the lower half of his face, leaving only his eyes visibleâeyes that glowed with an unsettling red light that seemed to cut through the darkness.
The first man charged at him with a growl, throwing a wild punch. The vigilante sidestepped easily, his movements fluid, like water flowing around a rock. He caught the manâs arm and twisted it sharply, sending him crashing into the wall with a bone-jarring thud. The thug crumpled to the ground, clutching his arm, his face twisted in pain.
Before the others could react, The vigilante was on them, a card in his hand that suddenly glowed with an ominous purple energy. He flicked it with a casual flick of his wrist, and it sailed through the air like a razor-sharp blade. It exploded on impact, sending the second thug sprawling, his shirt singed and his expression one of dazed shock. The third guy, the leader, hesitated, his earlier bravado gone as he eyed the stranger with a mixture of anger and fear.
"You think youâre some kinda hero?" the leader spat, wiping blood from his mouth. He lunged at the vigilante with a knife, the blade gleaming under the flickering streetlights. The vigilante didnât even flinch. He caught the leaderâs wrist with one hand, and with the other, he struckâone, two, three rapid blows to the ribs, quick and brutal. The leader gasped, his knife clattering to the ground as the vigilanteâs grip tightened, the glowing red in his eyes intensifying.
"Tryinâ to play tough, but yâainât got what it takes," He said, his voice a low, dangerous growl. He twisted the manâs wrist until the thug cried out in pain, then let go, shoving him back so hard that he stumbled and fell, scrambling to get away. The alley was filled with the sound of pained groans and the scuffle of retreating footsteps as the men fled, beaten and humiliated.
The vigilante stood there, breathing heavily but otherwise unscathed, his eyes following the men until they disappeared into the night. He turned his attention to you then, his gaze softening as he approached. He crouched down in front of you, his expression concerned, his gloved hands hovering just inches from your shoulders, not touching but close enough to offer reassurance.
"Yâ hurt?" he asked, his voice gentler now, still edged with that Cajun drawl but tempered with genuine concern.
You shook your head, trying to find your voice. "I⌠I think Iâm okay," you whispered, though you couldnât stop shaking. Your hands were trembling as you pushed yourself up, your legs feeling like jelly beneath you. The vigilanteâs hand finally settled on your arm, steadying you as you wobbled, his touch surprisingly gentle for someone who had just fought off three men without breaking a sweat.
"Take it easy, chère," he murmured, scanning your face for any signs of injury. "You took a scare, but youâll be alright."
You stared at him, taking in the masked face, the strange, otherworldly glow of his eyes that had started to dim. He looked like something out of a dreamâor a nightmareâstanding there with that coat that seemed to swallow the light. "Who are you?" you asked, your voice still shaking. The question hung between you like a fragile thread.
The vigilante shook his head, the bandana hiding his expression, but his eyes told you enoughâthis wasnât about recognition or fame. "It doesnât matter," he said simply, his voice calm, like he was used to not being known, used to fading into the background.
He straightened up, turning as if to leave, the brief moment of connection severed too quickly for your liking. Panic flared in your chestâhe couldnât just walk away, not after what heâd done. Not after heâd saved you from something that couldâve gone so much worse.
"Wait," you called after him, your voice stronger now, fueled by something you couldnât quite nameâmaybe gratitude, maybe desperation. He paused, looking over his shoulder at you, his eyes narrowing slightly, unreadable.
"Don't. Just go home," he said, his tone firm but not unkind. He gave a slight nod, a silent reassurance, before turning away once more, his coat flaring out behind him like wings.
You stood there, watching as he disappeared into the darkness, the flickering streetlights doing little to illuminate the path he took. He was gone as quickly as heâd appeared, leaving you alone in the quiet aftermath of the fight, the echoes of his warning still lingering in the air. You wrapped your arms around yourself, the chill biting at your skin again, but this time, it felt differentâless oppressive, more like a reminder that you were still here, still standing.
As you made your way home, every step felt heavier, laden with thoughts of the vigilante who had stepped in when no one else had. You didnât even know his name, but something about him had lodged itself in your mind, refusing to let go. The city was full of strangers, but none of them had ever looked at you the way he didâwith that strange mix of detachment and care, like he knew what it meant to walk through the dark and come out on the other side.
Maybe it didnât matter who he was, but as you reached your door, you couldnât help but hope that somehow, someday, your paths would cross again. <><><><><><><> The next morning, you tried to push the events of the previous night out of your mind, telling yourself it was a one-time thing, a strange twist of fate that wouldnât repeat. You went through the motionsâcoffee, shower, getting ready for workâbut everything felt off-kilter, like the world had shifted just slightly out of focus. You couldnât stop thinking about himâthe vigilante who had saved you. He moved through your thoughts like smoke, impossible to grasp but impossible to ignore.
After your shower, you wrapped a towel around yourself and stepped into the living room, still dripping, when something on the TV caught your eye. You grabbed the remote, turning up the volume. The local news anchor was talking, her voice smooth and measured, recounting last nightâs events.
"âanother appearance of the vigilante some are calling 'The Gambit.' Reports say he stopped an assault in a downtown alley, leaving the perpetrators injured but alive. Police arrived on the scene too late to apprehend him, and there are no clear leads on his identity. Witnesses describe a man in a dark coat, with red eyes and an uncanny ability to move like the wind. Authorities are urging the public to remain cautious and not to engage if they see him. The Gambit is considered dangerousâ"
You bit your lip, the news anchorâs voice fading into the background as you processed what youâd just heard. The Gambit. So he had a nameâor at least, thatâs what people were calling him. But the details felt all wrong; dangerous wasnât the word youâd use. Heâd saved you. And while his methods were⌠unorthodox, you couldnât shake the sense that there was more to him than the headlines suggested.
You turned off the TV, your reflection in the black screen staring back at you with a mixture of determination and something elseâhope, maybe. You couldnât just let it go. Heâd helped you, and you needed to know why. Needed to understand what drove him to intervene, to be out there risking his life for strangers. For you.
Before you knew it, you were dressed and grabbing your coat, your decision made in the blink of an eye. You had to find him. Maybe it was foolishâmaybe even recklessâbut you couldnât ignore the pull that drew you back to the scene of the assault. You needed answers, or maybe just closure. You werenât sure which.
The city felt different in the daylight, the familiar hustle and bustle of people moving through their routines masking the dangers that lurked in the shadows. But as you retraced your steps to the alley, a cold knot of anxiety settled in your stomach, memories of last night still fresh and raw. The street looked ordinary enoughâjust a stretch of pavement lined with old buildings, graffiti, and the occasional piece of litter. But you knew better now. You knew what kind of danger could hide in plain sight.
You slowed as you approached the alley, your steps tentative, scanning the walls and ground for any sign of him. There were scuff marks on the pavement where the fight had taken place, a few drops of dried blood that made your skin crawl with the memory of rough hands and mocking voices. But otherwise, it was as if nothing had happened. No sign of him. No trace that heâd ever been there.
Frustration bubbled up inside you, mixing with a bitter sense of disappointment. Youâd hoped, maybe irrationally, that youâd find somethingâanythingâthat would lead you to him. But the alley was empty, the echoes of the night before lost in the daylight.
You sighed, leaning against the cold brick wall, your breath misting in the cool air. Part of you wanted to give up, to go home and try to put it behind you. But the other partâthe part that had felt the weight of his gaze and heard the calm reassurance in his voiceârefused to let go. You wanted to see him again. Needed to understand why heâd stepped in when no one else had.
As you stood there, lost in thought, you heard the faintest shuffle of footsteps behind you. You turned quickly, your heart leaping into your throat, but there was no one thereâjust the empty street and the distant hum of traffic. Still, the hairs on the back of your neck stood on end, a strange sense of being watched that you couldnât quite shake.
"Lookinâ for someone?" a voice drawled from above, soft and laced with that familiar Cajun accent. Your head snapped up, and there he wasâperched on the fire escape above you, half-hidden in the shadows. The Gambit, or whatever you wanted to call him, looked down at you with a wry smile, his eyes still glowing faintly in the dim light.
"How did youâ" you started, but he just shook his head, swinging down from the fire escape with an ease that made it look effortless. He landed lightly in front of you, his coat settling around him like a dark shroud.
"I told yâ tâ go home," he said, his voice firm but not unkind, as if this was all just a minor inconvenience rather than the culmination of your desperate search. "Ainât no good gonna come from you pokinâ around where you donât belong."
You swallowed hard, the weight of his presence more overwhelming now that you werenât in the midst of a crisis. He was intimidating up close, taller than youâd remembered, with a sense of quiet power that radiated off him like heat. But there was something else there, tooâsomething that told you he wasnât just a vigilante; he was a man who had seen more than his fair share of darkness.
"I had to find you," you said, meeting his gaze even though it made your pulse quicken. "You saved my life. I justâI couldnât let it go. Not something like that.â
He tilted his head, studying you for a moment with those unnerving red eyes, and for a second, you thought he might just turn and walk away again. But then he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as if weighing his options.
"Yâ found me," he said simply, though there was a weariness in his tone that hadnât been there last night. "But that donât change nothinâ. This ainât your fight, and you donât want it to be." He turned, starting to walk back toward the alleyâs exit.
"Wait!" you called, your voice cracking with urgency. "You canât justâwhy are you doing this? Who are you, really?"
He stopped, glancing back at you over his shoulder. For a moment, he looked like he might answer, like he might let you in on the secret of why he was out here risking his life for strangers in dark alleys. But then his expression hardened, and he shook his head.
"It doesnât matter," he said, the finality in his voice like a door slamming shut. He gave you one last lookâsomething unreadable flickering in his eyesâbefore turning away again.
"Go home, chère," he repeated, his tone softening slightly. "Ainât no good can come from tryinâ to find someone like me." And with that, he disappeared into the shadows once more, leaving you standing there with more questions than answers, your heart aching with the strange, inexplicable pull of a man you barely knew but couldnât forget. The following days became a blur of restless energy and impulsive decisions. You couldnât get him out of your mindâthe vigilante who had appeared out of nowhere to save you, only to vanish just as quickly. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw the red glow of his eyes, heard the low rumble of his voice telling you to go home. But home didnât feel safe anymore; it felt like a prison, filled with unanswered questions that buzzed around your head like angry bees.
So, you started going out at night. It wasnât the smartest decision, and you knew that. Your friends wouldâve called you reckless, maybe even self-destructive, but you couldnât help yourself. You wandered into sketchy neighborhoods, lingered on dimly lit streets, and loitered near places that practically screamed danger. At first, you told yourself it was just a coincidence, that you were simply taking the long way home. But deep down, you knew betterâyou were looking for him.
You saw him more often than not. Sometimes, it was just a fleeting shadow in your peripheral vision, a whisper of movement on a rooftop or in an alleyway. Other times, he would swoop in just as things were about to go sidewaysâan arm grabbing you roughly, a voice hissing threats in your earâonly for him to appear, cutting through the danger like a knife. His methods were swift, brutal, and efficient, leaving your would-be assailants sprawled on the ground, dazed and groaning.
But every time, he would say the same thing: "Go home." And every time, you would bite your tongue, frustration simmering under your skin. This wasnât just about gratitude anymore; it was about answers. You needed to know why he was doing this, why he kept helping you but refused to let you in.
One night, you found yourself in a part of town that even seasoned cab drivers avoidedâa strip of abandoned warehouses that loomed like skeletons against the night sky. You werenât sure what you were looking for, only that the familiar prickling sensation on the back of your neck told you he was near. You pulled your jacket tighter, glancing around nervously as you walked deeper into the maze of crumbling concrete and rusted metal.
It didnât take long for trouble to find you. A group of men emerged from the shadows, their faces half-hidden under hoods, their voices low and unfriendly. They circled you, their leering expressions making your skin crawl. You tensed, bracing yourself for the inevitableâpart of you was terrified, but another part, the part that had driven you out here in the first place, was almost...expectant.
"Hey there, sweetheart," one of them sneered, stepping closer. "Lookin' for company?"
You tried to back away, your heart hammering in your chest, but the circle closed in, cutting off your escape routes. Fear spiked through you, sharp and paralyzing. For a split second, you wondered if this had been a colossal mistake, if maybe this time, he wouldnât come. But then, as if summoned by your thoughts, he was there.
The Gambit moved like a force of nature, swift and unyielding. He dropped down from above, landing between you and the men with a grace that was almost inhuman. His coat billowed around him as he spun, disarming one thug with a quick, brutal twist of the wrist before driving an elbow into anotherâs gut. A charged card sailed through the air, exploding against the pavement with a blinding flash, sending the men scrambling back in panic.
The remaining thugs didnât even bother trying to fightâthey ran, stumbling over each other in their haste to get away from the red-eyed figure that seemed to glide through the darkness with ease. The Gambit stood still for a moment, watching them disappear, his shoulders heaving slightly from exertion. Then he turned to you, his expression hidden behind the bandana but his eyes blazing with an intensity that made you shiver. "This is gettin' old, chère," he said, his voice tinged with irritation as he looked you over, checking for injuries. "You know the damsel in distress look donât suit you."  You bristled at his tone, crossing your arms defensively. "Maybe I wouldnât have to play the damsel if youâd just tell me who you are and why youâre doing this!" you shot back, your frustration finally boiling over. "You keep saving me, but you never say why. You wonât even tell me your name. You just swoop in, tell me to go home, and vanish like some kind of ghost. Iâm sick of it!"
Gambit's eyes narrowed slightly, and he let out a sharp breath, clearly not amused by your words. "Cher, you call this savin' you? Lookin' like you got a death wish, more like." He took a step closer, his gaze flickering over you, searching for any sign of injury, but also sizing you up as if trying to decide how much trouble you were about to cause him. "And maybe if you stopped runnin' headfirst into danger, I wouldnât have to keep pullin' you out."
You clenched your fists, matching his stare with equal fire. "Iâm not runnin' into danger! Iâm just trying to figure out what's going on, and maybe if you didnât keep playing the mysterious vigilante, I wouldnât have to!"
"Figure it out? By throwin' yourself into the lion's den?" Gambit shook his head, frustration clear in his voice. "You got guts, Iâll give you that, but you ainât invincible. Next time, I might not be there to catch you."
"Maybe I donât need you to!" you snapped, the heat of the argument making you forget your fear for a moment. "You just need to tell me who you are!"
Gambitâs jaw tightened, and for a second, his eyes flashed with something darker, a hint of something he was holding back. "Fine, then," he said, his voice low and dangerous, "but donât come cryin' to me when you find yourself over your head. You donât wanna be saved? Be my guest. But know this, chèreâI ainât doin' this for fun. You think I like riskin' my neck for someone who donât wanna be helped?" He watched you for a moment, knowingly avoiding your request.
You faltered, the anger in his voice catching you off guard. "Then why do you?" you asked, quieter this time, genuinely curious. "If Iâm such a pain in the ass why do you keep saving me? And why wonât you tell me who you are?"
He looked at you for a long moment, the tension between you thick enough to cut. Finally, he sighed, the fight draining out of him. "Because someoneâs got to," he said softly, almost to himself. "And maybeâjust maybeâI see a little too much of myself in you. Someone who donât know when to quit, even when they should."
His words hung in the air between you, and for a moment, you were both silent, the night closing in around you like a shroud.
He stared at you, his eyes narrowing as he listened. For a long, tense moment, neither of you spoke. The only sound was your ragged breathing and the distant hum of the city. Finally, he sighed, running a hand through his hair as if debating whether to answer. When he spoke, his voice was quieter, tinged with something that might have been regret. âWho are you?â You asked again, knowing you were probably pushing a boundary with your continuous bombardment. Knowing he didnât owe you anything at all, let alone a request of his name.
"It ainât that simple," he said, his accent thicker, like the effort of explaining was costing him. "You donât wanna know me, chère. Trust me on that. I do what I do because someoneâs gotta. And if you keep stickin' your neck out, hopinâ Iâll show up, youâre gonna end up hurt worse than any of these lowlifes can manage."
"But why you?" you insisted, stepping closer, refusing to let it go. "Out of everyone in this city, why are you the one out here doing this? What are you trying to prove?"
His eyes softened, the red glow dimming slightly as he regarded you. "Ainât about proving nothinâ. I got my reasons. Ainât no oneâs business but mine."
You shook your head, anger bubbling up again, not at him but at the sheer stubbornness of the situation. "Iâm not just going to forget about this," you said, your voice wavering slightly. "Iâm not going to stop looking for you, not when you keep putting yourself in harmâs way for people you donât even know. I canât just let it go."
He clenched his jaw, frustration flashing in his eyes, but there was something else there tooâsomething that looked like understanding, or maybe even guilt. He took a step back, distancing himself as if trying to put a wall between you.
"Look, you ainât gonna find what youâre lookin' for," he said, his tone firm but edged with a strange kind of gentleness. "Iâm doinâ this 'cause itâs the only thing I know how to do. Ainât no glory in it, no happy endings. Just a lotta dark nights and busted knuckles. So do us both a favor and stop lookinâ. Go home, live your life. Donât make this any harder than it has to be."
You opened your mouth to argue, to say something that might convince him to stay, to let you in, but the words caught in your throat. He was already turning away, his silhouette blending into the shadows as if he were part of them.
"Gambit wait!" you called, the name slipping out before you even realized what youâd said. He paused, just for a moment, his back still to you. But he didnât turn around.
Without another word, he disappeared into the night, leaving you alone in the alley with nothing but the echoes of your own determination and the quiet realization that, for better or worse, this wasnât over. You were in too deep now, and walking away wasnât an optionânot when every instinct told you that the man who called himself The Gambit needed saving just as much as you did. After that night, the tension inside you grew, a coil wound so tight it felt like it could snap at any moment. You kept replaying the scene in your mind, searching for any sign that youâd reached him, any hint that he might change his mind. But the streets stayed quiet, and the city carried on as if nothing had happened. Each time you turned on the news, your pulse quickened, hoping for some new mention of himâa sighting, a save, anything. But he was like smoke, impossible to grasp and always slipping through your fingers.
Days turned into weeks, and the frustration only mounted. You found yourself wandering the same routes, a mixture of hope and desperation driving you back to the spots where youâd seen him before. But this time, it wasnât so easy. He was making himself scarce, like he was actively avoiding you, and it left you with a gnawing sense of loss you couldnât shake.
You knew it was risky, reckless even, but you pushed further into the underbelly of the city. The people there were differentâharder, colder, their eyes tracking you with a kind of predatory curiosity that sent shivers down your spine. You wore your bravado like a shield, striding down the alleys with your head held high, but inside, the uncertainty churned. If he didnât come this time, if you pushed too far, you werenât sure youâd be able to talk your way out of it. You needed to know about him, to unravel the enigma that was The Gambit. It gnawed at you, the not knowing. His presence was like a shadow that clung to the corners of your mind, refusing to let go. You couldnât pinpoint the exact moment when curiosity turned into something more consumingâwhen your fascination with the red-eyed vigilante became an obsession. But somewhere along the line, it did.
Maybe it was the way he moved, with a dangerous grace that made him seem almost untouchable, or the way his voice, laced with that Cajun drawl, could make even a warning sound like a promise. Or perhaps it was the way he kept appearing, always when you least expected it, pulling you back from the edge with a flick of his wrist and a flash of kinetic energy that seemed to light up the night. He was always just close enough to save you but never close enough to reach.
You didnât just want answersâyou needed them. Who was this man who seemed to glide through the darkness like he was born to it? Why did he keep saving you, night after night, without asking for anything in return, without ever revealing his own secrets? Each encounter left you with more questions than answers, like pieces of a puzzle scattered in the dark. And each time, it drove you a little closer to the edge of desperation, the need to understand him growing stronger, more insistent.
You tried to find him on your own, scouring the cityâs underbelly, asking questions in places where shadows thrived, and danger lurked around every corner. But every lead was a dead end, every whisper just another layer of mystery. He was a ghost, a myth, slipping through your fingers no matter how tightly you tried to hold on.
It was maddeningâthe way he slipped into your thoughts at the most inconvenient times, during quiet moments when you should have been focused on anything but him. His image haunted your dreams, his red eyes piercing through the darkness, always watching, always out of reach. You would lie awake at night, staring at the ceiling, replaying every encounter in your mind, searching for clues in his cryptic words, trying to make sense of the way he looked at you, like he saw something you didnât even see in yourself.
Why did he care? Why did he keep coming back? And why, despite all your frustration, could you not stop wanting to see him again, to hear his voice cutting through the night like a knife? You told yourself it was about answers, about knowing who he was, but deep down, you knew it was more than that. It was about connection, about understanding the man behind the maskâand maybe, just maybe, about finding a piece of yourself that youâd lost along the way.
It happened on a rainy Tuesday night, the sky pouring sheets of water that drenched you to the bone and blurred the streetlights into hazy orbs of yellow. You were soaked, shivering in your thin jacket, and you knew you looked out of place. The neighborhood was run-down, the kind of place where even the rats scurried with a sense of purpose. You shouldnât have been thereâevery instinct screamed at you to turn back, but you kept going, every step dragging you deeper into trouble.
Thatâs when you heard itâa low whistle, followed by a chorus of laughs that echoed off the brick walls. Your heart lurched, but you didnât break stride, keeping your eyes forward even as your pulse thundered in your ears. The group stepped into your path, blocking the way forward, their postures lazy but their eyes sharp. You recognized the look; youâd seen it a hundred times on the streets, that blend of boredom and malice that spelled nothing but trouble.
âLook at this, boys,â one of them drawled, a sneer curling his lips. âOut for a stroll in the rain, huh? Ainât you just the picture of bad decisions.â
You swallowed hard, glancing over your shoulder only to see another figure stepping out of the shadows behind you. You were boxed in, and the reality of the situation slammed into you with all the subtlety of a freight train. There was no escaping this one; you were caught, and you had no one to blame but yourself.
Still, you couldnât let them see the fear. You lifted your chin, trying to inject confidence into your voice even as it wavered. âIâm not looking for any trouble,â you said, your breath puffing out in white clouds in the cold air. âJust passing through.â
âOh, youâll be passinâ through, alright,â another one said, his grin wide and mean. âThrough our hands, that is.â
They advanced, closing in with a deliberate slowness that made your skin crawl. You took a step back, heart racing as you scanned the dimly lit street for any sign of him. Any second now, you thought, clinging to that hope like a lifeline. Heâll come. He has to.
But the seconds dragged on, and the men were almost within armâs reach, their laughter grating on your nerves like nails on a chalkboard. Panic clawed at your throat, and you wondered if this was it, if youâd finally pushed too far.
Then, like a thunderclap, he was there.
Gambit came out of the darkness with a speed and ferocity that took even the thugs by surprise. He moved like a streak of lightning, his movements a blur of kicks, punches, and charged cards that exploded in brilliant flashes of pink. He didnât hold back this time; every strike was precise and punishing, a display of raw power that sent the men reeling. One of them lunged at him with a knife, but The Gambit disarmed him with a swift twist of the wrist, the blade clattering uselessly to the ground. He knocked the guy out cold with a single, well-aimed punch.
The rest tried to scatter, but The Gambit wasnât having it. He grabbed the last one by the collar, slamming him against the wall with enough force to rattle the bricks. âTell your friends,â He growled, his voice low and dangerous, ânext time, they wonât be so lucky.â
The man nodded frantically, too terrified to speak, and Gambit let him go with a shove, watching as he scrambled away. The alley fell silent again, save for the steady patter of rain and your own ragged breathing. Gambit turned to you, his face unreadable beneath the shadow of his hood, and for a moment, you couldnât find your voice.
âThanks,â you finally managed, your voice small in the cold night air.
He didnât answer, just looked at you with a mix of exasperation and something that might have been concern. âWhat the hell were you thinkinâ, chère?â he demanded, his accent thicker in his anger. âYou tryinâ to get yourself killed?â
You bristled at his tone, your own frustration boiling over. âMaybe if youâd stop playing the mysterious vigilante and just talk to me, I wouldnât have to!â
He let out a short, bitter laugh, shaking his head. âYou think Iâm doinâ this for fun? This ainât a game. Youâre gonna get yourself hurt, and I wonât always be there to pull you outta the fire. It was bad enough that I almosâ wasnâ here tonight.â
âI donât care about that!â you snapped, stepping closer, rain dripping off your face as you looked up at him. âI care about you. I see you risking your life night after night for people who donât even know your name, and I canât just walk away. I wonât. Not this time.â
His expression softened, just for a moment, and you caught a glimpse of the man behind the maskâthe one who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders and didnât know how to set it down. He reached out, his fingers brushing your cheek in a gesture that was more comforting than any words could have been. But then he pulled back, the distance returning as quickly as it had vanished.
âYou care about me, huh?â he said, his voice quiet and resigned. âYou donât even know me, chère. Not really.â
You took a breath, steadying yourself. âThen let me,â you said, your voice barely a whisper. âLet me see who you are when youâre not out here fighting battles you donât have to fight.â
For a long moment, he just looked at you, his eyes searching yours as if trying to gauge the truth in your words. Then he turned away, his shoulders tense under his coat. âThis is all I know,â he said, and the sadness in his voice made your chest ache. âThis is all I got.â
He started to walk away, and you took a step after him, your heart pounding. âWaitââ
âGo home,â he said over his shoulder, his tone final. âGo home and stay there. Youâre playinâ with fire, chère, and one day youâre gonna get burned.â
And just like that, he was gone again, swallowed by the night. You stood there, the rain soaking through your clothes, feeling the sting of his words like a slap. But you also felt something elseâa flicker of hope, a small, stubborn belief that maybe, just maybe, youâd gotten through to him, even if only a little.
You werenât ready to give up. Not yet. Because for the first time in a long while, you had something worth fighting for. And if it took a hundred more nights of chasing shadows and dodging danger, youâd do it. Youâd find him again, and this time, youâd make him see that he wasnât aloneâthat he didnât have to be. <><><><><><><><><> The rain beat against your window like a relentless drum, a constant, soothing noise that filled the quiet of your apartment. The heating hummed softly, filling the room with warmth that contrasted sharply with the storm raging outside. You were curled up on the couch, a bowl of popcorn in your lap, the TV casting flickering light across the room as it played some mindless show you werenât really paying attention to. The day had been long, and you were grateful for the simple comfort of being home, safe from the elements.
But then, there was a soundâa clatter from the fire escape that cut through the monotony of the rain. It was faint, almost drowned out by the storm, but unmistakable. Your heart skipped a beat, your hand freezing in mid-air as you reached for another handful of popcorn. For a moment, you considered ignoring it, chalking it up to the wind or a stray branch, but something in your gut told you otherwise.
Slowly, you put the bowl aside and stood up, your eyes darting to the window. The curtains were drawn, shielding you from whatever was outside, but you couldnât shake the feeling that someone was there, just beyond the glass. You hesitated, nerves prickling under your skin as you approached the window. The rain pounded harder, the wind howling like a wild beast, making the walls of your apartment creak.
When you reached the window, your breath caught in your throat. Your fingers trembled as you pulled back the curtain, peering out into the darkness. The first thing you saw was the rain, a sheet of water that obscured your view, but then your eyes focused, and you saw him.
Gambit.
He was slumped against the metal railing of the fire escape, his usually confident posture replaced by one of exhaustion. His hood was pulled low over his face, but it couldnât hide the cuts and bruises that marred his skin. Blood stained his clothes, mixing with the rainwater that dripped off him in rivulets. He looked like heâd been through hell and seeing him like that sent a jolt of fear and concern straight to your core.
You didnât think twice. You fumbled with the window latch, yanking it open and letting the cold, wet air rush into the room. âHey,â you called out, your voice a mix of shock and worry.
He looked up at you, his eyes dull with pain and fatigue. âHey, chère,â he rasped, a weak smile tugging at the corners of his lips. âDidnât mean to drop in like this.â
âGet inside,â you urged, your hand reaching out to help him. He hesitated for a moment, as if considering whether he should, but the next gust of wind made the decision for him. With a groan, he pushed himself up, gripping the railing for support as he stepped through the window and into your apartment.
The warmth hit him immediately, and you saw the way he shivered, his body reacting to the sudden change in temperature. He was drenched, his clothes sticking to him like a second skin, and the sight of his injuries made your stomach twist. Heâd always been so strong, so invincible in your eyes, but seeing him like this made it clearâhe was human, just as vulnerable as anyone else.
âYouâre hurt,â you said, your voice softer now, filled with concern as you guided him toward the couch. âSit down, let me help you.â
âIâll be fine,â he muttered, though he didnât resist as you eased him onto the cushions. His usual bravado was gone, replaced by a weariness that made your heart ache.
âFine, my ass,â you retorted, already heading to the bathroom to grab your first-aid kit. âYouâre bleeding all over my floor and itâs gross.â
When you returned, he was leaning back against the couch, his eyes closed as if the effort to stay awake was too much. You knelt beside him, opening the kit and pulling out antiseptic wipes, bandages, and anything else you could find. âYou need to take off your coat,â you instructed gently, trying not to think about how close youâd come to losing him tonight.
He cracked an eye open, looking at you with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. âBossy, arenât ya?â
âDo I have to do it for you?â you shot back, not missing the way his hand trembled as he reached for the zipper.
With a sigh, he relented, shrugging out of the coat with a wince that told you just how much pain he was in. Beneath it, his shirt was torn and soaked with rain and blood, the fabric clinging to his skin. You bit your lip, trying to focus on the task at hand rather than the way your heart pounded in your chest. âThis might sting,â you warned as you started cleaning the cuts on his arm.
He didnât flinch, but his jaw tightened, the only sign of discomfort. âIâve had worse.â
âI donât doubt it,â you murmured, your fingers moving quickly and efficiently as you patched him up. The room was quiet, save for the rhythmic patter of rain against the window and the occasional hiss of pain that slipped past his lips as you cleaned the cuts and bruises that marred his skin. It was a strange, intimate momentâone that felt almost out of place in the small, dimly lit space you found yourselves in.
As you worked, the air between you was thick with unspoken words, the silence pressing in like a third presence, heavy and unavoidable. You were painfully aware of how close you were to him, how the warmth of his body seemed to radiate against yours, even though you were careful to keep your distance. The faint scent of his cologne mixed with the metallic tang of blood, creating a sensory imprint that you knew would linger long after this night was over.
Each time your fingers brushed against his skin, a jolt of something electric shot through you, making your heart stutter in your chest. You tried to ignore it, to focus on the task at hand, but it was impossible not to feel the weight of what was happeningâthe way this man, who so often seemed untouchable, was now sitting before you, vulnerable and human in a way you hadnât seen before.
He winced as you pressed a little too hard, his sharp intake of breath breaking the silence. Your hand hesitated, hovering just above the wound, guilt flooding through you. "Sorry," you whispered, your voice softer now, almost tender. He met your gaze, and for a moment, you were caught in the intensity of his eyesâthose burning red irises that had haunted your thoughts for so long. There was something in his expression, something raw and unguarded that made your breath hitch.
âItâs fine, chère,â he said quietly, his voice rough but steady. âSeen worse.â
You nodded, but the truth was, it wasnât fine. None of this was. The sight of him hurt, bleeding because heâd taken hits meant for you, tore at something deep inside you. It wasnât just gratitude or even guiltâit was something more complicated, a tangled mess of emotions that you hadnât fully confronted until now.
With each bandage you applied, each wound you tended to, the reality of it all settled deeper into your bones: you cared about him. Not just because heâd saved you, not just because he was an enigma you were desperate to understand, but because somewhere along the line, youâd let him in. Youâd let him become more than just the mysterious figure in the night, more than just the red-eyed vigilante who always seemed to be there when you needed him most.
You couldnât deny the way your hands trembled slightly as you worked, the way your heart ached with every pained breath he took. You wanted to reach out, to close the distance between you, to offer something more than just the makeshift care you could provide with antiseptic and gauze. But you held back, swallowing down the urge because you didnât know where it would lead, or if it was even what he wanted.
Still, the silence stretched, and as you finished the last of the stitches, you sat back, your hands falling to your lap as you took him in. His expression was unreadable, the bandana that usually hid his features now discarded, leaving him bare before you. His eyes flickered over your face, lingering on the concern you knew was written there, and you wondered if he could see the turmoil that roiled just beneath the surface.
When you were done, you sat back on your heels, surveying your work. âThere,â you said softly. âYou should be okay now.â
He looked down at the bandages, then back up at you, his expression unreadable. âWhy are you doinâ this, chère?â he asked, his voice quiet, almost vulnerable. âWhy do you keep cominâ back?â
The question caught you off guard, and for a moment, you didnât know how to answer. But then you realized the truth had been there all along, simmering beneath the surface of every encounter, every look youâd shared. âBecause, weirdly enough, I care about you,â you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. âI donât know you. I know nothing about you, but I care.â
He stared at you for a long time, something flickering in his eyesâsomething that looked like hope, buried deep beneath layers of pain and doubt. âYou shouldnât,â he finally said, his voice thick with emotion. âYou should stay far away from me.â
âToo late for that,â you replied, your hand reaching out to touch his, your fingers brushing over the rough skin of his knuckles as you picked up another swab and cleaned the dirt out of the wounds. You could feel his eyes on you, as if he was trying to figure out, to see into the depths of your soul. âRemy,â he suddenly spoke, the name falling from his lips with a careful deliberation, as if saying it out loud broke some unspoken rule between you. His voice was softer now, almost hesitant, a stark contrast to the confident drawl that usually laced his words. âMy nameâs Remy LeBeau.â
Hearing his name, finally knowing this piece of him, felt like a tiny victory, but it also brought with it a rush of emotions that caught you off guard. You looked up at him, searching his face for answers, but his expression remained guarded, even as his eyes told a different story.
For Remy, the admission wasnât just about giving you a name; it was about letting you in, dropping the mask heâd worn for so long. It was a vulnerability he rarely allowed himself, especially with someone he couldnât keep at armâs length. Heâd been careful, too careful, to keep a distance from youâsaving you, protecting you, but never crossing that line. Yet, here he was, stripped down to his most human form, offering you the one piece of himself heâd kept hidden.
He studied you carefully, taking in the way your eyes widened with the revelation. There was a flicker of uncertainty in his gaze, a fear of what might come next. Because Remy knew better than most that once you gave someone a piece of your truth, there was no taking it back. And with you, he wasnât sure what that truth might cost him.
For all the walls heâd built, all the carefully crafted distance he maintained with everyone else, he couldnât quite manage the same with you. From the first time heâd laid eyes on you, something about you had pulled at him in a way he couldnât ignore. It wasnât just the way you stumbled into danger, though that was certainly part of it; it was the fire in your eyes, the defiance that matched his own. You were a puzzle he couldnât solve, a question that lingered long after youâd walked away, and it frustrated him as much as it intrigued him.
But it was more than intrigue that kept him coming back. It was the way you made him feel seenâreally seenâin a way he hadnât felt in a long time. Heâd spent years playing roles, hiding behind charm and bravado, always keeping people at a safe distance. But with you, those defenses faltered, the masks slipping just enough for him to remember what it felt like to be real. To be human.
He could see the concern etched on your face as you patched him up, the careful way your fingers worked, not just with skill but with care. And in those moments, he couldnât help but wonder what it would be like to let you in completely, to drop the charade and let you see him for who he really was. The thought terrified him.
Remy wasnât used to letting people inâheâd learned long ago that closeness came with risks, with pain. But with you, it felt different. It felt like maybe, just maybe, it was worth the risk. And as much as he tried to tell himself otherwise, he couldnât deny the way his heart beat just a little faster whenever he was near you, the way his breath caught in his throat when you looked at him like he mattered.
So, when he finally said his name, it wasnât just a name. It was a confession, a quiet surrender of the barriers heâd kept so carefully in place. It was his way of saying that maybe, despite everything, he wanted you to know him. To see him. And maybeâjust maybeâhe wanted to see where that could lead.
âRemy LeBeau,â he repeated, the weight of his name settling between you like a fragile truce. His gaze didnât waver as he watched you, waiting, hoping that you would understand what it meantâthat this wasnât just a casual exchange. It was his way of saying that he trusted you, that he was willing to let you in, even if just a little.
Because for Remy, this wasnât just another night, and you werenât just another person. You were the one who made him want to be more than just the shadow in the dark, more than the vigilante who disappeared into the night. With you, he wanted to be real. And that scared him more than anything else ever had. You finished cleaning up his knuckles, your hands steady even as your heart felt anything but. The sight of himâso stubbornly trying to keep himself together, bleeding and bruised yet holding on to his composureâtugged at something deep inside you. You placed the swab on the floor, the tiny act feeling heavier than it should, as if it symbolized letting go of something more than just the makeshift bandage.
Before he could fully rise, you reached out, catching his hand in yours. Your grip was firm, almost desperate, as if you could anchor him in place with that one touch. âRemy, wait,â you pleaded, your voice carrying the weight of all the questions youâd never dared to ask. âWhy did you come here?â
For a moment, he hesitated, his eyes darting anywhere but at you. They flickered to the rain-soaked window, then to the shadows pooling in the corners of the room, as if he was searching for an escape route that wasnât there. The silence between you was thick and heavy, filled with the tension of unspoken words and the palpable sting of vulnerability. You could see the conflict in his eyes, the way his jaw tightened and relaxed, like he was fighting an internal battle you werenât privy to.
You tightened your grip, your frustration bubbling to the surface. âWhy?â you repeated, your voice more insistent now, laced with the hurt of being kept in the dark. âWhy did you come here tonight? Out of all the places you could have gone, why did you choose to come to me?â
He flinched, your words cutting through the defenses heâd so carefully maintained. For a second, you thought he might pull away again, retreat behind that impenetrable wall of indifference that he wielded so skillfully. But then, you saw itâa flicker of something in his eyes, a crack in the armor that had always seemed so unbreakable.
He looked at you, really looked at you, and in that gaze, you saw the vulnerability heâd been hiding, the part of him that he kept so carefully guarded. His eyes, usually so full of mischief or shrouded in mystery, were now dark and stormy with emotions you couldnât quite name. His jaw clenched and unclenched as if he were wrestling with the words, his throat working like he was choking on something that refused to be said. Finally, he let out a breath, shaky and uneven, his shoulders slumping under the invisible weight he carried.
âBecause,â he said, his voice rough and raw, as if it hurt to get the words out, âdespite everything, I trust you.â
The confession hung in the air between you, fragile and bare. It was more than just a statementâit was an offering, a piece of himself laid out in the open, unprotected. Youâd seen him face down danger without a second thought, dive headfirst into fights that should have scared him away, but this was different. This was him, unmasked, standing in front of you without the armor, without the bravado, admitting something that cost him far more than any physical wound.
You swallowed, your throat tight with the weight of his words. Trust. It was such a simple word, yet it felt monumental coming from him, like he was handing you a key to a part of himself heâd never shown anyone. In that moment, you realized just how much it meantâthat despite all the walls heâd built, all the times heâd pushed you away, heâd chosen to be here. With you. Because you were the one person he felt he could trust when everything else seemed uncertain.
Your hand, still holding his, squeezed just a little tighter, as if you could convey all the things you wanted to say through that simple touch. âRemyâŚâ you began, your voice catching on the rawness of it all. You didnât know what to say, how to respond to something so honest and vulnerable. But you didnât have to, because the way you held his gaze, the way you didnât let go, spoke louder than any words could.
His eyes softened, and for the first time, you saw a flicker of relief in his expression. Maybe it wasnât much, maybe it wasnât everything, but it was a start. A small crack in the walls heâd built so high, and for now, that was enough. He nodded slightly, as if to acknowledge the silent understanding that had passed between you.
You felt your heart skip, the realization sinking in. He didnât just trust you in the way someone might trust a friend or a passing acquaintance. He trusted you with the parts of himself that he kept hidden, the scars that ran deeper than skin and the fears that chased him through every dark alley. It was a trust born not from necessity, but from choiceâa choice that he made to let you in, even when it went against every instinct he had.
âYou can fall down my fire escape any time,â You joked as you let go of his hand, allowing him to stand to his full height, âYou can stay here if you need to. Thereâs a couch, I mean itâs not the Hilton but itâs okay.â
He shook his head again, but this time it wasnât in defianceâit was in resignation, a slow acknowledgment of a truth he couldnât ignore any longer. âAinât that easy, chère,â he muttered, his accent thickening as the weight of his emotions slipped through. âI got too many people after me, too many things I done that I canât take back. You donât deserve to be dragged into that.â You watched as he moved towards the window without another word and opened it, stepping through it and closing it behind you. The silence which filled the room made you wonder if he had been here at all.
Over the next few weeks, a peculiar routine began to form between you and Remy. It started with the sound of a gentle knock on your window late at night, a rhythm that became as familiar as the patter of rain against the glass. Each time, you would find yourself startled awake by the soft, rhythmic knock, your heart racing as you made your way to the window. There he would be, standing in the shadows with his usual air of mystery and just a hint of something elseâa weariness that seemed to grow with each passing night.
Youâd open the window, letting him in with a mix of relief and apprehension, and heâd step inside with a tired nod, his wounds ranging from fresh cuts to bruises that needed tending. There was an unspoken agreement between you: youâd patch him up, and heâd leave before the first light of dawn.
Each night, you followed the same routine. Youâd lead him to the small area youâd set up as a makeshift first-aid stationâan old, comfortable armchair covered with clean bandages, antiseptic, and gauze. As you cleaned and dressed his wounds, the silence between you grew more comfortable, though it was always punctuated by the occasional hiss of pain from him. The process became almost ritualistic; you knew exactly how much pressure to apply, how to wrap the bandages just right to avoid further discomfort.
And every night, after you finished, heâd nod his thanks, pull his coat tightly around him, and slip out into the night before you had a chance to ask him anything more. He never stayed long, never lingered, always disappearing into the darkness as if he were a phantom who could only exist in the shadows.
But the nights turned into weeks, and despite the seemingly routine nature of these encounters, there was a growing sense of familiarity and intimacy between you. Each time he showed up, you could sense that he was carrying more than just physical woundsâthere was an emotional toll, an unspoken sadness that seemed to deepen with each passing night.
One night, as you finished tending to a particularly nasty gash on his arm, you felt a shift in the atmosphere. There was something different in the way he moved, a heaviness in his posture that seemed out of place. For the first time, he didnât immediately head for the window when you were done. Instead, he lingered for a moment, his gaze wandering around the room as if he were weighing whether to say something heâd been holding back.
You watched him with a mix of curiosity and concern, the silence stretching between you, thick with the weight of unspoken words. You knew this wasnât just about physical injuries anymore; there was something deeper, something that went beyond the nightly visits and the ritual of bandages and antiseptic.
Finally, he broke the silence, his voice low and hesitant. âChère,â he began, the usual confidence in his tone replaced by a vulnerable edge, âthereâs somethinâ Iâve been meaning to tell ya.â
You turned to face him fully, your heart skipping a beat at the seriousness in his voice. âWhat is it?â you asked softly, your hands still lingering with the bandages as if they could offer comfort beyond their intended use.
He looked down, his gaze falling to the floor as if the words were too heavy to hold. âI⌠I know I ainât been the most open person,â he said, his voice rough with emotion. âBut thereâs a reason why I keep cominâ back here. A reason I havenât been able to tell ya until now.â
You nodded, waiting, sensing that this was something important, something that might finally shed light on the enigma that had been haunting your nights.
He took a deep breath, the sound almost like a shudder, and began to speak. âMy wife, Anna⌠she was killed a just over a year ago.â His voice cracked on the name, the weight of it hanging heavy in the air. âIt was a random act of violenceânothing more than a bad stroke of luck. She was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.â
The words felt like a punch to the gut, the shock of them making your breath catch. You knew there was pain behind his eyes, but hearing it spoken out loud, the loss and the grief laid bare, made it all the more real. You could see the deep sadness etched into his features, the way his shoulders slumped with the weight of the confession.
âIt broke me,â he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. âIâve been tryinâ to deal with it, to keep goinâ, but every time I look in the mirror, all I see is the man who couldnât protect her. Itâs like Iâm stuck in this endless cycle of fightinâ, tryinâ to find some way to make sense of it all.â
He paused, swallowing hard, and you could see the raw, unfiltered pain in his eyes. âWhen I started cominâ to you⌠it wasnât just about savinâ ya from trouble. It was about findinâ somethinâ real, somethinâ that reminded me of who I used to be before all this happened. I trust you, chère, because youâre one of the few things that feels like it matters, like itâs worth fightinâ for.â
The admission left you breathless, the enormity of his words sinking in. You could see the vulnerability in him, the way he was reaching out in the only way he knew how. It wasnât just about the physical wounds he carried; it was about the emotional scars, the grief that had become a part of him. After his admission, you had offered him the couchâan unspoken invitation to stay, to rest, to find some semblance of peace for the night. He hesitated at first, his gaze flickering between you and the couch as if he were unsure whether to accept the offer. But the exhaustion etched into his features and the heavy weight of his grief made the decision for him.
âAre ya sure?â he asked, his voice still rough but carrying a hint of relief.
You nodded, giving him a reassuring smile. âOf course. Itâs the least I can do after everything youâve done for me.â
He accepted with a nod, his usual nonchalance replaced by a quiet weariness. You watched him as he settled onto the couch, the familiar sound of its creaking beneath him a reminder of the comfort it could offer. He removed his coat, carefully placing it over the back of the couch, and then lay down, stretching out with a sigh that seemed to release some of the tension from his body.
You turned off the lights, leaving only the soft glow of a lamp in the corner to cast a warm light over the room. The silence that followed was comfortable, almost soothing, as you moved about quietly, tidying up the area where he had been. You found yourself stealing glances at him, noting the way his features softened as he finally began to drift off.
It was the first night in the weeks youâve known him that Remy wasnât slipping out into the darkness after youâd finished tending his wounds. The sight of him lying there, vulnerable and at ease, was both comforting and poignant. You could see the exhaustion in his relaxed posture, the way his chest rose and fell with the steady rhythm of sleep.
As you started to settle in for the night, you couldnât help but reflect on the changes that had occurred between you. The nights of routine visits, the shared moments of silent understanding, and the recent revelation had all woven a new thread into the fabric of your connection. The couch had become more than just a piece of furniture; it was now a symbol of trust, of the fragile but growing bond between you.
Sometime in the early hours of the morning, you found yourself unable to sleep. The weight of Remyâs story and the raw emotion of the night played on your mind. You quietly moved to where he was sleeping, careful not to disturb him, and sat down on the edge. The room was quiet except for the gentle sounds of his breathing and the steady patter of rain.
You reached out, your fingers brushing against the edge of his hand, which was resting loosely on the arm of the couch. Even in sleep, he seemed to carry the burden of his grief, but there was also a sense of peace that came with the simple act of resting in a safe place. You wondered what it must have felt like for him to finally let down his guard, to find a moment of solace in the midst of so much pain.
As you sat there, your thoughts drifted to the futureâwhat it might hold for you both. You knew there were still many unanswered questions, many layers to peel back. But for now, you were content to simply be there, to offer a place where he could find some respite from his struggles.
The dawn began to break, casting a soft light across the room. Remy stirred, his eyes fluttering open as the first rays of sunlight touched his face. He blinked groggily, slowly becoming aware of his surroundings and the presence of someone walking around. When he saw you, a tired but genuine smile tugged at the corners of his lips.
âMorning,â he murmured, his voice still rough but softer than it had been the night before.
âMorning,â you replied, returning his smile with one of your own. âHowâd you sleep?â
He stretched slightly, wincing at the stiffness in his muscles. âBetter than I have in a long time,â he admitted, his gaze meeting yours with a mixture of gratitude and something elseâan emotion you couldnât quite place but that felt comforting all the same.
You stood up, offering him a hand to help him sit up fully. âIâm glad to hear that,â you said. âDo you want some coffee or something to eat?â
He accepted the offer with a nod, and you moved to the small kitchen, preparing a simple breakfast. As you worked, you couldnât help but feel a sense of contentment. This momentâthis small act of careâwas something more than youâd expected when you first met him. It was a reminder that even in the midst of grief and uncertainty, there were moments of connection and understanding that made everything feel a little bit more bearable.
As you shared the quiet morning, the bond between you felt stronger, forged in the vulnerability and trust that had developed over the past weeks. It wasnât a solution to the pain or the grief that Remy carried, but it was a beginningâan acknowledgment that sometimes, even the smallest acts of kindness could make a difference. As the weeks turned into months, the routine of Remyâs late-night visits became a natural part of your life. Each night, he would arrive with new bruises and wounds, and each morning you would tend to them with a mix of professional care and personal concern. The process had become a ritual, a time where you both found a rare moment of respite from the chaos of his nightly escapades and the emotional weight of his grief.
With each passing night, the space between you began to fill with unspoken understanding and a growing intimacy. The conversations during these quiet moments evolved from simple exchanges about the dayâs events to deeper discussions about life, loss, and the future. You found yourself looking forward to his arrival, the brief yet meaningful conversations and the comfort of his presence becoming a source of solace for you as well.
Remy, too, seemed to find more than just physical healing in these nights. The conversations grew more personal, his stories more revealing. He spoke about his past, his memories of Anna, and the struggles he faced with his grief. The more he shared, the more you saw beyond the hardened exterior, glimpsing the man who had once been filled with hope and love. And with each story, each shared silence, the connection between you deepened.
There were moments when the air between you crackled with something that went beyond friendship. It was subtle at firstâa lingering look, a gentle touch that lasted just a bit longer than necessary, or a smile that spoke volumes. It was in the way he would sit closer to you on the couch, or the way his eyes would soften when he looked at you. It was in the moments of shared laughter, the quiet comfort of each otherâs company, and the unspoken understanding that seemed to build with each passing day.
One evening, after you had finished tending to a particularly nasty gash on his side, the atmosphere felt different. Remy was moving to stand up, already moving to where his jacket was. He needed to go, before this got to far. He was an idiot to let it get this far but with you he felt safe, he felt content and for the first time since Anna, he felt happy. You stood up after him, watching him with curious eyes as his face became more anguished.
The silence was heavy, laden with the weight of unspoken feelings and unresolved emotions. Remyâs gaze was suddenly locked on yours, his eyes dark and intense, betraying a storm of inner conflict. His jaw tightened, the muscles working beneath the skin as he struggled to articulate the thoughts that had been tangled up inside him.
You reached out, placing a gentle hand on his arm, the touch a grounding force amidst the turmoil. The warmth of your hand seemed to anchor him, and he turned his gaze fully toward you, his eyes searching yours with a vulnerability that made your heart pound.
âYouâre going to go again arenât you?â
As you spoke, your voice was soft but firm, your words carrying the sincerity of your emotions. Remyâs eyes never wavered from yours, his expression a mixture of longing and apprehension. You could see the internal struggle, the battle between his desire to open up and his fear of being hurt or rejected.
It was as if a dam had burst, releasing a torrent of emotions that had been pent up for too long. The barriers he had so carefully maintained began to crumble, and the rawness of his feelings became apparent. He took a step closer, his hand moving to capture yours, his fingers tightening around yours as if he were afraid you might disappear.
You didnât move away. You couldnât. Not when you saw the profound need in his eyes, the desperate plea for understanding and acceptance that seemed to radiate from him. The depth of his longing was almost palpable, a tangible force that drew you closer.
Without thinking, you reached up, your hands trembling slightly as you cupped his face. Your fingers traced the sharp lines of his cheekbones and the curve of his jaw, feeling the warmth of his skin and the rapid thud of his pulse beneath your touch. The intimacy of the gesture was electric, the connection between you both intense and undeniable.
Remyâs eyes fluttered closed, a shuddering breath escaping him as he leaned into your touch. You could feel the tension in his body, the coiled energy and the weight of his hidden fears and unspoken burdens. In that moment, you understood the enormity of what he was offeringâa chance to be a source of solace, to be the one who could calm his storm. He wanted to run, every instinct in his body told him to run; but instead he was rooted to the spot. His heart pounding in his chest as he felt the warmth of your hand, he could almost feel the pulse in your hand, the rapid thumping telling him that you needed this just as much as he did.
You knew then that you had to be there for him, to offer him the comfort and peace that he so desperately needed. You leaned in slowly, your lips brushing against his with a tenderness that was both gentle and reassuring. The initial contact was soft, almost hesitant, as if testing the waters of this newfound closeness.
But as Remyâs response met your touch, the kiss deepened. His mouth was warm and insistent, a fierce hunger and a desperate need evident in every movement. The passion in his kiss was consuming, a reflection of the longing that had been building between you. His hands slid around your waist, pulling you close, his fingers gripping you as if he feared losing you.
You melted into him, your body responding instinctively to the intensity of his touch. The kiss was no longer just about comfort or solaceâit was a powerful exchange of raw emotion and deep connection. The desperation, the longing, and the yearning all coalesced into a singular, electrifying moment.
As you pulled away slightly, your breath mingling with his, you looked into his eyes, seeing the same fervor mirrored there. The space between you was charged with an intensity that spoke volumes more than words ever could. It was a moment of profound intimacy, one that signified a new chapter in your relationshipâa chapter marked by shared vulnerability, unspoken
He watched you for a moment, the internal conflict making his stomach churn and his heart ache. Instead of listening to his head, which told him to run. To keep you safe in a way he couldnât keep Anna safe, he went against every voice and kissed you again. This time harder, more needful. As the kiss went on, the world around you melted away, leaving only the two of you, lost in the vortex of your desire. You forgot about the danger, the secrets, the lies. All that mattered was this moment, this connection, this trust.
You broke away, gasping for air, your lips swollen, your heart racing. Remy's eyes snapped open, his gaze burning with a fire that left you breathless.
"Chère," he whispered, his voice husky, his accent thick. "I need you."
You nodded, your throat dry, your body trembling with anticipation. You knew what he needed, what he wanted. And you were more than willing to give it to him.
You pulled him back in, your lips crashing against his, the kiss growing more frenzied, more desperate. You could feel the weight of his emotions, the depth of his need, and you responded in kind. Your hands roamed his body, tracing the contours of his muscles, the curve of his spine. His skin was hot to the touch, his pulse racing beneath your fingers.
Remy's hands were equally busy, stripping away your clothes with a haste that bordered on desperation. You didn't care; you were too caught up in the moment, too lost in the fire that burned between you. The world around you melted away, leaving only the two of you, lost in the vortex of your desire.
As the last of your clothes fell away, Remy's gaze raked over your body, his eyes burning with a hunger that left you breathless. You felt your skin prickle with anticipation, your heart racing with excitement. You knew what was coming, and you were more than ready.
Without a word, Remy swept you up in his arms, carrying you to the kitchen bench. You didn't care where you were, only that you were with him, that you were together. The moment he laid you down, you reached for him, pulling him into a kiss that was both fierce and tender.
He begins to trail featherlight kisses along your jaw, down your neck, and across your collarbone, causing your skin to tingle with each gentle touch. Your breath quickens as his lips graze over your chest, his tongue teasing your nipples, eliciting soft moans that escape your lips.
Remy's lips trailed kisses along your neck, his breath hot and heavy, while his fingers skillfully undid the fastenings of your underwear. The fabric slipped away, revealing your curves to his eyes. His admiring gaze intensified the heat within you, and you felt yourself melting under his scorching stare.
He slowly lowered his mouth to yours, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, as his hands ventured downward, caressing your thighs and the delicate skin of your hips. Then, with expert precision, he parted your legs, and with a gentle whisper in your ear, he crouched down and kissed the inside of your thighs before the world narrowed to the sensation of his tongue on your most intimate place.
You felt the wetness of his kisses, the gentle suction that had you arching off the bench in response. Your hands gripped the edge, fingers curling as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you. Remy's name escaped your lips in desperate moans, the intensity building to a crescendo.
Meanwhile, Remy's own desire grew more apparent, the strain in his muscles and the heavy breathing marking his passion. The sight of your body, glistening in front of him and the sweet tastes of your desire seemed to overwhelm him. He stood back up, kissing you so you could taste yourself on your lips before he lifted you slightly, urging you to wrap your legs around his waist, as he stood, supporting your weight.
With a smoldering look, he gently guided himself into you, and the bench echoed with the rhythmic creaking of wood as he set a steady pace. The heat and friction intensified with each thrust, sending shivers down your spine. Your hands found purchase on his shoulders, nails digging into his flesh as the pleasure peaked.
The kitchen bench became a sanctuary of sensations, where moans mingled the soft hiss of each breath. The moments slipped by in a blur of pleasure, and the world outside ceased to exist. You were lost in Remy's eyes, in the feel of his skin against yours, and the raw desire that fueled your every touch. The pleasure built to an inevitable climax, and you rode the waves of ecstasy together, your bodies a harmonious symphony of sweat and passion.
After the intensity of the moment, the kitchen was bathed in a quiet stillness, the echoes of your shared passion lingering in the air. The cool, hard surface of the kitchen bench was a stark contrast to the warmth of your bodies, now entwined in the aftermath of your intimate connection.
You sat there, your breathing gradually returning to normal, Remyâs forehead resting in the crook of your neck, your bodies still pressed close together. You could see the moonlight flicker through the window, casting shadows on the walls.
Remyâs fingers were still lightly tracing patterns on your skin, his touch gentle and soothing. His gaze was soft, a mixture of tenderness and wonder in his eyes as he looked at you. There was a vulnerability in his expression that mirrored the openness and trust you had both shared.
You shifted slightly, your movements slow and deliberate as you tried to regain your bearings. The cool air against your exposed skin was a stark contrast to the warmth that had enveloped you just moments before. You glanced at Remy, your heart swelling with a mix of affection and relief. The connection between you felt deeper and more meaningful than ever.
He let out a soft sigh, his breath warm against your neck as he leaned in to press a gentle kiss against your skin. âI never expected this,â he murmured, his voice low and husky. âNot in a million years.â
You turned your head to look at him, your fingers gently caressing his cheek. âNeither did I,â you admitted, a soft smile playing on your lips. âBut Iâm glad it happened.â
Remyâs eyes met yours, and for a moment, the weight of the past and the uncertainty of the future seemed to fade away. It was just the two of you in that moment, finding solace and connection in each otherâs presence.
As the minutes ticked by, you both began to shift, Remy moving over and handing you the clothes that were now scattered across the kitchen floor. The awkwardness of the situation was tempered by the ease that had developed between you over the past weeks. You both knew that this was a new beginning, a step toward something more profound and lasting.
âAre you okay?â you asked softly, your voice laced with genuine concern. The intensity of your shared experience had left you both emotionally raw, and you wanted to make sure he was feeling alright.
Remy looked at you, a warm smile spreading across his face. âYeah, Iâm okay,â he said, his tone reassuring. âIâm more than okay.â
You returned his smile, feeling a sense of contentment and peace settle over you. The connection between you was undeniable, and while the future was uncertain, you both knew that you had taken a significant step forward together.
He watched you intently, his expression a mixture of contemplation and uncertainty. The intimacy you had shared had been profound, but it had also left him grappling with a swirl of conflicting emotions. The bond between you was undeniably strong, but he was acutely aware of the dangers and complications that came with his life.
âYou know,â he said, his voice breaking the silence as he glanced at you, âyou might need to get a new kitchen bench after this.â
You laughed, the sound light and genuine, a stark contrast to the tension that lingered beneath the surface. âI think I can manage,â you replied, a playful smile on your lips. âBut if this is gonna keep happening, I might need to invest in a few more cleaning supplies.â
Remyâs laughter was short-lived, fading into a contemplative silence. His gaze remained fixed on you, and he could see the playful glint in your eyes slowly giving way to a more serious expression. The laughter in his own eyes dimmed, replaced by a flicker of concern and introspection.
âIs this what you want?â he asked quietly, his voice carrying a note of vulnerability. âTo keep this goinâ?â
You paused, the question hanging in the air between you. You looked out at the window, the moonlight casting a soft glow over the rain-soaked city beyond. Your thoughts were a tangle of emotionsâhope, fear, and a deepening affection for Remy. You turned back to him, your gaze steady as you met his eyes.
âRemy,â you said softly, âis that what you want? Is this what youâre looking for?â
He took a deep breath, his expression conflicted. He knew the risks of his life, the dangers that lurked in the shadows of his world. His past with Anna weighed heavily on him, a constant reminder of his failures and regrets. The thought of opening himself up to another person, of letting someone into his turbulent life, was both alluring and terrifying.
âMy lifeâs dangerous,â he admitted, his voice rough with emotion. âThereâs no denyinâ that. I canât promise you a life without risk, without danger. But⌠I can promise that Iâll always protect you. With everything Iâve got.â
His eyes were filled with a sincerity that cut through the uncertainty. The words were heavy with meaning, an unspoken promise of commitment and care. It was his way of offering reassurance, of letting you know that despite the chaos and danger that surrounded him, he was willing to make you a part of his world.
You reached out, placing a comforting hand on his arm. The gesture was simple but spoke volumes. âIâm not afraid of the danger as you know,â you said softly. âIâm more afraid of losing youâof not knowing what we could be together.â
Remyâs gaze softened, his features relaxing as he looked at you. The tension in his shoulders eased, and he took a step closer, closing the distance between you. âI never wanted to drag you into this mess,â he said quietly. âBut now that youâre here⌠I donât wanna let go. I donât wanna lose what we have.â
The sincerity in his words was palpable, and you could see the internal struggle that had been weighing on him. The fear of repeating past mistakes and the desire to protect you from his dangerous world were at odds, but his commitment to you was clear.
âThen yeah, I think Iâll need to get some more cleaning supplies,â You smirked, watching the look of relief cross his face. Remy nodded, a sense of relief washing over him. The fear and uncertainty that had clouded his thoughts began to recede, replaced by a newfound sense of hope and determination. He reached out, pulling you into a tender embrace, his arms wrapping around you with a protective warmth.
In that embrace, you both found a moment of peace, a shared understanding that despite the dangers and the uncertainties, you were willing to face it all together. The promise of a future, uncertain and fraught with challenges but filled with potential, was now a shared dreamâa dream that you both were ready to pursue.
As you stood there, wrapped in each otherâs arms, the first light of day began to filter through the window, casting a gentle glow over the room. It was a new beginning, one that would be marked by the strength of your connection and the commitment you had made to each other. And as the sun rose, you both knew that whatever lay ahead, you would face it together, finding solace and strength in the bond you had forged.
#Marvel#Fanfiction#Reader Insert#Remy Lebeau x Reader#Gambit x Reader#Anti-Hero#Vigilante!Gambit#Remy Lebeau#Gambit#Xmen#Assault#Smut#Ao3#deadpool & wolverine#Deadpool 3#Ask Answered
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Hey hey hey!! Any chance we could get a headcanon list for Remy LeBeau x mutant!reader where they can teleport similar to nightcrawler? I hope you have a good day/night đđŤśđť
this is tew cute. Weâre gonna pretend he never got with rogue ): sorry rogue
đâá§Â yours is like Kurtâs, except you teleport at light speed, faster than his. and yours come with a perfect memory, allowing you to recall places clearly. You can teleport anywhere, as long as you could remember it. plus letâs just say your eyes go red for a brief second before and after you teleport.
đâá§Â when you first join, Remy is very kind towards you, does things like extending a hand for you to stand up despite you never needing it.
đâ᧠heâs charming, kind, hot, you canât really help it when you fall for him.
đâ᧠you knew you liked him when you both were on a mission together, and you were teleporting behind someone, about to throw something at them. Another man behind you caught you off guard, and was about to shoot you when Remy saved your ass :3
đâ᧠you stared at him in awe, him smiling at you for a brief moment, asking you. âYou good?â To which you quickly nodded your head at.
đâ᧠once you both r actually together, heâs the happiest a man can freaking be ! U both are the it couple fr
đâ᧠he loves your red eyes before and after the teleportation. finds them very very cool :3 you will catch him staring at them on multiple occasions.
đâ᧠also never gets used to you using your powers randomly in the house lol đ he gets scared out of his mind and jumps a lil sometimes when you teleport behind him in the kitchen or something and youâre just like â??â
something like this LMFAOO
âLord,â he jumped slightly when you suddenly appeared in front of him, you already stuffing your face with the brownies he was making. He let out a chuckle, you looking at him with a quirked eyebrow.
âYou scared me, cher.â He explained, leaning on the counter next to you, his arms folded.
âOh. Sorry.â You said sheepishly with a shrug.
đâ᧠he loves when you both mess with the others sometimes, scaring them or randomly popping into their rooms. youâve both caught some people in some odd acts.
đâ᧠and yes you get along with Kurt looll. youâre his bsf. you, Remy and him always go out together and heâs always talking about how heâs the third wheel. has to watch you guys kiss a lot and heâs like smh
đâ᧠you both work together really well during missions. your powers go together super well.
đâ᧠n knee ways you both are the cutest fucking duo alive ! power couple. it couple.
#remy lebeau x you#remy lebeau x reader#remy lebeau#gambit x you#gambit x reader#gambit#remy lebeau x y/n#x men 97#x men#x men comics#đâĄÍŕłŕż asks
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