#gambit one shot

[awkward-walking-potato]

Can I request Scott, Remy, Logan x reader headcanons with a reader who they just rescued from an illegal mutant fighting ring. They had been in there for a long time and were roughed up pretty bad, they were pretty hesitant and scared.

Here are headcanons for how Scott (Cyclops), Remy (Gambit), and Logan (Wolverine) would react to rescuing a reader who had been trapped in an illegal mutant fighting ring:

Scott Summers (Cyclops)

- Scott would be horrified by the state you were in when they found you. Seeing the bruises and the fear in your eyes would hit him hard, igniting a fierce determination to protect you. He’d be incredibly gentle, trying not to overwhelm you as he led you away from the place that had caused you so much pain.

- Scott would be extremely patient with you, understanding that trust wouldn’t come easily after what you’d been through. He’d take things slow, speaking softly and keeping a respectful distance until you showed signs of being comfortable around him. His natural leadership would shine as he quietly reassured you that you were safe now, and that no one would hurt you again.

- Scott would make sure you had everything you needed—medical care, a safe place to rest, and someone to talk to if you were ready. He’d check in on you frequently, but would also give you space, knowing that you might need time alone to process what happened. He’d encourage you to take things one step at a time and would be there to support you whenever you were ready to open up.

- Over time, Scott would gently encourage you to regain your confidence and control over your powers. He’d offer to train with you, not to push you, but to help you feel strong again. He’d emphasize that you weren’t alone in this—that you had a family now who would stand by you, no matter what.

Remy LeBeau (Gambit)

- Remy’s heart would break seeing you in such a battered state. The usually carefree Cajun would be deadly serious, his red eyes burning with anger at the people who had done this to you. But he’d push those feelings aside, focusing entirely on making sure you were okay.

- Remy would approach you with a careful mix of charm and sensitivity, using his natural charisma to try and ease your fears without overwhelming you. He’d speak to you softly in that smooth accent of his, offering you a comforting smile and a warm hand to hold if you wanted it. He’d let you set the pace, never pushing too hard or too fast.

- Knowing how heavy your experiences were, Remy would try to lighten your burden with humor and gentle teasing, anything to make you smile or forget, even for a moment, what you’d been through. He’d show you card tricks or tell stories, anything to distract you and bring a little light back into your world.

- Despite his usual laid-back demeanor, Remy would be fiercely protective of you. He’d stick close by, making sure you knew that he was there for you. If anyone even hinted at trying to hurt you again, they’d have to deal with Gambit’s explosive temper. He’d also be the first to offer to teach you self-defense, wanting you to feel capable and safe in your own skin.

Logan (Wolverine)

- Logan would be furious at the sight of you, covered in bruises and clearly traumatized. The animal inside him would roar with the urge to tear apart those responsible, but he’d shove that down, knowing that right now, you needed someone calm and steady.

- Logan wouldn’t overwhelm you with words; he knows that after what you’ve been through, words might not be enough. Instead, he’d offer his presence—solid, dependable, and unyielding. He’d wrap you in his jacket if you were cold, carry you if you couldn’t walk, and make sure you knew that you were safe with him.

- Logan would be surprisingly patient with you, especially considering his usual rough-and-tumble attitude. He’d understand your hesitance, your fear, and would give you the time you needed to adjust. If you flinched away from touch, he’d respect that, but would also make sure you knew he was there whenever you were ready.

- Logan would keep a close eye on you, his protective instincts in overdrive. He’d make sure you ate, rested, and had the space to heal. He might not say much, but his actions would speak volumes—like making sure no one bothered you, or leaving small gestures of care, like a cup of tea or a blanket.

- Over time, Logan would try to help you rebuild your strength, both physically and emotionally. He’d offer to train with you, teaching you how to defend yourself if you wanted, but never pushing you beyond what you were comfortable with. He’d want you to feel powerful again, not because he thought you needed to fight, but because he wanted you to feel safe in your own skin. And he’d be there, silently promising that no one would ever hurt you like that again.

[triptuckers]

nothing without you - remy lebeau

Request: nope Pairing:  remy lebeau x reader Summary:  remy loses his beloved cards and you figure something out about him Warnings:  mentions of anxiety, mentions of blood/wounds (nothing big), remy is a lil sad :( Word count: 1.5K A/N: do I know anything about gambit or his lore? no. I do know I went to see deadpool & wolverine again and now I need him to call me chéri. enjoy!

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you knew remy loved his cards. after a while you'd lost track trying to count them. in every pocket of every piece of clothing he owned, you'd find a deck of cards. it was an entire chore to empty all of his pockets before doing laundry. and still some of them would end up in the washing machine, and they'd come out all soggy and messed up.

if he would round them all up, you're sure he'd be able to fill an entire storage box. he always had at least one pack of cards on him.

but there was always that one favorite pack of cards. the one he took with him on missions, the one he always had on him "just in case".

and now it's missing.

ever since he found out he lost it, remy has been heartbroken.

you helped him search for it, turning the whole place upside down. remy was the first to give up the search. he told you he'd accepted the fact he lost them, but you knew he was just too sad to have lost them to keep on searching.

his powers didn't have anything to do with that specific deck of cards, they were simply his favorite. he'd had them since he was a kid, learned all of his skills with them. of course they were special to him.

you tried to cheer him up by getting him a new deck and talking about his other decks, but nothing seemed to help.

you'd noticed he'd grown more restless since losing the cards.

from the moment you met him, you had only ever seen him with a deck of cards in his hand. safe for the moments where he was doing something that required both of his hands. but his fingers were never far from the cards.

now that he's lost them, he's constantly holding on to other things. you'd never really considered remy to be a very anxious person, but he's fidgeting constantly now.

if you're sitting next to him he's playing with your fingers or the hem of your shirt. he's tapping patterns that make no sense to you on your thigh. he'd repeatedly tap his own fingertips against each other.

right now, he's sitting on the couch after getting back from a mission. he got a nasty cut on his forehead but otherwise he was fine. you just got back from fetching the first aid kit from the kitchen when you see him staring off into space while rapidly tapping his fingers on his leg.

'hey.' you say, sitting on the salon table in front of him.

he blinks a few times before his eyes settle on yours.

'you okay?' you ask.

remy nods, but you can tell something's bothering him. you decide to let it rest until after you take care of him. it can wait.

you scoot closer to him, opening the first aid kid.

'I'll need to clean it first, before I can bandage it.' you say softly. 'it might sting a little.'

'it's okay, chéri.' he says.

you carefully put some rubbing alcohol on a cotton wad and lean in. as you gently press it on his forehead, remy sucks in a breath and closes his eyes.

'sorry.' you say, as you start to slowly wipe the cotton wad over the wound to get rid of the dirt and blood.

you feel something on your leg and when you briefly glance down, you see remy is fidgeting with a loose thread of your pants. they were really his, but you stole them so long ago they're basically yours now. you always had to roll them up a couple of times before you could wear them, otherwise they were too long.

as you get out a fresh cotton wad, you notice remy still has his eyes closed. he really hasn't been the same since he lost his favorite deck of cards, and you're worried about him.

'remy?' you say.

he hums in response as you lean in to finish cleaning the wound on his forehead. you put the bloody cotton wad on the ground next to you so you can throw it away later.

'talk to me. what's going on?' you say.

'I didn't look where I was going, the knife barely missed me but it nicked me. I should-'

'I'm not talking about today's mission, love.'

remy opens his eyes and looks at you with a slight frown on his face. you give him a soft smile.

'you've been... different. and it's okay, I just want to know how I can help you. you haven't been yourself since you lost your favorite cards.'

he closes his eyes again and leans into your touch as you bandage his forehead. his fingers are still playing with your pants.

'they keep my mind off of things.' he says eventually.

'the cards?' you say.

remy nods. 'I've got something to do with my hands. I can think about the cards. not about... other stuff.'

'all done, my love.' you say, when you finish bandaging him up. you press a soft kiss to the bandage and look down to find remy looking up at you.

'thank you, mon amour.'

'you're welcome.'

you get up to put the first aid kit away and throw the trash out. then you get back to join remy on the couch.

his fingers immediately take a hold of yours as he starts to play around with them.

'you know, I never figured you for a very anxious person.' you say.

'I'm not.'

'baby, you can't keep your finger still. and when you're doing something with both of your hands, your leg is always bouncing up and down.'

remy frowns. 'I do that?'

'it's usually something people do subconsciously. then again, being the gambit is a pretty stressful job.'

'I guess.'

you turn to look at remy. 'you really miss your cards, huh?'

'chéri, you have no idea.' sighs remy.

'I'm sorry we didn't find them.' you say.

'it's not your fault.' says remy, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your cheek. he knows it's not anyone's fault but his own. he probably lost them somewhere outside, because they did search the entire house. every cabinet and under every piece of furniture.

'how about we watch a movie? try to get your mind off of it for at least an hour or two?' you suggest.

'sure, alright.' says remy.

'you pick the movie, I'll get the snacks.' you say, getting up to go to the kitchen.

you get out a bowl and half a bag of popcorn. you dump it in the bowl and stuff the empty package in the trash, which is nearly overflowing. knowing it'll only annoy you in the morning, you let out a sigh as you take it out.

after taking it out of the bin - which took more effort than you would have liked - you close it and take it out the backdoor. just as you throw it in the larger bin outside, something purple catches your eye.

you walk over to where it is sticking out from under the bin. as you drag the bin away so you can take a closer look, you see a familiar rectangular box.

remy's beloved cards. his very favorite deck.

you quickly snatch it up and head back inside.

when you get back to the living room you see remy has picked one of your favorite movies.

'hey.' he says, glancing over his shoulder at you. 'no snacks?'

'I've got something better.' you say.

remy looks over his shoulder again and his eyes land on your bright smile, then drop to your hands.

'tada!' you say. 'found them outside under the bin! I knew we didn't lose them and they had to be around somewhere so I-'

you're cut off when remy grabs your face and kisses you. you hadn't even noticed him getting up and walking to you in two quick and long strides.

'mon amour, you're the best!' he says, smiling at you. he kisses you again and you can feel he's still smiling.

he pulls back and takes the deck of cards you're holding up for him. instantly, he takes them out of the case and twirls them around, throwing them in the air and catching them again.

you watch as his face lights up. you're so glad he's got his favorite cards and he looks like your remy again. you watch him for a while, following the cards with your eyes.

eventually, he puts them away and pulls you against his chest, making you laugh as he hugs you tight.

'oh, what would I do without you?' he says as he pulls back slightly so he can look at you.

'well you'd have to find someone new to fix you up after a fight. and to find your cards. and take care of-'

'alright, alright, I get it, I'm nothing without you.'

'and don't you forget it.'

'I won't, chéri, I promise you I never will.'

A/N:If you want to request something, make sure to read my house rulesHere’s the list of characters I write for. Everything that I have written can be found on my masterlist. Please don’t repost, steal or translate my work, as I spend much time and effort on it!! Thank you for reading! Much love, Marit

[littlemissmentallyunstable]

title: two hearts, too good at breaking

pairing: grayson hawthorne x reader

synopsis: this argument has been needing to happen for a while but an angry girlfriend and a closed off boyfriend are not a good mix…

warnings:

a/n: thanks for reading 💗💗

taglist: @lovethornes @whatsamongus @wish-i-were-heather @inmyheaddd @never-enough-novels @fleuriosa @midiosaamor @sweetreveriee @emelia07 @f4iry-bell @zaraaaabear @thoughtdaughter3 @benny1989fredd @elysianwayy77 @maybxlle @sheisntyou @anintellectualintellectual @aleatorio1234 @adalia-jaycee @off-to-the-r4ces @lyra-kane @reminiscentreader @lyrakanefanatic @imaseabear @elizaa31 @loveinalocket @lanterns-and-daydreams @hermesenthusiast @eternal--dream @shattered-glass-roses @book-nerd-emi

I spin around, anger has me in a chokehold contorted fingers wrapped tightly around my neck, I’m ready to burst, “is this what it’s going to be like?”

“I don’t know what you want from me,” Grayson scoffs, with an expression that doesn’t betray any hint of emotion if he is feeling it.

Typical man with his typical habits. I wish for once he’d just show me that he at least cared about this. Us.

“Don’t twist this Grayson, don’t you dare,” I seethe, my eyes blazing with some sort of wildfire that would surely burn him alive, “don’t make me the problem.”

He leans back lazily, resting his weight on the counter, “I’ll be the problem then, that’s fine,” he shrugs nonchalantly, making me want to punch him even more than I already did.

How could he act so cool and collected? As if none of this was actually bothering him? How was it fair? I could feel tears prickling in the corners of my eyes and the lump wedged in my throat rapidly expanding. I don’t want to be this emotional, I don’t want him to know how much this is hurting me.

“No,” I reply coldly, abruptly.

I try to mirror him, pushing down all my own feeling and casting my mind to a blank state so that my feelings could not penetrate.

“Then what do you want?” he asks, a dead withered look flashing across his gray eyes.

I make a frustrated noise. So much for staying unbothered. My emotions tend to run riot with an odd reckless abandon, I couldn’t contain them no matter how hard I tried.

He’s twisting my words, playing with them like a well fed cat would a dead bird, “it’s not about what I want,” I hiss.

He raises an eyebrow sharply, “seems like it,” he deadpans.

“So you’re happy like this?” I snap, “this constant tension between us, the aching silences, avoiding this argument all the time?”

It had been going on for far too long now and I am too exhausted, drained with the weight of it all. He could shut it out, he could close off his feelings, he could easily stay unaffected through avoidance. But me? I’m not like that. Every tiny thing hit my heart with a tiny bullet, slowly bleeding it dry.

“You’re the one who created tension in the first place,” he replies with a snarl, a glimmer of anger seeping through his composure.

Good. At least I know there is something beneath his stupid defence mechanism, something that maybe even cared.

“No I didn’t,” I counter fiercely, “things got hard for you and you ran off alone and then came back and acted if nothing had even happened.”

“What do you want me to do, wallow?” he sneers, “did you want me to come home and cry in your arms? I have a life, I need to get on with it.”

“Oh thanks,” I laugh bitterly, running my fingers through the knots in my ponytail, “no what I wished you would’ve done was at least address that you’d gone, why you’d gone, how we were going to work things out, but you didn’t! You did nothing!”

“Why keep bringing up the parts of the past we want to forget?” he asks me, some sort of strain ripping across the middle of his sentence.

“Because you can’t just bury everything under the carpet,” I sigh, tired of the endless row of bulletproof walls he puts up to keep me out, “eventually it’s going to all be revealed.”

“So what you’re asking me to do is tell you every minor inconvenience in my life,” he states flatly, “as if discussing them will make them magically disappear.”

“I’m not asking for that,” I snap, before reeling my annoyance in for a moment, my voice softens, “I’m asking for you to trust me.”

We can’t keep on like this, it’s not healthy, it’s not right, it’s not normal.

“I do trust you,” he replies, without missing a beat.

It’s an instant reaction, a reflex but they’re still empty words. He wants to trust me, but he can’t. I can see it so clearly in those glossy gray eyes.

“It’s clear you don’t,” I reply, “you don’t tell me anything, you don’t talk about your feelings-“

“There’s nothing to talk about,” he tells me numbly.

My heart almost gives in to his blank face and deadened eyes. It hurts to see him so devoid of emotion, so empty. I wish sweet kisses and loving whispers could wash away all that was wrong, but I fear there’s too much for even the ocean to clean.

I shake my head, “you can’t play the hardcore card with me.”

“I’m not playing any card,” he snaps, his face contorts into a sour and twisted look, “my life isn’t a game.”

Idiot me, using a card comparison. It’s like rubbing salt in his open wounds and watching them marinate.

“I know it’s not,” I say gently.

His eyes softened for a fraction of a second before they iced over again. The bitter frost would take a lot more than a kind voice to thaw. He breathes deeply.

“I need to get out of here,” Grayson says, standing up to make a b-line for the door.

I lunge forwards and stand in front of him, arms folded. I look up at him, wide eyes pinning him into place. He stops, almost frozen and stares right back at me.

Of course he could’ve easily walked around me, lifted me up and moved me out of the way or simply just told me to stop. But he does nothing at all and continues staring dead at my face.

He doesn’t want to leave, not really.

“You’re not leaving again,” I tell him firmly, “you can’t just walk out when things get hard, that’s not how we work.”

He sighs and turns around, walking back to the kitchen. I follow. He leans against the counter top, arms folded. In any other situation I would’ve found this incredibly attractive.

“How do we work then?” he finally asks me, more quietly than he’d probably intended.

I look at him with tender eyes and say seven small words, “I need you to need me too.”

“I do need you,” he replies fiercely, a fire in his eyes reminding me of my own for a moment, something I couldn’t ignore.

He does care. He cares like I care.

“You don’t act like it,” I shake my head, biting my lip to stop the tears from spilling over.

And then something snaps and it’s not me this time.

“But I do!” he raises his voice, a desperate longing vibrating across his vocal chords, “you know I do!”

“No I don’t,” I explode, blinded by my own white hot anger, “you keep everything so bottled up!”

“I don’t,” the words are sharp and definitive, ending with a hard monotonous sound.

I groan in frustration, contemplating ripping my hair out, “why won’t you ever just let me all the way in?”

“I can’t,” he falters, maybe the first glimpse of the real him I’ve seen in this whole conversation.

He looks down at the floor, his head dipping down slightly. Grayson Hawthorne always held his head high. I’d broken him.

“Why can’t you,” I press on further, like a child still trying to play with a broken toy.

I know I shouldn’t push him, I know I’m being impatient but I have to know why. I’ve tried the patient route but it hasn’t worked.

My heart won’t beat for anyone else the way it beats for him. I love him too much to let this end over a miscommunication, we’ve been through too much to throw it all away. Whatever it is, we’ve always gotten through it, that’s how we work. I’m not letting go, even if he thinks he wants to.

“I just can’t,” he says to me, as if that explained it all.

An internal argument flickers across his face, his eyebrows draw themselves closer in the slightest of ways and I can see he’s biting the inside of his lip so hard I fear it might bleed.

“That’s not an answer Grayson,” I reply, not backing down, my rational thoughts are consumed by feeling, governed by pure heart and no head at all.

He runs a hand through his hair, all the way to the back of his neck, “I can’t do this.”

“What? This? This relationship?” I question trying not to let the fear creep into my voice.

“No, of course not,” he snaps with an eye roll, causing me to deepen my scowl, “why can’t you just accept that I can’t let you in?”

Oh if only it were that easy.

“Because,” I shout, “you’re meant to be able to trust me with everything and anything.”

“Well I don’t,” Grayson snaps back, his tone bitter like the cud, “I don’t trust anyone, don’t take it so personally.”

Tears spring back to my eyes, my voice quietens, “I’m not anyone.”

“No…” he exhales shakily, pausing for a while, “…you’re not.”

Silence engulfs us, its flames happily licking at our feet. I feel the weight of his gaze against mine, our eyes locked together in a trance. In the space of no words, too much is said.

He looks like he’s physically in pain. The dark circles rimmed under his eyes are bolder than ever, thick smears of black, like war paint. His cheeks seem hollower, his eyes less bright. Am I stealing his spark? Is this my doing? As if he can read me, like an open book, he shakes his head in the slightest of ways. If I’d blinked I might’ve missed it.

“You can’t keep doing what you’re doing,” I murmur hoarsely, unable to control my own voice, “it’s not fair on me and it’s not fair on you.”

He breathes out deeply, his voice low, almost husky, “some things are just too much, okay?”

“Nothing should be too much for love,” I say darkly, taking a step towards him.

He doesn’t back away but doesn’t move any closer to me. Again, he enters his paralysis. I dare to get closer still and then ever closer. I trail gentle hands up his arms, shoulders, then neck until finally they reach the sides of his face. I pull his towards me, so his forehead is pressed against mine. I can feel him breathing, the soft warm air tickling my face.

“I am here Grayson,” I whisper, a tears falling from each eye, spilling over only to roll down my cheek and land on his shirt, “I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.”

His hands find their way to my waist, his fingers tighten around it, knuckles going white.

“If I let you all the way in,” he chokes out, “you’ll see me for who I really am…” everything falls still, time itself stops, “…and everyone who has ever seen that part of me walks away.”

My heart twists, aching and throbbing in my chest.

“It’s not pretty sweetheart, it’s not pretty at all,” his voice shakes. It is soft, so vulnerable, so open.

He’s trying to show me he does trust me, he just doesn’t know how to let himself. The tenderness intertwined in his tone is enough to make me melt.

“And I don’t think I can afford to watch you walk away,” he shake his head, eyes glossy with tears, “I’m selfish like that my love, I don’t want you to leave.”

I shake my head, biting my lip to prevent a sob for escaping. You’re not selfish is what I want to tell him but I can’t formulate words. Tears freely pool down my cheeks and even Grayson lets one slip. It slowly trails down his cheek, leaving a glistening path behind it.

All the words I want to say get lodged in my throat, so I bring his face closer to mine still and let my lips do the talking.

His face is hot against mine, his hands feverishly cling to every inch of my body. The kiss tastes like a mixture of salt and passion and anger and fear and all of the feelings in between. I could feel his agony on my tongue like he could feel my fury.

I kiss him more roughly, not bothering to contemplate that either of us might need to draw back for breath. He needs this, I need this. Grayson’s hands find their way to my hair, clamping around large thick chunks of it, fingers getting lost and tangled between the strands. Not that either of us care. He’s craving me now more than ever, I can feel his mouth desperately crashing into mine. I bite his bottom lip gently and he a strange sort of sound escapes the back of his throat, something between pleasure and pain.

We continue until our lungs physically burn and force us to stop. I rest back, gulping in as much oxygen as I can. My lips tingle as my chest heaves up and down rapidly. My hands are almost shaky.

I look up to meet his gray eyes. His face is flushed and lips red raw. He looks more alive than I’d seen him in a while. He almost manages a smile, eyes hungrily grazing over my whole body.

He sighs, still out of breath, “what’s even wrong with the way we are now?”

“You’re seriously asking?” I ask. He stays silent. “We can’t just kiss and make up.”

“Why?” Grayson says, something pleading in his expression.

“You know why,” I falter, closing my eyes and massaging my temples, my head thumping all of a sudden.

“What is so bad that we can’t just leave our argument here and move on?” he asks me, something lighting up on his face, some false hope that I’ll soon be to one to crush.

I sigh, falling into a silence of my own. I usually have all the words to say. I still do, too many in fact so I take my time to choose carefully. He almost seems impatient for my answer.

“You don’t communicate,” I say softly, the truth harder said than I’d imagined.

He snarls at me, “I can’t communicate when you don’t say anything.”

“I’m saying everything now,” I tell him, more emotion pouring itself into my tone without being invited to, “but you’re refusing to hear me.”

I wonder if his lips miss mine as much as I miss his. I keep having to scold myself to not glance at them. If only this could all be solved with a kiss.

“I’m not refusing,” he presses on, his jaw tense, “I just don’t understand.”

“Okay maybe this’ll make it clearer,” I state simply, “you don’t get to shut me out.”

Bitter. Harsh. Cold. All the things I loathe coming out of my own mouth. It is the bluntest way I could’ve put things.

He shakes his head and chuckles darkly, “you say you understand me but you don’t, if you understood me you’d know that this is how I deal with pain.”

“That’s not healthy,” I bite back with a bold ferocity.

“It might not be healthy but it’s me,” he tells back, hitting his chest, “take it or leave it.”

“Neither,” I snap, folding my arms and standing my ground with a look of challenge written across my face.

He looks exhausted, “it can’t be all your way all of the time.”

I am exhausted too, “I’m asking you to open up to me,” I say, my throat sore and dry, “why is it so difficult?”

“It just is.”

“Look I’ve given you time Grayson,” I tell him desperation creeping up into my voice, another uninvited visitor, “I’ve done my waiting and I’ve given you space and I haven’t complained but it’s been years and it’s taking a toll, surely if you don’t feel at ease to open up to me now then you never will. I mean you talk to your brothers about everything, why do I know less than them? We’ve been together two years Grayson, two whole years!”

“And I knew Emily my whole life,” he practically growls, each word venomous, a poison spat into my face.

The taste of his lips sour in my mouth and my face immediately pales. I stop, freeze, my body stills completely. I don’t even realise I’m holding my breath until my lungs beg me for oxygen.

So that’s what he thinks. That’s why he can’t trust me.

“You think I’m like her?” I say, my words so quiet I don’t think they can qualify as spoken.

“That’s not what I meant,” Grayson says immediately, the guilt settling.

“You think I’d do something like that to you,” I ask slowly, carefully.

“No,” he tells me, reaching out to touch my arms. I pull away, I can’t have his fingers on my skin. He hides his hurt well, just not well enough from me. “But you have to understand I was played once and I won’t be again.”

My heart drops, plummeting into the acid in my stomach. I’m empty. An odd sort of numbness crawls under my skin, creating a barrier between my flesh and hot blood so I can’t feel anymore.

“I really thought you knew me,” I whisper, my chest aching in the absence of what‘s supposed to beat there.

“I do,” he says.

I shook my head, “if you knew me you know I’d never do that.”

“I didn’t mean to-“

“Bring up your awful ex and compare me to her?” I snarl, the emptiness leaving more space to fuel the fire of rage within me.

He sighs, “I’m sorry. That came out wrong.”

“You think?” I raise a brow, hugging my folded arms tighter my body in attempts to assert a challenge.

He grits his teeth. He hates her sarcasm. “I don’t have time for this,” he snaps, turning on his heel to walk out. I’ve pushed him over the edge.

“You never have time for this,” I scoff, throwing my hands up into the air as I follow him, “you can’t avoid me forever, you can’t hide behind paraphrases and excuses,” I cut in front of him, “it’s not fair.”

“That’s not fair?” he laughs, the sound hollow as it bounces off of these four walls, “you know what’s not fair? This. This, here what you’re doing to me,” he seethes, “why are you making me feel guilty for who I am?”

“This is not who you are,” I bite back, “I know you Grayson Hawthorne, I know ever inch of you, every curve of your body, every fibre of your being. I know what makes you laugh and what makes you cry, I know when you’re trying to hide your pain, I know how to read your eyes, I know where your favourite place to be kissed is, I know how you take your coffee, I know why you sleep on your side, I know when you like to go for a swim and how it makes you feel, I know what you’ve been through, I know your deepest fears, I know who your grandfather was and what you think of yourself because of it. I know the immense pressures you put on yourself, I know the expectations of yourself you have, I know how you view your being, how often you judge it. I know why the violin is your favourite and what Frank Sinatra song you’d listen to forever. I know you’re long sighted because you read too much when you were younger so you have to wear glasses. I know you Grayson,” I say, pausing for air, “and this coward in front of me is not you, it will never be you.”

Silence hits me like a bullet train. All the air is knocked from my lungs leaving my belly aching.

“Clearly you don’t know me well enough,” he says roughly, his voice is hoarse and jagged like his voicebox has been scratched, “because this is me, all of me.”

“It isn’t and you know it,” I reply searching his face with desperate eyes. He’s masking his feelings, it’s an instinct, his instinct. This argument is pushing him further away from me.

He looks at me, “do I?”

“Yes,” my voice shatters as I run my fingers through my hair, “I love you goddamit Grayson Hawthorne.”

“People have lied with those words before,” he quips, the bitter taste of betrayal probably still dancing on his tongue.

I can’t stop myself from flinching. The words sting like a fresh slap across the face. He almost looks sorry.

“Can’t you see I mean it?” I murmur, emotion swelling in my chest.

“I don’t know anymore,” he says, digging the knife deeper into my wound, “I don’t know who to trust, what I can trust, even my own judgment.”

“Me,” I beg him, shakily breathing in, taking his hands into my own, “trust me.”

He stares for a moment, his eyes and my own connected on an invisible string that seemed it would never break. I squeeze his fingertips gently as my own voice echos in my head. Me. Trust me.

I wonder if he can hear it too.

He pulls away and shakes his head, “you want something perfect.”

“I never said that,” I explode immediately, my temper with a mind of its own, “you’re putting words into my mouth-“

“But we’re not Avery and Jameson,” he says slowly, almost carefully.

The comment catches me off guard completely and I still. Is that what he really thinks? My hands, now glued to my sides begin to shake a little. I try my very hardest not to lose it.

“I don’t want to be Avery and Jameson,” I tell him firmly.

“Then stop acting like it,” Grayson seethes, with a raw sort of anger he usually keeps so well in check.

“I’m not!” I yell, letting my own rage run free like a burst of lighting cursing a stormy sky, “you’re just jealous that your brother handles his feelings and actually talks about them with his girlfriend.”

“I am not jealous,” he grits through his teeth.

“And you’re too proud to admit any of it,” I add more fuel to the fire. I can’t help myself. I’m flawed in the same way that he is too, I’m too angry and he’s too suppressed. I’m striking too many nerves and he’s constantly blocking my love.

What a mess we are.

“So what is it exactly that you’d like me to do” he asks me, each word coated with the sourest venom, “waddle home and cry my sorrows to you each evening? Should we make a club?”

“Oh don’t be facetious,” I tusk, rolling my eyes at him.

“I’m just asking,” he shrugs, taking a step in, “what is it that you would like me to do?”

He knows what he’s doing and he’s enjoying it. My face screws up in annoyance.

“It’s not that simple,” I say, “and you know it.”

“Oh,” he replies, amused suddenly. The sudden change in persona made me uneasy, it’s as if he is changing tactics in his head. He steps another inch closer to me, “so you can have things that aren’t simple to explain but I can’t?”

Yet again my words have been twisted by the master of loopholes.

“You’re blowing things out of proportion,” I tell him.

“No I think you are!” he says, his face achingly close to my own, “let’s not forget when I left for three days, I came back to a girlfriend who wouldn’t talk to me.”

His lips sit there with a taunting temptation. I want them.

“Because you left me for three days,” I snap. I feel him exhale. “No word, no warning, just a message through your brothers and then you come back and say nothing,” I almost laugh, “you think I don’t know that you’re in pain, you think that’s not killing me inside?”

“I don’t want my pain to be yours too,” he raises his voice, sending my head pounding.

“When are you going to get it into your head?” I falter, the agony ripping across my raw throat, “we’re meant to share the good times and the bad, we don’t get to choose.”

“But I am choosing,” he tells me, jabbing the left side of his chest harshly, “and I’m choosing only the good.”

“That’s what you don’t understand,” I say, only just realising my face was damp, “this is what comes from hiding from the bad, this explosion of an argument that’s making us fall apart.”

Grayson shakes his head, stubbornly, running a hand over his mouth, “this argument is a result of us both being over stressed and over tired.”

“You’re in denial constantly,” I sob, “about everything, even this.”

“In denial?” he sneers, “fine, you want the truth? This, whatever we’re doing now, is killing me, it’s tearing my insides apart, I can feel my heart being picked apart bit by bit, still beating, still bleeding but slowly dying and I can’t do a thing about it.”

“I can do something, let me do something,” I beg him, my lips quivering, as I cling to his arms, my last desperate attempt to make him see.

He stares at me, his knuckle grazes my cheek wiping away my tears. He bites his lip and shakes his head, “you can’t help me. I think I’m past the point of help.”

“You have to try Grayson,” I whisper my voice shaking like a child left in the cold, “please.”

His hands are now on my hips and they suddenly grip tighter, “…I can’t.”

Everything in me falls down, plummeting into the core of the earth to be incinerated. I can only look at him, his darkened eyes and paled face. He looks sad, empty, lonely.

“What will make you happy again?” I ask him in a murmur.

“You make me happy,” his voice breaks, “we make each other happy.”

I shake my head with a trembling bottom lip. “I don’t think we do anymore.”

He looks like physically in pain and I wonder if his internal organs also feel like they’re being squeezed.

“Why don’t we just break up then?” he whispers.

I stop. The world stops. My heart stops. My head stops. Everything is blank, like a canvas that was bought to be painted but will never be beautiful. The words register in my brain but somehow I still don’t quite understand them. My chest throbs and my legs are like jelly.

“What?”

My voice is barely audible in the silence and when it does finally sounds sort of strangled.

“You said it yourself,” he says, a single tear rolling slowly down his cheek, “we don’t make each other happy, I’m hurting you and you’re hurting me, is there not only one solution to solve it?”

He wants to break up.

It hits me hard, knocking everything out of me. I can’t breathe. I jerk out of his touch immediately, recoiling from the feeling of his fingers on my hips. My face burns as tears uncontrollably pour down my face.

“Fine,” I say, my voice wobbling like a newborn calf trying to walk.

“Fine,” he snaps after me.

We stand there in silence and stare. Neither of us move, it’s like our feet are glued to the floor and our muscles have stopped working altogether. Neither of us want this to be the end but somehow it’s already ended. It’s so quiet I can hear him breathing. I want to forget it all, this day, this argument, this tension. But we can’t change any of it.

Not now.

“I’m leaving,” I tell him finally breaking the silence.

As I turn I hope he might call out after me and tell me to stay, hoping someone might wake me up from this horrible dream, hoping it’s all some elaborate joke that had been taken to far.

None of that happened.

I don’t even look back. I just leave. I don’t know where I’m going. I just run. By the time I collapse I’m on the pavement, heaving for breath like a madwoman. My legs just give way beneath and I crumble to the floor. My face is wet before the rain starts. What have I done?

I knowww some of you are desperate for the dancer and the angel part 5 and I actually PROMISE this time it’ll be the next TIG fic out!! Hope you enjoyed this one anywayysys 💖💖

TIG masterlist

[thirtysomethingloser92]

Clean

Warnings: A small little smutty one-shot. 18+ only. Pairings: Remy Lebeau/ Reader, Anna Marie/ Remy Lebeau. Summary: Jealousy wasn't always a curse.

The common room buzzed with the usual post-mission energy—laughter, storytelling, and the kind of camaraderie that made long days bearable. You were sinking into the couch, half-listening to the chatter around you, but your gaze kept drifting to the other side of the room.

Remy and Anna were huddled close, their heads nearly touching as they exchanged whispers and laughter. Remy’s Cajun accent was unmistakable as he leaned in, his words soft but filled with warmth. Anna’s eyes sparkled as she responded, her fingers brushing against his arm with a familiarity that stung more than you cared to admit.

It wasn’t that you didn’t like Anna—she was fantastic, truly. But watching her so close with Remy was like watching a slow-motion replay of a mistake you couldn’t quite erase from your mind. You’d been flirting with Remy, yes, but lately, it had felt like something more to you. And seeing him with Anna made you question whether you were just imagining things.

“Drink up,” Scott said, sliding a glass toward you, pulling you from your thoughts. The amber liquid sloshed temptingly, and you accepted it with a nod, trying to drown out the prickle of jealousy that kept creeping up.

“Trying to get me drunk, Summers?” you asked, forcing a chuckle as you took a sip.

Scott shrugged, his smirk not quite hiding his concern. “Nah, just thought you could use a drink. You look like you need to unwind.”

You rolled your eyes but took another sip, the warmth of the alcohol spreading through you. It wasn’t the solution, but it helped take the edge off, making the banter around you a bit more bearable.

Jean and Scott’s teasing conversations about pool and dance began to distract you, and for a while, the tension faded into the background. You laughed along, the room’s light-hearted energy briefly lifting your spirits. But each time you glanced over at Remy and Anna, the pang of jealousy returned.

Jean, sensing something amiss, leaned over. “What’s up with you tonight?”

You shrugged, trying to play it off. “Nothing, just having an off day.”

Jean’s gaze remained steady, clearly not buying your act. “You sure? Because it looks like you’ve got something on your mind.”

You forced a smile, attempting to sound casual. “Really, it’s nothing important.”

Jean’s eyes flicked to where Remy and Anna were now swaying gently to the music. “I think it might be something worth talking about. Maybe even something Jean’s picked up on.”

The way Jean said it made you choke on your drink, the liquid going down the wrong pipe. You coughed, sputtering as the room fell silent, everyone’s eyes on you. Remy’s expression shifted from amused to worried as he stepped away from Anna, his gaze fixed on you.

“Everything alright, cher?” he asked, his voice carrying that thick Cajun accent laced with concern.

Jean shot you a knowing look before turning back to Remy. “She’s fine,” Jean said smoothly, though her eyes hinted at deeper understanding. “Just had a little misunderstanding.”

Remy’s eyes remained on you, his concern evident. “Misunderstanding, huh? Didn’t sound like nothin’ too small.”

You could feel the weight of the room’s attention, the pressure of the conversation you weren’t ready to have. “Remy, it’s really nothing,” you insisted, though your voice was rough from the coughing. “Just… drop it, okay?”

His eyes locked onto yours, searching for something. “Alright,” he said quietly, though the worry didn’t completely fade.

The room’s energy slowly returned to its previous state as people resumed their conversations, but you could still feel the curious glances. Jean stayed by your side, her expression softening. “We’ll talk later,” she said, her voice low. “Just think about what I said.”

You nodded, unable to muster the words. As Jean walked away, you glanced back at Remy. He was still watching you, his gaze intense and filled with unspoken emotion.

The night wore on, and the alcohol-induced haze began to clear. You decided it was time to call it a night. Standing up, you stretched and announced, “Alright, folks, I’m heading to bed.”

Remy immediately looked up from his conversation with Scott. “Need a hand gettin’ back?” he asked, his tone casual but with a hint of earnestness.

You hesitated, glancing at Anna, who was engaged with a couple of other teammates. She didn’t seem to mind, and walking back alone didn’t seem too daunting. Still, Remy’s insistence made you hesitate. “I’m fine, really. You should stay with Anna.”

Remy shook his head, his eyes fixed on you. “Nah, I’d rather walk you back. Anna’s got plenty of company tonight, and I’d prefer to make sure you get there in one piece.”

You could see that he wasn’t going to let this go, and part of you was too tired to argue. “Alright, fine,” you relented. “But only if you promise not to make it awkward.”

Remy’s grin returned, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Awkward? Me? Never,” he said. “Let’s get you to bed.”

You grabbed your jacket and headed for the door, Remy falling into step beside you. The cool night air was a welcome change from the warmth of the common room, and the walk was a refreshing contrast.

“So,” Remy began, breaking the silence, “did Jean finally get you to admit somethin’ you’ve been keepin’ secret?”

You shot him a sideways glance, a smirk tugging at your lips despite yourself. “Oh, so now you’re the one interrogating me?”

“Just curious,” Remy said, his tone playful. “You know how much I love a good mystery.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Jean’s just… observant. Maybe a little too perceptive.”

Remy raised an eyebrow, his eyes twinkling with curiosity. “Personal stuff, huh? Sounds like somethin’ worth talkin’ about.”

You sighed, the weight of the conversation pressing down on you. “Maybe. But not tonight. Tonight’s supposed to be about relaxing.”

Remy’s tone softened. “Fair enough. But just know if you ever wanna talk, I’m here.”

The sincerity in his voice made your heart ache. “Thanks, Remy.”

You reached your door, turning to face him with a grateful smile. “Thanks for walking me.”

Remy’s grin widened, the usual spark back in his eyes. “Anytime, cher. You know where to find me if you need anything else.”

 Jean’s words echoed in your mind as you stood by the door, watching Remy’s retreating figure. The mix of emotions that had been brewing all evening suddenly felt too intense to ignore. With a deep breath, you called out to him.

“Remy, wait up!”

He paused and turned, his eyebrows raised in curiosity. “You need somethin’?”

You swallowed, your heart pounding as you grappled with how to begin. “Actually, there’s something I need to talk to you about. I’m not sure how it’s gonna go, but—” You hesitated, struggling to find the right words. “But it’s important.”

Remy’s expression shifted to one of concern and attentiveness. He took a step back towards you, his hands casually tucked into his pockets, but his eyes fixed on you with a mix of curiosity and patience. “Alright,” he said, his Cajun accent thickening with his focus. “I’m all ears. What’s on your mind?”

You took a deep breath, trying to steady the nerves that were threatening to overwhelm you. “It’s…about us. About what’s been going on.”

Remy’s eyes softened slightly, a faint smile playing at his lips. “Us, huh? You’ve been workin’ up the courage to talk about this for a while, haven’t ya?”

You nodded, feeling the weight of the moment press heavily on your shoulders. “Yeah, I guess I have. I’ve been trying to ignore it, but… Jean pointed it out earlier. Seeing you with Anna tonight made me realize how much I need to be honest with you.”

He tilted his head slightly, a hint of concern still present in his gaze. “Honest about what, exactly?”

You took another breath, the cool night air helping to clear your mind. “There’s just something, Something more than just friendly flirting. And seeing you with Anna tonight made me confront that.”

Remy’s eyes widened a bit, surprise evident in his expression. He took a step closer, his voice softening as he spoke. “So, you’re sayin’ you’ve got feelings for me?”

You nodded again, the admission both freeing and terrifying. “Yeah. I’ve been trying to figure it out, but I can’t deny it anymore. I care about you, like a lot. Probably more than I should considering you’re a pain in my ass.”

Remy’s gaze softened, and he took a moment to process your words. The usual playfulness in his demeanour was replaced by a more serious, contemplative look. “I didn’t realize you felt that way. I mean, I always knew we had somethin’ special, but I didn’t know it was more than that for you.”

You felt a pang of anxiety at his response, worried that you might have misread the situation. “I know it might be a lot to take in, and I understand if you don’t feel the same way. I just needed to be honest with you. You know, get it out there to kinda get over it as Hank would say to me”.

Remy’s lips curved into a small, genuine smile. He took another step closer, his hand gently resting on your arm. “Cher, I’m glad you told me. I’ve been feelin’ somethin’ too, but I didn’t know how to put it into words. I’ve been worried about makin’ things awkward between us.”

You felt a mix of relief and hope as you looked into his eyes. “So…what now?”

Remy’s smile grew, and he gave your arm a reassuring squeeze. “Well, we take it one step at a time.”

You nodded, feeling a warmth spread through you. “That sounds…really good.” As you stood in the threshold, gazing into Remy's intense eyes, you felt a flutter in your stomach. The evening's events had taken an exciting turn, one you had secretly hoped for but never truly expected. Remy's admission that he knew about your feelings and his willingness to explore them together left you lightheaded with joy. You took a deep breath, feeling a mixture of nerves and excitement. “So, um, if you’re up for it, you can come into my room. I’ve got some coffee if you want. Or, you know, just to hang out.”

Remy raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at his lips. “Coffee, huh? Is that what we’re goin’ with?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, a light blush creeping up your cheeks. “Well, it’s not coffee. It’s more about… well, spending some time together.” You stuttered.

Remy’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “Ah, I see. So, you’re sayin’ you’ve got somethin’ else in mind?”

You rolled your eyes playfully, trying to keep your composure. “Maybe. Or maybe I just want some company.”

“Company, huh?” Remy chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest. “Well, if that’s the case, I suppose I could be persuaded to join you.”

He took a step closer, his gaze never leaving yours, and you could feel the playful energy between you. “You know, you’re really enjoyin’ makin’ me blush, aren’t you?” you said, trying to match his teasing tone.

Remy grinned, clearly enjoying the effect he had on you. “Oh, absolutely. It’s one of my favorite pastimes. But I gotta admit, seein’ you blush like that is kinda endearing.”

You couldn’t help but smile, feeling a warm flutter in your chest. “Well, I’m glad I could provide some entertainment.”

With a mock sigh of resignation, Remy gave you a small nod. “Alright, I’ll take you up on that offer. Lead the way.”

You stepped aside, motioning for him to enter. Remy walked in, his confident stride filling you with a sense of awe. The room's cozy atmosphere seemed to intensify the connection between you, as if the space itself was holding its breath in anticipation.

He closed the door behind him, the soft click echoing through the quiet room. Remy's eyes never left yours as he advanced, his tall frame filling the space with a subtle dominance that sent shivers down your spine. You could see the desire burning in his eyes, mirroring your own longing.

"I've wanted to do this for so long," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "To be with you like this... it's all I've been able to think about lately." As Remy uttered those fateful words, your heart felt ready to burst from your chest. The intensity in his gaze sent shivers down your spine, and you couldn't help but feel the heat of embarrassment rise to your cheeks. You had dreamed of moments like this—of being so close to Remy, with no barriers between you.

His hands, strong and steady, framed your face with an almost reverent touch. You felt the warmth of his breath on your lips moments before he captured them in a searing kiss. The taste of him ignited a fire within you, and you kissed him back with all the passion you had been longing to express. His tongue danced with yours, and the scent of him—a heady mix of musk and some mysterious spice—filled your senses.

Lost in the fervour of the moment, you let your hands roam freely over his back, feeling the hard planes of his muscles beneath your palms. Remy's hands moved from your face to your neck, his fingers gently tracing the delicate skin there, sending shivers down your spine. You could feel his heart pounding in sync with yours, the connection between you growing deeper with every passing second.

The passion igniting between you was palpable, and Remy's accent, thick with desire, only added fuel to the fire. His words, rough and honest, sent a thrill through your entire being.

"I’ve wanted you for so long” he murmured against your lips. "Being with you like this, it's all I’ve bee’ thinkin’ about.”

You felt the heat of fire in your core, and your own desire only grew stronger. Remy's kisses were addictive, and you found yourself unable to get enough of his taste, his touch. The yearning you had carried for so long finally had an outlet, and the release was exhilarating. The passion burning between you and Remy was electric, a force that seemed to pulse and throb in the confined space of your bedroom. His words, rough and honest, echoed in your mind, sending shiver down your spine.

As his hands trailed down your body, you felt a delightful shiver run up your spine. The gentle pressure of his palms against your shirt was almost too much to bear. Remy's fingers were like magic, making their way to the bottom and slowly pulling it over your head. You eagerly helped him, your own breaths coming in short gasps as you anticipated the feel of his hands on your bare skin.

Finally, it lay on the floor by your feet and you felt the cool air caress your chest, swallowed deep, feeling exposed and incredibly aroused as his lust-filled eyes drank in the sight of your bra and the swelling of your breasts.

"You're so stunning, chérie," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

You blushed at his sincere compliment, your heart fluttering with joy. Eager to return the favour, you set about removing his shirt, revelling in the sight of his well-sculpted torso. The fabric slipped off his broad shoulders, and you ran your hands across his warm, bare chest, feeling the strength and power that resided within him.

Remy's deep gaze never left yours, and the intensity of his eyes seemed to pull you closer. The room grew hotter, the air thick with desire as you both craved more. You could see the fire in his eyes, the raw lust that mirrored your own desires. As Remy's hands glided over your skin, sending delightful shivers through you, you realized that this moment was more than you had ever dared to dream. The yearning you felt was not one-sided; Remy wanted you just as desperately. The knowledge empowered you, fuelling the flames of desire that raged within you.

Lost in the intensity of his gaze, you took a step closer, bridging the small gap between you. His eyes, deep pools of desire, held yours captive as his hands continued their enchanting exploration. You felt his touches like gentle flames on your skin, each caress a delightful sensation that left you breathless.

Remy's skilled fingers trailed down your neck, and you felt a delicious tingle where his palms brushed against you. The tension was almost palpable, heavy in the air between you. You could see the desire reflected in his eyes, the wanton lust that you also felt.

"I've wanted this for so long. Being able to touch you like this, have you all to myself... it's a dream come true. Let me show you how much I've longed for you, chérie," he murmured, his voice like warm honey in your ears.

You felt yourself blushing, your heart fluttering with joy and desire. The passion burning between you a force that drew you to the edge of reason. You craved his touch, his kisses, and the way he made you feel.

With a surge of desire, you invited Remy to close the distance between you. His eyes gleamed with an intoxicating blend of lust and unbridled promise, igniting a fire within you. Lost in the captivating aura, you both descended into a world of sensual discovery, engaging in a tantalizing dance of seduction that left you breathless and yearning for more.

Remy's hands seemed to have a mind of their own, caressing your curves with a reverent touch. Each stroke elicited gasps and moans you didn't know you were capable of producing, as if he had unlocked a new realm of sensation within you. He kissed you with a ravenous passion, his lips and tongue working in perfect harmony to set your senses ablaze.

A wild, primal storm brewed within you, building in intensity with every caress, every brush of his skin against yours. The cyclone of desire threatened to sweep you off your feet, the anticipation and need coursing through your veins. Your body hummed with electric tension, craving the connection, the fusion of your beings.

Remy's skilled hands explored every inch of you, meticulously mapping the contours of your form. He seemed to possess an intimate knowledge of your most sensitive spots, eliciting gasps and shivers as he teased and caressed. The way he touched you, with a reverence and intensity that bordered on worship, ignited a fire in the pit of your stomach, the embers of your desire flaring to life.

You were captivated by the fervour in his eyes, the hunger that mirrored your own. The world around you faded into insignificance as you both became lost in a sensual embrace, your bodies and souls intertwined in a dance of unbridled passion. The connection between you was palpable, a force that threatened to consume you both in the most delicious of ways.

With each caress, each searing kiss, the storm within you grew stronger, churning and building until you felt like you might shatter from the sheer intensity of your desire. Remy's touch was like an elixir, intoxicating and addictive, leaving you craving more with every passing moment.

As Remy's lips trailed down your neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake, you felt your senses spiralling out of control. The world around you became a blur of colour and sound, and all that existed was the magnetic pull between you and Remy. His hands continued to explore your body, each touch sending a jolt of electricity straight to your core. He gently reached around your back, easily unclipping the clip of your bra, sliding it down your arms before throwing it.

As he leaned in to capture your lips once more, you revelled in the feeling of his bare chest pressed against yours. The heat of his skin seared your own, and you could feel the rapid beat of his heart matching your own. The connection between you was undeniable, a tangible force that seemed to pull you closer together with each passing moment.

Remy's hands moved to your jeans, deftly undoing the button and sliding the zipper down. His touch was confident and sure, igniting a fire within you that threatened to consume you both. As he slipped his hand beneath the fabric, you gasped at the feel of his fingers against your most sensitive spots. A small smirk crossed his face as he pressed his forehead against yours, his fingers gently brushing against the same spot, clearly enjoying the reaction.

“Does something feel good?” He asks you, a small smirk crossing his face.

You nod and he moves his hand away, leaving you breathless and feeling empty. He quickly spun you around and brought your bare back to his chest, his lips trailed up your shoulder, your collarbone before whispering in your ear. “Does something feel good?” He repeats, sending chills up your spine.

You nod as he reaches his hand inside your open jeans and into your underwear, you can feel his erection pressing into your lower back as you lean your head back into his chest, your eyes closed. He begins to explore gently, his fingers tracing patterns and circles, causing you to gasp and squirm against him. His other hand snakes around to the front of your jeans, undoing the zipper the rest of the way before being placed on your bare stomach, almost as if he was holding you in place. You can feel his warm touch through the thin fabric of your underwear, and you find yourself pressing back into him, wanting more.

His lips continue to caress your ear and neck, sending shivers down your spine. "You're so beautiful," he murmurs, his voice low and husky. You can't help but let out a soft moan in response, causing him to increase the pace of his fingers ever so slightly.

As he continues to touch you, you can feel the tension building inside of you, your breath coming in short gasps. His free hand moves up to your breast, cupping it gently and teasing your nipple. You let out a cry of pleasure, your body trembling against his.

He continues to explore, his fingers deft and confident as they bring you closer and closer to the edge. You can feel yourself getting lost in the moment, your mind blanking out as pleasure takes over. Just as you're about to reach your peak, he pulls away, leaving you breathless and wanting.

He turns you around to face him, his eyes dark with desire. "Not yet," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "I want to savour every moment with you." He pulls your head back slightly leaning in to kiss you deeply, his tongue exploring your mouth as his hands continue to roam over your body, both hands kneading your breasts gently.

He breaks the kiss, leaving you both breathless. His hands are still on your body, one back in your underwear and the other on your breast, gently caressing and exploring. He looks into your eyes, searching for any sign of discomfort or hesitation, but all he sees is desire and longing.

He begins to move his fingers again, slowly at first, then building up to a steady rhythm that makes you moan softly. His other hand continues to tease your nipple, sending waves of pleasure through your body. You can feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, your breath coming in short gasps.

He notices your reaction and increases his pace, his fingers moving faster and more urgently. You can feel yourself getting lost in the moment, your body trembling with pleasure. Just as you're about to reach your peak, he pulls away again, leaving you breathless and wanting.

"I said not yet," he whispers in your ear, his breath hot against your skin. "I want to make this last as long as possible." He trails kisses down your neck and shoulder, his hands still exploring your body.

You can feel yourself getting more and more desperate for release, your body aching with need. But he takes his time, teasing and tantalizing you until you're begging for more. His fingers gently enter you as his thumb continues to rub you, his lips continuing to trail up your neck, leaving your body extra sensitive.

Finally, he gives in to your pleas, his fingers moving faster and more urgently than before. You can feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, your breath coming in short gasps. And just as you're about to reach your peak, he presses his lips to yours, swallowing your cry of pleasure as you come undone in his arms.

You can feel yourself floating back down to earth, your body trembling with pleasure. He holds you close, his arms wrapped around you as you catch your breath. “Good girl,” He whispers, turning you around and peppering your lips with his own. You continue to undo his pants, sliding them down his legs along with his briefs, freeing his erection. He's fully hard now, and you can't help but stare for a moment, taking in the sight of him. You lick your lips in anticipation before looking back up at him.

He's watching you with a hungry look in his eyes, his breath coming in short gasps. You can tell he's trying to hold back, wanting to let you take the lead.

You wrap your hand around his length, feeling the heat radiating from him. You give him a wicked grin before leaning in to take him into your mouth.

He lets out a low groan as you begin to move, your mouth and hand working in tandem to bring him pleasure. You can feel him getting harder and harder, his hips bucking slightly as you take him deeper.

You continue to work him, your tongue swirling around his tip and your hand stroking his base. He's panting now, his fingers tangled in your hair as he tries to hold back.

"You feel so good," he murmurs, his voice low and husky. "I'm not going to last much longer."

You don't respond, instead doubling down on your efforts, your mouth and hand moving faster and more urgently. You can feel him getting closer and closer to the edge, his breath coming in short gasps.

Finally, he can't hold back any longer, his whole body tensing up as he comes undone in your mouth. You swallow him down, your hand still stroking his base as he comes down from his high.

He collapses back onto the bed, panting and sweaty. You give him a satisfied grin before climbing up and sitting on his waist, his slightly soft member pressing into your jeans

"That was amazing," he murmurs, looking up at the ceiling.

"Good boy,” You retort, using his earlier praise, causing him to let out a laugh. He looks at you for a moment, his eyes taking in your heavy breath, the way your breasts move with your rising and falling chest, the way you’re licking him off your lips; and in a lifetime down the track when he’s asked when he knew he was in love with you, he would think of this very moment. He reaches out to brush a stray hair out of your face, his fingers lingering on your cheek for a moment. You lean into his touch, your eyes fluttering closed.

"I can't believe how lucky I am to have you," he says, his voice low and sincere.

You open your eyes to look at him, your gaze soft. "You are pretty lucky,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

He leans in to kiss you, his lips meeting yours in a slow, gentle kiss. You can feel the love and affection between you, a tangible force that seems to pull you closer together with each passing

Remy quickly flips you over, a mischievous glint in his eye as he begins to kiss down your body, paying extra attention to your nipples.

You let out a moan as his teeth skimmed the sensitive areas.

"You're looking awfully dressed right now," He mentions as his hands slowly pull down your pants and underwear, leaving you completely exposed.

He puts your legs over your shoulders as he bites his bottom lip. He reaches over and grabs a pillow, placing it under you so your lower half is at face level. You're on your elbows, watching him. He looks back at you, telling you to relax and you fall back down as gentle kisses and bites litter your inner thighs before his tongue enters your core.

You can feel yourself getting lost in the moment as he begins to explore you with his tongue. His movements are slow and deliberate, each one sending waves of pleasure through your body. You can feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, your breath coming in short gasps.

He continues to tease and tantalize you, his tongue moving in slow circles and patterns that leave you begging for more. You can feel yourself getting more and more desperate for release, your body aching with need.

But he takes his time, savouring every moment with you. He explores every inch of you, his tongue tracing patterns and circles that leave you trembling with pleasure.

Finally, you can't take it any longer. You cry out, your body trembling as you come undone in his arms. He holds you close, his tongue still moving as you ride out the waves of pleasure.

When it's over, he pulls back, looking up at you with a satisfied grin. "You taste amazing," he says, his voice low and husky.

You can't help but smile back at him, your body still trembling with aftershocks of pleasure. "You're not so bad yourself," you reply, your voice just as husky.

He leans in to kiss you, his tongue exploring your mouth as his hands roam over your body. You can feel yourself getting lost in him once again, your bodies and souls intertwined in a dance of passion and desire. He hovers over you, the tip waiting at your entrance, he’s waiting for a sign to tell him that it's okay. He’s watching you closely as he slowly enters you, your nails scratching down his shoulders in pleasure as he sits fully inside you. You hear Remy swear in French as he rests his forehead on your shoulder. He moves and looks at you, he kisses you as you bring your hips to meet his.

As the pace quickens, he grabs your hands, pinning them above your head, kissing you deeply, a loud moan echoing through the room. The two of you move together, your bodies in sync as he thrusts into you. Each movement sends waves of pleasure through your body, your breath coming in short gasps as you meet his hips with your own.

He continues to kiss you, his lips hot and hungry as they explore your mouth. His hands are still holding yours above your head, keeping you pinned in place as he takes control.

You can feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, your body trembling with pleasure. He seems to sense this, his movements suddenly stopping. He gently kisses you, “Not right now,”. He lifts you off the bed with ease, sitting you up on top of him as you hold on to him with your hands, your legs wrapped around him. You start gently moving, his forehead pressed against yours, he captures your lips once again as you both start to move in sync.   As you begin to move together, you can feel the connection between you growing stronger. His hands are on your hips, guiding you as you rock back and forth. You can feel him deep inside you, each movement sending waves of pleasure through your body.

He breaks the kiss, his forehead resting against yours as he looks into your eyes. You can see the love and desire in his gaze, and it takes your breath away.

You continue to move together, your bodies in sync as you explore each other. You can feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, your breath coming in short gasps. After catching your breath, you begin to move together again, your bodies in sync as you explore each other. This time, the pace is slower, more deliberate. You can feel every inch of him inside you, each movement sending waves of pleasure through your body.

He continues to kiss you, his lips hot and hungry as they explore your mouth. His hands are on your hips, guiding you as you rock back and forth. You can feel the strength in his grip, the way he holds you close as if he never wants to let you go.

You break the kiss, your forehead resting against his as you look into his eyes. You can see the love and desire in his gaze, and it takes your breath away. You can see the way his eyes darken with pleasure, the way his lips part as he gasps for breath.

"You feel amazing," he murmurs, his voice low and husky.

"Uh huh,” Was all that was able to come out of your mouth as he continuously hit that spot.

You continue to move together, your bodies in sync as you explore each other. You can feel the way your bodies fit together, the way he fills you up completely. It's a feeling of completeness, of wholeness, that you've never experienced before.

As you move together, you can feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge. But this time, you're not in a rush to get there. Instead, you savour every moment, every sensation. You explore every inch of him, your hands roaming over his chest and back as you kiss and touch each other.

You can feel the way his muscles tense and release beneath your fingertips, the way his breath catches in his throat as you hit just the right spot. You can feel the way he responds to your touch, the way he moans and gasps in pleasure.

He continues to kiss you, his lips hot and hungry as they explore your mouth. His tongue traces patterns on your lips, your tongue, your teeth. You can feel the way he tastes, the way he smells, and it's intoxicating.

As the pleasure builds, you can feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge. You can feel the tension building in your body, the way your muscles tighten and release. You can feel the way your breath comes in short gasps, the way your heart races in your chest.

But you're not afraid. Instead, you embrace the pleasure, the sensation, the feeling of being completely and utterly consumed by him. You can feel the way he responds to you, the way he moves with you, and it's like nothing you've ever experienced before.

Finally, you can't take it any longer. You cry out, your body trembling as you come undone in his arms. He follows shortly after, his whole body tensing up as he reaches his peak.

You collapse on top of him, panting and sweaty. He wraps his arms around you, holding you close as you both catch your breath.

"That was incredible," you murmur, your head resting on his shoulder, the weight of your body sinking into his like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

"Yep," he replies, his voice just as husky, the rough edge of it softened by the contentment lacing through each word. He lets out small breaths, still trying to regain his composure, the steady rise and fall of his chest a comforting rhythm beneath you.

For a while, you just lie there, lost in each other, your bodies and souls intertwined in a dance that feels like it could go on forever. It’s not just about the physical connection, though that was… well, incredible. It’s the way he holds you, like you’re something precious, the way his touch speaks volumes more than words ever could.

But eventually, the world starts to seep back in, the heady fog of intimacy lifting just enough for reality to take hold. Remy’s hand comes up to brush a stray hair from your face, his touch tender, his eyes soft and gentle as they meet yours.

“Coffee? Really?” His lips twitch into a teasing grin, his voice laced with amusement.

You blush, trying to hide your face in his shoulder, but he’s having none of it. “It worked, okay?” you mumble, feeling a bit silly now that the moment’s passed.

He chuckles, a low, warm sound that vibrates through his chest and straight into you. “It definitely worked,” he admits, the teasing glint in his eyes making your heart flutter.

You push at his chest playfully, trying to deflect the embarrassment, but he catches your hand, pressing it to his lips in a gesture so tender it takes your breath away all over again.

"Y'know, cher," he murmurs against your skin, his voice dropping into that deep, velvety tone that always sends a thrill down your spine, "you got a way of surprising me. And I ain’t easy to surprise."

You open your mouth to reply, maybe something witty or sarcastic, but he doesn’t give you the chance. He leans in, capturing your lips in a kiss that’s all-consuming, leaving you breathless and dizzy and so completely wrapped up in him that the rest of the world might as well not exist.

When he pulls back, you’re left blinking up at him, dazed and maybe a little in awe of just how easily he can turn your world upside down.

“Sleep, chérie,” he whispers, his accent thick and honeyed, the words like a warm blanket wrapping around you. Before you can protest, he’s pulling one of the loose blankets up over both of you, tucking it around your bodies as he shifts you closer, his arm a strong, comforting weight around your waist.

“Remy…” you start, but he just presses another kiss to your forehead, effectively shutting you up.

“Sleep,” he repeats, and this time, you give in, letting the warmth of his body and the steady beat of his heart lull you into a peaceful slumber.

As your eyes drift closed, the last thing you feel is his hand, still tracing those lazy circles on your back, grounding you in the certainty that whatever happens next, you’re not facing it alone. Not anymore.

[littlebirddraws]

I haven't seen the movie yet, but from the clips that I've come across so far, Channing Tatum did SO GOOD!

He reminded me why Gambit has been my favourite X-man since I was 10.

Anyway, here's some Gambit fanart I did of one of my favourite lines from Deadpool and Wolverine.

[remysrogue]

hang on are we gonna get to see rogue and gambit as heralds together???? x

[cera-writes]

I'll be posting again on the 11th. I'll actually be in New Orleans next week and we're staying at the Hotel Villa Convento. Thinking of taking more Gambit requests from now until then! ♥️

[queers-gambit]

Peaky Blinders masterlist

requesting rules and masterlist

requests are CLOSED where to watch: BBC • Netflix

coming home

dialogue prompt #91: "you have to talk to me - i can't read your mind!"

word count: 2k+

🎭 drama ❤️‍🩹 hurt and comfort 🙊 general language and content warning

read here

If Speaking is Silver, Then Listening is Gold

you require a bit of reprieve after the week you had, and Tommy's a gentleman.

hard of hearing reader

word count: 4.4k+

💔 mild angst ❤️‍🩹 hurt and comfort 🙊 general language and content warning 🥊 depiction of physical violence and / or aggression

read here

Aces

during a terrible storm, you're invited to stay at your boss' house. years of tip-toeing around one another comes to an end when emotions are finally laid on the table.

word count: 3.5k+

🙊 general language warning 🛏 kinda one bed 🧸 fluff fluff fluff 🥰 romance

read here

requesting rules and masterlist

[quillsmora]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: X-Men (Comicverse), Marvel (Comics) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Remy LeBeau/Rogue Characters: Rogue (X-Men), Remy LeBeau Additional Tags: From The Ashes (X-Men) Era, Mild Smut, Post-Coital, Pillow Talk, or in this case couch talk, Domestic Fluff, Drabble, i just really love these two okay, Established Relationship Summary:

“Chére…that was…”

“Amazin’?” Her hand snakes its way into his auburn hair, carding her manicured fingers through the slightly damp locks.

“I was gonna say real fuckin’ good.”

“That works too.”

or: a moment before it all goes to hell (again).

[demitrius-kahnum]

Welcome To The Mindspace: 

All different types of fanfictions are welcome here!

Hello random users of Tumblr that don't really, if at all, know me! My name is Demitrius Kahnum and I'm FINALLY writing fics! These are prompts that I have that have been just ideas/thoughts in my head but have never been brought to writing fruition.

 Now please be gentle with me because even though I LOVE reading and writing I've never truly written things either for people to read in the sense of fics or books, but i do have a way with words and a bad habbit of writing too much due to just ‘cuz reasons. So! Please enjoy, have fun, and if you have requests please leave them down in the comments and I will get to them when I can- DO NOT SPAM ME OR MAKE DEMANDS. 

I won't answer to spam, demands, or annoyances that I haven't updated or done something specific that you want. 

Previous prompts:



 Warcraft One-shots and fuller length fanfiction (Durotan x reader x Draka, Draka x Durotan, Draka x reader, Durotan x reader, Durotan x Khagdar x Draka, various Warcraft bashing, etc)



other orc fanfiction (smut, oc x oc)



Avatar Recoms fics/one-shots (all of them tbh except for that one random one I don't like)

New Prompts:



Remy LeBeau/Gambit (Channing Tatum he did SO DAMN GOOD LEMME TELL YOU!) x Reader (and possibly the 97ver b/c let's be honest that man is FOINE!)



The Rookie x Detroit Become Human (Nolan x Markus) (extremely random I know, but idc)

Maybe some Bridgerton one-shots too?

Oh! And also some one-shots for the k-drama Eve: Because FUCK that ending and screw the creators nor giving me what I want! So I'll do it myself! La-El and Yoon-kyum desrve to be together DAMMIT!

[awkward-walking-potato]

Can I request headcanons for Remy, Logan, Wade, and Kurt would think about his gender neutral s/o asking him if they can hold his hand or arm if they're scared before watching a scary Halloween movie please?

Headcanons: Remy, Logan, Wade, and Kurt on their Gender-Neutral S/O Asking to Hold Their Hand/Arm Before a Scary Halloween Movie

Remy LeBeau (Gambit)

Playful Teasing: The second you ask Remy if you can hold his hand or arm, a sly grin spreads across his face. He loves that you're trusting him to comfort you, but he's gotta tease you a little first.

“Oh, chère, scared already? We ain’t even hit play yet,” he’d say with a chuckle, winking at you.

He’d definitely let you hold onto him, though, lacing his fingers with yours without hesitation. He might even wrap an arm around you, pulling you closer for extra security.

Protective Instincts: The idea that you're scared and coming to him for comfort sparks his protective side. He likes being someone you feel safe with.

During the movie, he’d periodically check on you with little side glances, making sure you're doing okay. If he feels you tense up during a particularly scary scene, he’d squeeze your hand reassuringly.

Subtle Bravery Boosts: Remy would quietly hype you up, whispering things like, “Ain’t nothin’ in the movie scarier than me, cher. You’re safe.”

And when you do grip his arm during a jump scare, he’ll smirk and say, “Got ya, didn’t it? Don’t worry, Gambit’s right here.”

Logan (Wolverine)

Soft Under the Rough Exterior: When you ask Logan if you can hold his hand or arm, he’ll grumble something like, “You don’t need to be scared of some movie.” But despite his gruff tone, he’ll offer his hand immediately, maybe even gently wrapping your hand in his big one.

He likes being your safe place, even if he’d never admit it.

Subtle Comfort: Logan’s not one for big shows of affection, but his way of comforting you would be to quietly let you hold onto him however you need.

If you’re holding his arm and you grip it a little tighter when things get intense, he won’t say anything—he might just move his arm closer, making it easier for you to lean on him.

Reassurance Through Actions: When the movie gets particularly scary, Logan might just nonchalantly place a hand on your shoulder or pull you closer without a word. He’s not big on verbal reassurance, but his actions speak volumes.

“Ain’t nothin’ in this movie that could stand up to me, so you’re safe,” he’d mutter at some point, just to remind you that, in real life, he’s scarier than any movie monster.

Wade Wilson (Deadpool)

Dramatic Acceptance: The moment you ask Wade if you can hold his hand or arm, he gasps dramatically. “Oh my God, yes! I thought you’d never ask!” He’s over-the-top with his excitement and will immediately hold out both arms, offering you the choice.

“Do you want this hand or this arm? Maybe both? Do you want to hold my entire body for comfort? I mean, I get it.”

Constant Commentary: While you're watching the movie, Wade will crack jokes about the scary parts to make you feel less afraid. He’ll probably act like he's also scared (even if he's not) just to bond with you over it.

“Oh no, babe! We’re in this together now! We’ll survive the haunted house, or at least... I'll be the bait.”

Affectionate Distraction: Whenever you flinch or squeeze his hand during a jump scare, Wade will use it as an excuse to get extra cuddly. He’d likely say, “See, this is why you date a man who can regenerate. I’ll just grow new limbs if the monsters get me first.”

He’ll hold your hand the whole time, though, genuinely loving that you trust him enough to reach out for comfort.

Kurt Wagner (Nightcrawler)

Gentle and Reassuring: The moment you ask Kurt if you can hold his hand or arm, he’d smile warmly and take your hand immediately. There’s no teasing or hesitation—he’s more than happy to be your source of comfort.

“Of course, mein Schatz,” he’d say, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. He’s touched that you’d come to him when you're feeling scared.

Comforting Presence: Kurt would naturally move a little closer to you, maybe even drape his tail around your shoulders as a form of comfort. He’s so gentle and understanding that his presence alone would make you feel safer.

Throughout the movie, he’d whisper soft reassurances in German or English, saying things like, “It’s just a movie, love. You’re safe with me.”

Affectionate Gestures: When you grip his hand tightly during the jump scares, he’d blush a little but wouldn’t pull away. He’d lean in slightly, offering you his arm to cling to as well.

“I’m right here, always,” he’d murmur if you got especially tense, his thumb rubbing gentle circles on the back of your hand to soothe you

[1989stanz]

Michael X Cassie

The Naturals

Ok. Hear. Me. Out. It's been a couple months since I last posted something here (I'm writing something, but it's still not finished because procrastination and school). However, today I was looking through my drafts and I found something interesting. I wrote it when I was reading The Naturals and I was still team Micheal (crucify me if you want to, but he's hot 🤷‍♀️). I'm not even team Micheal anymore because ✨DEAN ✨, but I thought it would be funny to share what I wrote back then.

It's like a remake of the scene in the forest in book two. When I read this scene, I thought "What if Michael was the one who found her? How would that go?" And I built this remake based on these questions.

ANYWAY, LET'S QUIT ALL THIS TED TALK AND ACTUALLY SHOW YOU WHAT I WANT TO.

(have fun‼️💪)

Word count: who cares?

(English is not my first language, so I apologize if there are mistakes here and there.)

Briggs helped me to my feet. “My team’s on their way in,” he said. “We left straight from the house, so we had a head start.” We?

“Cassie.” I knew who it was before I saw him. The boy who asked me to guess how he liked his eggs cooked when I first met him. The one who read others emotions like a book, but preferred to hide his. The guy that didn't like to want things, but made it clear that he wanted me and only me.

Michael.

Sometimes it was impossible to know how he was feeling just by glancing at his face, but his voice already told me everything thing I needed to know—every single emotion he was feeling. Worry. Shock. Relief. Hope.

The fact that he didn't use my nickname didn't go unnoticed. His face was pure relief and, when he settled his eyes on me, his eyes twisted in a way that told me he didn't expect to find me in this condition.

The narrowing in his eyebrows told me something more, another feeling, hiding in the mix of emotions he was feeling. Anger. I guessed that if Webber wasn't already dead, Michael would strangle him with his bare hands in a couple of minutes.

“Holy shit. I thought he would kill you.” Michael ran towards me, squeezing my whole body in a bone crushing hug that took all the breath in my lungs away. I tapped him in the arm and his arms began to loosen up a bit, but I still couldn't breathe right.

“I thought too, but Briggs came in time.” I looked at his face, grabbing it with both of my hands. My fingers started tracing the corners of his face, my mind now hungry for something familiar. Something real. Someone to trust.

His hands were by his side, but I judged by the way his eyes were moving that he was tracing every part of my face too, trying to see how bad my injuries were. I saw the way his eyes softened when he was analyzing them, but there was a subtle change when his eyes were looking at the rest of my face.

A feeling that sometimes I caught in his face when he wasn't hiding it.

It was love, affection. And still a bit of concern.

“Where are the others?” my voice came harsh, my thumb whipped the tear that fell down his right eye. His eyes were full of tears that were begging to emerge, to be dropped.

“They are at the house. And by the way it was Sloane's idea to activate the tracker. Everyone wanted to come, even Dean tried to sneak into Briggs' car, but Judd was glued on him. I just simply followed Briggs with my car.” he swallowed dryly, “I just had to came here, to look at you. You don't understand, Cassie.”

And that look was on his face again. I never noticed before, but Dean looks at me like he's just staring at something trivial like an object—something he wanted to ignore but couldn't. Badly. But Michael was eyeing me like I had the universe in my hands. And I couldn't stop thinking that I couldn't deny anymore how I had the sensation that my heart was about to explode when he was nearby. How, when everytime I tried to deny it, it became harder and harder with time to hide it.

Not that I was really putting effort, since he would know any affection that I might have for him with one look at my face.

He said that he would give me time, that he would be patient while I was trying to figure out how I felt about him and Dean. But I was done trying. I knew the answer, and he had waited for a long time to know about it.

“What happened?” Michael asked, his arms still wrapped around me and holding my body like I was about to vanish into thin air if he let me go. I didn't protest. His eyes were still on my injuries, so that would explain how he didn't see the new rush of certainty that crossed my face.

“I hit him in the head with a rock. Then, I jumped off a tree on him.” His eyes followed mine up to the tree I climbed, and his lips twitched in a smile well known.

“I should have expected.” his face turned to mine again, this time there was a glow in his eyes. “The asshole deserved the hell you mad him go through.”

He was smiling at me, and it was just then that I noticed how my hands were shaking from what happened.

The gun to my hand. Webber's voice saying how he killed his victims. Agent Sterling's last words to me before I left the cabin. It was all in my head, screaming.

And of course, Michael noticed the look in my face. “Hey, it's ok. We're ok. He's dead right now and won't ever hurt you again.” He used one of his hands that were planted in my waist to move away one of my hands from his face, cupping my face with one hand and pulling me closer with his other.

“I'm fine,” I told him uselessly.

“You're not, but I don't expect you to be. You can be fine later.” His words made me calmer, almost silencing the noise in my head. Almost. I knew a way to keep them away.

Wasting no more time, I pulled him by the hair, the space between us closing, and he kissed me desperately. Then, I realized he wasn't joking when he thought I was about to die, because he was kissing me like I came back from the death.

The hand on my waist was drawing small circles and the one on my face was holding my chin. Holding me gently and kissing me like it was my last kiss. My hands were initially on his neck, and when they moved to his hair I pictured him in every single situation with me.

At the restaurant. Picking me up in my house with his Porch. Him pissing Dean off. The look on his face when he asked me if I'd kiss him if Lia dared me to do it. Him actually kissing me after that. How he followed me without hesitation, knowing that a killer was after me. Saying that he would be patient and wait for me, but once his lips were on mine, my hands buried in his hair—all I would think about would be him.

And oh God, he was right. So fucking right.

My knees were almost giving up, his hands the only thing keeping me in place. He only stopped when my lips were sore, my tongue numb, and glanced at me, taking deep breaths. Analyzing my face, his hair a mess. Whatever he found, he just smilled at me. My lips tried to mimic his gesture, but it was still weird to smile. And I wondered for how long it would stay this way, for how long Webber's actions would haunt me. How many night of sleep I would waste pacing, thinking and wondering. How it would feel strange having to act normal after what just happened. Would I ever be able to forget him?

No. I'd have to forget Locke first, what's impossible. They'd always be in my mind, some days taking control of it, some days just in the corner of my brain waiting to haunt me again.

“I think we should come back to the cabin.” I said, and Michael followed me without any questions, holding my hand. He must have read the expression in my face and knew that now I needed answers to keep me distracted from what happened in the trees. I couldn't allow myself to feel scared right now, but I knew who I could go to if I needed support.

I could go to the boy that learned how to read emotions to save himself. To the one that wasn't open with others, but it was different with me. The one that casually said he likes Jane Austen.

Michael.

[littlemissmentallyunstable]

there’s been lots of requests and comments so here it is PART 3!!! (SHE’S HERE first anon, hope you survived this long second anon and it was not a dream third anon, I’m posting/making it now fourth and fifth anon)

some of you were going feral for part 2 so I hope this lives up the expectation 😭😭 if not I’m severely sorry

title: the dancer and the angel part 3

pairing: grayson hawthorne x reader

synopsis: grayson has just admitted to kissing lyra kane, the girl you’d been worried about, the girl that was stunning, the girl he said didn’t matter… he chose her over you so now what??

parts: part 1 part 2 part 4 part 5

warnings: swearing, SPOILERS FOR TGG

a/n: okay so I hate switching POVs but I felt it was necessary here and I know the start is the same as the part 2 but in Gray’s POV but trust me there is lot more

tag list: @tornqdowarnings @whatsamongus @wish-i-were-heather @inmyheaddd @never-enough-novels @sweetlikeanangel @midiosaamor @sweetreveriee @emelia07 @f4iry-bell @zaraaaabear @thoughtdaughter3 @benny1989fredd @elysianwayy77 @maybxlle @sheisntyou @anintellectualintellectual @aleatorio1234 @adalia-jaycee @off-to-the-r4ces @lyra-kane @reminiscentreader @lyrakanefanatic @imaseabear @elizaa31

GRAYSON’S POV

Guilt has chewed me up and spat me out the whole walk back to our shared room. There’s a pulsating lump in my throat that aches relentlessly, reminding me of what I’ve done. I am a terrible person. I never deserved her and now I’ve done the worst thing I could’ve possibly done, that anyone on this whole planet could’ve ever done. And she will never forgive me for it. I wish there was a way to turn back time and alter certain events. As soon as the time machine is invented, no doubt by my very own brother Xander, I’m coming back to moments before now to stop my idiot brain from-

I can’t even think it. Maybe it’s because it makes it more real. It’s like the last few moments of my life have been erased from my brain, it’s a blank canvas and I have no paints. I know what I did but I can’t remember exact details. Still, I can taste her on my lips, an over sweet taste that was almost too sickly has now morphed into something bitter. Her perfume lingers on my clothes and adds to my ever growing headache. I don’t want to smell her, I don’t want the reminder of the awful human I have become. The monster that now inhabits my body, lives in my skin, breathes my air and poisons the people I love. The ones I truly love.

Y/n. At one point she was the only reason I was still existing, still carrying on. She somehow managed to give me the fight to keep carrying on. I got up most days because I knew I would get to see her face. And now I’m going to throw everything away, our whole relationship. Everything we’ve been through or planned to go through together. It will reduced to nothing in a few minutes.

I’m outside the door, my feet have carried me here through muscle memory. I must go in, I must face her I’m aware but I’m afraid. I’ve never felt so pathetic. I wonder if she is still asleep. Though, I can’t work out whether I’d rather she be awake or asleep. I don’t think I could bear to look at her angelic feature either way. Those wide eyes, round lips, heavenly- I can’t bear it, I’m going to lose her, all of her.

I fiddle around with the key, hoping the door will just never unlock so I don’t have to face this. The mechanism clicks, mocking me. I step in silently and face the door to lock back up again. I don’t understand why, I know I’ll be kicked out in a matter of seconds, what good will a locked door be? And yet I’m still facing the door, fumbling with the key, my back towards her. Though I can hear her getting out of bed. She’s awake. My body’s immediate response is to go into a state of paralysis. I can’t move as the guilt ridden cement hardens over my body, creating an outer shell of the cruel creature I’ve become. Her body is behind mine. I can feel her bright presence radiating her usual tentative nature.

“Are you okay?” I hear her whisper as she touches my arm so gently it stings.

It stings so sharply because I know what I’ve done. The shameful crime I’ve committed. I jerk away suddenly.

“Are you hurt?” she asks, deep concern in her tone.

It kills me. It’s a poisoned dagger wedged deep within my heart, hitting every vital artery. Her voice is so soft, so melodic. She cares so much, too much and I’m about to destroy it all. And as much as I could not say a word I couldn’t live a lie, the guilt would eat me alive. How could I look her in the eye and tell her she’d always been the only one when I know she hadn’t? She’d already noticed earlier today my distant mood. She had always been observant, vigilant about those things concerning me and I’d always been grateful. I wouldn’t have that anymore. Lyra had been on my mind earlier and I couldn’t tell her. Now she would realise.

“No,” I reply.

My voice is unfamiliar to myself, it’s sharp and blunt. It sounds horribly harsh. I could feel it hurt her, the air ripples with a touch of dimness when I hurt her. Even with my back to her it’s obvious to me. I know her so well, too well and from this day on we might drift to perfect strangers. That thought hurts me more than anything.

“Where have you been?” she says. Her voice so sweet, so innocent, cruelly naïve.

I don’t want to break her, I don’t want to do it. It would be like smashing a glass ballerina. Something so beautiful, something so delicate should be preserved not purposely broken. I force my eyes to meet hers. I immediately regret it. The soft mellow colour all melts into one, clawing at my heartstrings and ripping the organ to shreds. She’s so beautiful. How had I ever looked at any other? How had I let myself?

Suddenly I’m drowning in guilt. I don’t know how, it just comes over me suddenly. Like a tidal wave I had my back to. I’ve been swept under by an endless ocean of shame. My lungs swollen full of my own black sin. I don’t know how but I manage to choke out two shaky words.

“I’m sorry.”

My voice cracks. My voice never cracks. She knows that. I’m sturdy, I’m strong, I’m the rock that never breaks and here I am. Here I am crumbling into dust. She’s too smart to miss the signs, she’s too clever not to immediately know something so horribly wrong, her mind is too sharp not to have worked half of it out. She’d already been suspicious of Lyra. She’d already seen what might happen between us even before I did, before it did actually happen.

“Gray?” she asks, my name sounding too sweet on her tongue. The next time she says it will taste bitter, I’m sure of it. She barely whispers the word but I hear her, it rings in my mind. It forever will.

I’m full of pure regret and guilt, it wracks my soul, shaking me relentlessly back and forth until I’m dizzy with it. Remorse’s doors suddenly burst wide open, ready for my grand entrance. My hopes and dreams snicker and smirk smugly as I walk down the runway, my head hanging in embarrassment.

I need to tell her. My heart races in my chest and there’s a lump stuck in my throat, so large it’s started to block my airways. I don’t know how to get the words out, I don’t know how to talk. I feel like I’m suffering some sort of aneurysm. She looks at me, her eyebrows pinched in and eyes narrowed and then I see it. Her eyebrows part and slowly sink. She knows already.

“Tell me,” she murmurs, her voice of an angel shaking.

I close my eyes, trying to suppress the tears. I haven’t cried in years I’ve forgotten this feeling, this heavy weighted agony that ripples through me causing water to infiltrate my eyes. I bite the inside of my cheek and still my shaking hands.

“I’m sorry,” I tell her, an uninvited raw desperation ripping through my voice, “I never wanted to hurt you, I never meant for it to happen, I-“

“Tell me,” she grits through her teeth sharply, her eyes glitter so beautifully fierce and fiery, like she wants to kill.

But I know she’s trying to steady her rising sadness by covering up with her fury. I can see through her, like she can see through me. I freeze and the pause elongates. The aching silence is deadly, it’s fatal. I wish she didn’t have to make me say it.

“I kissed her,” I murmur, the words making me feel sick as I say them.

“Who?” she asks, he tone low and ferocious, “who did you kiss? I want to hear you say it.”

I’m twisting a knife into her heart and I know it. But she wants me to cut deeper. She’s a woman of principle, I’ve already hurt her, I might as well do the job properly in her eyes. And I can’t deny her this. Not I’ve stripped her of her dignity, her trust, her love, her everything.

“I kissed Lyra,” I whisper, suddenly aware of the dampness on my cheeks.

A sour taste fills my mouth. The words send lightning sparks across my jaw, sending ribbons of agony down the sides of my face. The truth hurts. Literally. Tears are rolling the side of my face, but I don’t bring my hand to wipe them and nor do I stop them. I’ve never felt more broken.

But she doesn’t care, there is not pity in her eyes. Good. I don’t want he to pity me. She should hate me. She should want me to miserable and hope for me to have a lifetime of the torture I’ve just forced her to endure.

“Get out,” she murmurs, the anger bringing out her natural stunning features. A flicker of boldness in her eyes, the striking angles of her eyebrows, her strong thick lashes and her full lips.

“I’m sorry.” they’re the only words I remember how to say, through my internal fit of torment.

I expect her to hit me around the face, a good strong punch I know she can make or a sharp smack that’ll leave a red hand mark pressed against my cheek. I imagine she might scream at me and ask me all the questions I wish I had answers to. But she does none of that. She only looks at me darkly and utters two last words.

“Leave Grayson.”

I can hear the tears she’s trying to hold back, through the numb façade. I know her better than she’ll ever realise. But it’s not fair for me to stay, not after this. She’s only asking one thing of me when she should be doing so much more. So I do. I turn my back on her again. And I leave.

***

Tears pummel down my cheeks like never before. I can’t remember the last time I cried. I don’t think I’ve ever cried like this. I’m blinded by them as I stumble sideways. I don’t know where I’m going. I stand on the edge of the cliff and sink to my knees, letting out a loud guttural scream. I’m there until my throat is so raw I can’t feel it. I bite my lip so hard it draws blood. And then I’m up again and running, following a path my footsteps are dragging me towards. I can’t think straight, I’m dizzy with pain. Before I know it I’m outside the safe house on the island. My hands tremor on the handle and I swing open the door, falling to the floor for my sobs to take me over. My chest aches and burns and tightens. That’s when I realise I can’t breathe properly. I fumble around for my phone, a tear splashing into the illuminated screen. With uncontrollably shaking hands, I typed no words. Just three numbers.

911

***

The wait feels like years, maybe even decades. Each second taunts me, with a mocking tick. I’d crumbled into the corner of the room at some point and stayed there, curled up and choking on my own sorry sobs. What had I done? What had I done? What had I done?

The question circles around my head like the nostalgia of a distorted tune of a merry go round. I’ve never made such a big mistake and my life and deep down there’s a sinking sensation that is telling me I’m not going to be able to make this better. I sob, loud harsh sobs that hurt my lungs and knock the air out of my stomach. My whole being shakes with every strangled noise that escapes my lips. Grieving. I’m grieving over something I chose to throw away. It’s cruelly ironic. But I think part of me is also grieving the good man I once thought myself to be, that she made me believe I could be.

I turned my back on the one and only person in this world who just cared about me, took me for who I am and believed I could do anything. She only wanted the best, she only wanted happiness and she deserved so much more and here I am, stabbing her in the back and dancing in her blood like a madman. She was my everything and I managed to mess it up, just like everything else in my life. I can’t have normal relationships, I can’t do something without messing it up. I’m one big screw up the opposite of how the old man raised me to be. He’s looking down on me now and I can feel his disappointment, like an infection coursing through my bloodstream. I failed him, I failed my brothers, I’ve failed her, I’ve failed myself.

She thought I was better, she believed I could be more than his expectation. And I was stupid enough to believe it, encourage it and let her belive the lie too. We’re all idiots.

I can recite her favourite song, her favourite flower, her favourite food and favourite colour. I can tell you all about her favourite novels and how she orders her books on an endless bookshelf. I know that she tells people her favourite film is ‘it’s a wonderful life’ but it’s actually secretly ‘tangled’. I know she prefers to stay inside and cuddle under blankets rather than have a night out. I know she’d rather reason a thousand books than watch a thousand movies. I know she wanted a library in her dream house and two, maybe three children with her husband and I know she’d sometimes debate about getting a cat as well. I know how she loves brownie batter more than the actual brownies and can’t sleep with any lights on. I know she still uses the bunny rhyme to tie her shoelaces and how she fiddles with her collarbone when she’s nervous. I know exactly what diamond she wanted in her engagement ring and her favourite country. I know what people she despises and I know what people she adores. I know every inch of her face, every hair on her head, every sparkle in her eyes and every cell on her skin.

I know her.

I know her, but that can’t help me now. Pain ripples across the left side of my chest and my hand clamps over it as I grit my teeth to try and bear it. I hear the door creek open and can’t tell whether it comforts me or not.

“Grayson pookie!” Xander calls out, “we’re here.”

His cheerful voice doesn’t provide me with the cushion to this pain I thought it might.

“And we have some in incredibly strong whisky,” Jameson adds, I can here the mischievous grin in his voice, it’s been the same all of his life.

“My nose hairs are officially burnt off,” Xander agrees.

I can’t speak. I try to call out for them but the words die in my swollen throat.

“Where are you Gray?” Nash calls out, he sounds a little more worried than the other two but is concealing it well.

“Here,” my voice is hoarse and laboured, even I can’t recognise it.

The mood immediately shifts, you can feel it. The air becomes tainted with concern as their footsteps approach my cowering figure. The case of whiskey is dropped as there is an audible thunk as it hits the floor. I can feel their bodies enveloping around mine creating something of a circle of safety. I look up to worried face and shiny eyes.

“Help me,” I gasp for air, greedily trying to gulp down the oxygen that I feel so deprived of, “please.”

“We’re here to help you Gray,” Nash murmurs softly. His voice had always been something comforting, especially when I was younger. I wonder if he will be so kind when I tell him what I’ve done. He’s going to hate me, there’s nothing he despises more than a man who can’t respect a woman.

I shake my head and choke out another struggling sob, instead of the words I don’t know how to say. Jameson’s eyes flit between mine and Nash’s, the concern rippling across his features. He’s never looked this concerned for me in his life. I think to all the times as children I’d helped him settle after a nightmare and wiped his tears that he hated falling when the old man had humiliated him. Oh how the tables had turned. Now it was my little brother wiping my tears.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, his touch so gentle it shocks me.

“I can’t-“ I barely get out, wrapping my hands around my neck.

“Gray…” he trails off, unmasked emotion hitting his face like a train.

“I can’t breathe,” I wheeze as the invisible blanket that was set out to suffocate me tightens over my nose and mouth.

“Hey, Gray, look at me,” Nash says, his voice smooth and reassuring, “in and out okay, in and out.”

“I can’t,” I pant, my limbs shaking embarrassingly uncontrollably.

Xander takes both of my hands into his and squeezes them until they still, “yes you can, follow Nash’s instructions okay?”

“Slowly, do it with me,” Nash nods, “in through your nose and out through your mouth.”

I do. In and out, a rhythmic pattern. Each time Nash reminds me how to breathe. There’s an aura of calmness about his voice that lulls my panic into a narcoleptic sleep. Once my breathing is halfway regulated I look at him, dead in the eye, with shaking sorrowful lips.

“I fucked up,” I sob, “I fucked up and I don’t know what to do.”

They all share a look, this is the worst state they’ve seen me and we all know it. I begin to pathetically sob uncontrollably once again, the feelings building up in my chest and tearing me apart from the inside out. It’s like a rabid pack of wolves had been set loose to feed on my internal organs. I don’t know how to stop the ocean of tears, I don’t know how to shut my mind off, I don’t know how to help myself. Reel myself in from this abominable mess I’ve become. I’m hyperventilating, my chest throbbing up and down unevenly. Nash nods towards Jameson, a short, soft, sharp nod of approval.

“Hey! Calm down!” Jameson snaps, giving me a hard slap around the face, “snap out of this!”

The shock shuts me up and the sting stops my tears. I’m back to reality instead of a wallowing mess. Nash must’ve been approving the slap I realise in the sudden cleared head I’d obtained

“Sorry,” Jameson mumbles at me, looking a little guilty.

I massage my jaw, “no I think I needed that.”

He grimaces and then softens his tone, “what happened Gray?”

I tense, growing very still, “I can’t say it out loud, I can’t, I’m awful, I’m horrible-“

“What happened?” Nash drawls.

I choke out yet another unnatural sound. Seems the slap didn’t snap me hard enough into reality. I exhale slowly. I have to say it, now or never.

“I kissed Lyra.”

The words hurt even more this time, that they did when I’d admitted it to y/n. Neither one of my brothers can mask their honest reaction.

“Oh fuck,” Jameson blurts out, “you cheated?”

Anger. He’s fuming with me. I can see the rage trailing through his eyes and blossoming into his expression.

“I didn’t mean to,” I reply, feeling like a small child.

Jameson’s eyes widen and fury flashes across his face, “how can you not mean-“

Nash shoots him a look and his mouth glues shut. Then he turns to me and I can’t quite read him yet. I gulp.

“No one does that kind of thing for no reason,” he says sternly, “I never thought you’d be the one of the four of us to ever do that, seems I was mistaken little brother.”

Disappointment. He’s disappointed. A horrible sinking feeling settles in my stomach. Nash is disappointed in me. It’s one of the worst feelings imaginable. There had only been few times in my life when he had been and I remember the feeling all too well. Shame has me in a chokehold an it’s succeeding in strangling me. I can‘t bring myself to meet his eyes, I don’t want to see that look I can feel is on his face, that look of pure disapproval.

“How did she find out?” Xander asks quietly.

Shock. He hadn’t said anything until now, but his lips had been slightly parted and he’d paled a little. He never thought I’d do this to anyone, he’s yet another person I’ve let down.

“I told her,” I murmur, “the guilt was consuming me.”

“As it should,” Jameson snaps, twitching with a fiery ferocity.

“Jamie,” Nash says, trying to keep some kind of diplomacy.

“No,” he growls, “you don’t do that to a girl, your girl, you can’t do that!”

“Don’t take the moral highground now,” I spit.

“When you’ve cheated on your girlfirend? Yeah I think I will,” he replies, the bitterness rolling off of his tongue like a deadly poison. He doesn’t know I’ve already poisoned myself with my own actions, his words can’t hurt me.

“I didn’t mean to,” I falter.

“Bullshit,” he grits through his teeth, in two definitive and threatening symbols.

“Careful Jamie,” Nash warns.

“All this is your fault anyway,” I continue, ignoring the warning.

“So it’s my fault, you kissed another girl, yeah, okay Gray,” he nods his head with a sarcastic smile.

“It is!” I exclaim, throwing my hands in the air, “if you hadn’t locked me in a room with her-“

“So it’s my fault you couldn’t keep up dick under control,” he quips, interrupting me.

“You could’ve locked me with my one of my sisters but of course you just had choose the only girl who isn’t related to me,” I seethe.

“Odette isnt related to you,” Xander pipes up. I’d forgotten he was there, that anyone besides me and Jameson were there.

“Odette is old enough to be my grandmother,” I scowl at him, immediately feeling bad as the words leave my lips, but don’t dwell on it as I turn back to Jameson, “why did you make me a player in your sick excuse of a game?”

“You can’t use the game as an excuse,” he laughs darkly.

“I will,” I reply sharply, “this is your fault and Avery’s fault too.”

“Avery? Don’t make me laugh,” he rolls his eyes.

“The game never should’ve been created by her,” I yell, “that’s why I’m in this mess!”

“No, you’re in this mess because of you,” he shouts back, “but don’t you dare bring Avery in to this it’s not her fault.”

I feel like I’m one of those circus acts, the ones that lay on a spinning board and get knives hurled at them. Only in my case the knives are the truth and they actually hit me.

“Why did you make me a player?” I ask quieter now, my voice hoarse, “why?”

“I didn’t know making you a player would result in this,” he says.

“It was so irreverent,” I snap becoming angrier by the second, a sudden burst of red overriding any rational sense in my head, “I never needed to play.”

“You can’t pin this on me Gray, if it didn’t happen with Lyra, who knows who else it would’ve happened with,” he hisses.

“So you think I’m just like this? You think this is me?” I ask him, prodding the hollow space where my heart used to be.

“I didn’t before….” he trails off, sighing, “but now I don’t know what the fucking think of you.”

“Jamie,” Nash repeats again, in the same warning tone as before. We both ignore him.

“Just because you and Avery are all peaches and roses-“

“Leave Avery out of your anger issues,” he roars defensively.

“No,” I counter, raising an eyebrow, mirroring his usual argument demeanour, “you think you’re so perfect now you’ve got your dream girl and the two of you are so much better off than the rest of us, because your love is undeniable or whatever bullshit people feed you about it-“

Jameson’s features twitch for a split second. He’s hurt, but won’t show it. He’ll refuse but I know that it hit a nerve that won’t heal for a long time. I stop mid-sentence.

“I am far from perfect, I think we both know that,” he says, in a low voice, “look you’re hurting, I get it, but I’m not going to mollycoddle you and tell you it’s okay when it’s not. I’m not going to stand here and lie to your face because as your brother that would be the worst possible thing for me to do to you.”

“My brother would try and understand what it’s like from my side,” I say, desperation clawing at my voice.

“You’re looking for a fight Grayson and it’s not going to end well, not with me,” he warns, shaking his head.

“Maybe I do want a fight, but you know you do too,” I growl rolling up my sleeves, “so fine, I’ll give you a fight Jamie.”

“I don’t want a fight, I want some justice for y/n,” he states simply, “she did nothing to deserve that Gray, she’s been so good to you, the sweetest soul on this earth and she’s helped you through a lot of shit and this is how you’re repaying her?”

“Jameson,” Nash says.

He ignores him for the third time and I can see his calm facade beginning to drop, “you think because you called a 911 and you’re here crying that I should feel sorry for you?”

“I thought you were going to be here for me,” I reply numbly, my tone dead, “clearly I’m mistaken.”

“I can’t be there for someone with no morals,” he replies, “you cheated and you’re the one who’s upset about it, how do you think she feels?”

“You think I don’t know her?” I fire back, my throat burning, “you think I don’t know exactly what she’s doing right now? I hate myself, I hate myself for doing what I did!”

“Good you should!” he screams back.

Before I know it I feel myself charges towards him, ready to throw a good punch but Nash and Xander launch onto me to quickly and managing to hold me back. Nash’s grip is so tight I don’t dare try and budge.

“Out. Now.” Nash says sharply to Jameson, “go and cool off.”

His tone sends a shiver down my spine that I won’t admit to. Jameson opens his mouth to argue.

“Jameson.”

He skulks away, with a sullen face. We all wait frozen until the door has been slammed shut. Nash lets my arm go, dropping it harshly and Xander follows suit.

“And you’re no better,” he turns to me, placing his cowboy hat on a nearby surface, “I’m only sending him away because you can’t be left alone in this mess and so the two of you don’t rip each other to pieces.”

Silence stills the room. His voice echoes but makes no sound all at the same time.

“Take a second, take a breath and we’re going to talk this through like adults,” he says, “if you want to carry on being a child then leave. Calm down, you’re not a toddler having a tantrum, you’re a grown man, act like it.”

Nash has a way of snapping me back to reality. I nod shakily.

“Talk.”

I begin, “I don’t even know why I kissed her, I didn’t mean to it just-“

“Happened?” he guesses, “no little brother, that doesn’t just happen.”

“The I don’t know Nash,” I say, tipping my head back and resting it on the wall behind me.

I hadn’t meant for it to happen. I didn’t want it to happen. It just did. She was there, just stood there. Her hands looped naturally around the back of my neck, warm and gentle, “someone sent me that ticket Grayson. I thought it was Avery but if it wasn’t…”

She trails off, her voice small and tentative. Her golden eyes filled with the utmost worry. I wanted her to know she’d be okay, that she’d have someone to keep her safe. Her arms get more comfortable around my neck. She’d felt it too, the electrifying spark between us. It was exhilarating but something about it was off, synthetic.

“Then who the hell was it?” I questioned, my hands magnetised to her cheek all of a sudden.

Lyra didn’t pull away and neither did I. I lower my head and she raised onto her toes and titled hers back a little. She was graceful, like a dancer. My lips brushed over hers. They were sweet like honey. For the first few moments it was bliss and the realisation hit, like a stone to my stomach. I jerked backwards suddenly, shaking my head.

“I can’t do this,” I said, my fingers trying to wipe her taste off of my lips, “I don’t- this isn’t-“

I was tongue-tied, not able to explain to her how wrong it was. The words wouldn’t work the way I wanted them to.

“Gray?” Lyra murmurs, a tender voice. Her amber eyes are widened and slightly confused.

“No,” I yell. She flinches and another wave of horribly strong emotion rushes over me, drowning me. “No I’m in love with someone else. I don’t know what that was. I can’t-“

I stumbled backward a few steps and the turned around and ran. Like the coward that I am.

“It did just happen,” I murmur, lifting my head from the wall to look my older brother in eye, “I swear to god, I didn’t intend for it to happen, I didn’t even know I had feelings for her.”

I can see he disagrees still and isn’t convinced. I don’t know how to prove it to him.

“Let’s establish one thing here, who do you like?” Xander asks me.

“I like Lyra,” I say slowly, “but I love y/n.”

Nash shakes his head, “if you loved her you wouldn’t have done that.”

“I made a mistake,” I press on.

“And you will pay for it and regret it for the rest of your life,” he shrugs, “it’s not what you wanted to hear but it’s the truth. Listen, I love Libby and loving someone means so many things. One of those things is that I don’t even look at other women, to me they don’t even really exist. Libby is my world and no one else even comes into the equation, so the fact is someone else came into the equation for you, meaning the love wasn’t there.”

“But it was, I felt it,” I say, my voice breaking as I press my chest.

“What do you feel for Lyra?” he asks plainly.

“I don’t know, she’s intriguing and smart and beautiful,” I murmur, “and I like her, but I don’t know if I have romantic feelings for her.”

“Then why did you kiss her?”

“Comfort? Lust? Greed? Selfishness? I don’t know it just happened,” I repeat for what feels like the hundredth time.

“Stop using that phrase as a get out clause,” Nash shakes his head, “you have to admit to yourself more than anyone that this didn’t just happen.”

“I leaned in and I put my lips of hers, and I didn’t stop it, it didn’t feel wrong straight away,” I admit out loud finally.

“It didn’t?” Xander says, looking wounded.

“No, it didn’t feel wrong until I realised what I’d done,” I say, looking down, suddenly finding my shoelaces to be the most interesting thing in the world.

No one replies for a long while. That’s when I realise how exhausted I truly am and how much I crave sleep.

“I vouched for you,” Xander says quietly, “I told her that you’d never do that, that you weren’t that guy.”

“I’m not,” I say, in denial at first. I take a moment to analyse his sentence and then come to a sickening realisation, “oh my god I am…”

“She was already anxious about where your loyalties were Gray,” he winces.

“I proved her right, I proved every worry she had right, I just proved to her that she shouldn’t have trusted me,” I spiral, hating that I hadn’t seen it sooner.

Xander looks to Nash for support for a reply.

“Yeah,” Nash sighs, “you did.”

“I need to fix this, there has to be a way-“

“Grayson,” the acuteness of his voice cuts through my sentence like a machete.

I freeze and clamp my mouth firmly shut.

“This isn’t a broken vase, you can’t glue it back together or buy a new one,” he tells me softly.

He was referring to a time where Jameson and I had been seven and eights years old. We’d been brawling of course, Hawthorne style and accidentally smashed a vase. Usually it wouldn’t matter, there were vases all over Hawthorne House and they were smashed frequently. But this wasn’t just any vase. It was nan’s priceless vase that had belonged to her daughter, our grandmother, Alice. We were never allowed within a five mile radius of it, but like the rebellious children we were, we didn’t listen. Through our fight we’d smashed the whole thing, it was truly destroyed. The two of us stayed up for nights on need gluing together the pieces only to realise it was never going to look like the original again. So we’d hunted to buy another, problem was, this vase was one of a kind. It turned out after four weeks or trying to ship a similar one in that nan had known the whole time. She didn’t speak to either of us for a good few months.

“This is real life, she is a real person and you hurt her,” he explains, “fixing this isn’t an option. There isn’t a way to fix it, there are no pieces to our back together, okay?”

I’m silent but it’s the loudest voice in the room. My face pinches together in agony. For the first time, a little of the disappointment fades and my brother’s face softens. He wraps a strong arm around me and I flop into him like a lifeless bag of nothingness. I bury my head into his shoulder and try to cry but there seems to be no tears left. He understands and holds me for a moment. Suddenly I’m six years old again and crying in Nash’s in my arms over Jameson hiding my favourite teddy bear at the time, then I’m eleven in his arms with pneumonia after being stupid enough to get caught in the rapids un the dead of winter wanting a good photograph of a rare fish, then I’m seventeen, crying over a redheaded girl who I thought I’d managed to murder. And now here I am, at twenty-two years old in his grasp once again, having made the greatest mistake of my life.

Suddenly I feel another set of arms wrap around the both of us.

“Group hug!” a familiar voice sings.

Leave it to Xander to make me crack a half smile in the darkest moments I’ve ever experienced. After a while I pull away and sigh.

“Do you think she’ll ever forgive me?” I ask, pulling away.

“Honestly?” Xander asks.

I nod

“No,” he says. I wish I could see that little glimmer of a lie in his eyes, but I can’t. And it kills me.

“Think about it like this,” he sighs, “would you forgive Eve for what she did?”

“This is not the same thing,” I reply coldly.

“Eve cheated your trust, she betrayed you,” he explains gently, “that’s exactly how she feels.”

Dread fills my every pore as I murmur lifelessly, “I’m as bad as Eve.”

“No wait,” he says, looking guilty and panicked all at the same time, “that’s not what I meant!”

“I know,” I reassure him so some of his guilt subsides, “but it’s true and now I’ve just realised.”

“Look Gray, you aren’t Eve. You’re never going to be Eve, but think of how you felt then. That’s how y/n feels,” Nash soothes, “she’s not going to just forgive you, that’s not how it works.”

“You just broke her heart Gray,” Xander adds, careful to keep his tone as light as a feather, “for a girl you just met.”

“Why am I horrible person? Why do I always find a way to mess to something good?” I groan, smacking my head on the wall behind me. There’s an audible thump as pain spreads through the back of my skull. I wonder if I can concuss myself to forget all of this, but I don’t attempt the idea.

“You don’t-“

“No I do,” I say firmly, cutting him off, “I’m not meant for love, to love or to be loved, I’m not built for it. I’m not a good enough person for it. I’m never going to find my Libby or my Max or my Avery.“

“Grayson-“ Nash begins.

“Emily knew it and now so does y/n,” I snap.

My brothers still at her name, not moving a muscle. I never bring up Emily.

“Listen to me,” Nash says sharply, getting my attention, “you are meant to be loved. You are meant to love. I love you, Xander loves you, Jameson loves you and y/n loved you too…”

The change of tense makes my soul ache.

“…but this time around, you made a mistake, a costly mistake. But that doesn’t mean you don’t deserve love.”

I nod numbly, robotically.

“What can I do to make it up to her?” I ask, my voice beginning to tremble, “to show her I’m sorry? Something there has to be something.”

Nash gives me a grim look and Xander’s face remains blank, they’re the only answers I need. My head sinks into my hands. The door reopens and I look back up. Jameson has returned.

He meets my eyes, “Avery’s with her.”

Blood surges through my heart and I can almost smile. He checked on her. For me.

“Is she okay?” I ask quickly.

Jameson looks at me and for a split second I almost see the ghost concern is his eyes. He shakes his head softly, “no, but she will be,” he replies, it’s an attempt to comfort me and I am grateful.

“Thank you,” I mumble.

“I’m not apologising for what I said, because I still stand by it and you won’t change my mind,” Jameson says, “but I am sorry for being so angry about it.”

“You were right,” I whisper, “you were right about me. I never deserved her, so was nothing but an angel to me and I just turned around and threw it all away. I abused the luxury I had, I stabbed her in the back and then gifted another with the knife, I’m a horrible person.”

“What you did was wrong, but that’s doesn’t make you a horrible person,” he sighs, “you need time Gray, this is going to take a lot of healing. On both sides.”

“I don’t deserve to heal, I deserve to be in pain,” I murmur, the dullness in my tone echos around the empty walls.

“Oh no, we’re not going back to emo Grayson,” Xander says quickly, shaking his head.

“I agree with Xander on this one,” Nash nods, readjusting his cowboy hat.

“I don’t want to hear you blasting my chemical romance at three a.m and then denying it later again, you came out of that phase we’re not going back there,” Jameson tells me.

I bark out a laugh that thaws my icy chest. I then bite the inside of my cheek.

“I can’t fix this, can I?” I say, looking at the ground,

Nash shakes his head softly.

“But that doesn’t mean you can’t be fixed,” Xander says.

“You’ll get through this Gray,” Jamie agrees, “I know it.”

The room grows still.

“Can we drink that whiskey now?” I ask, to cut through the silence. I feel like getting drunk, I feel like I need some relief.

“Big brother,” Xander nods at Nash handing him the bottle.

“Little brother,” he tips his cowboy hat in reply before taking the bottle into his hands and cracking it open.

“Let me pour these things properly,” Nash grins, “Jamie, come help.”

“Wait me too!” Xander jumps up,

“Stay with Gray,” he shakes his head.

“I don’t need to be babysat,” I grumble, annoyance written all over my face.

“I want to watch them pour whiskey properly,” Xander explains, “so I can impress Max.”

My eyebrows fly to my forehead, “Max drinks?”

“No I want to impress her though,” he grins.

‘You’re an odd human,” I almost laugh, tilting my head to the side.

“Why ta very much!” he says, almost skipping away.

Once I know they’re all gone, I lean back on the wall, my heart feeling a tiny bit less heavy. The pain isn’t gone. I think I’ve just gone numb. I feel hollow, empty, nothingness. Guilt is still gnawing at my insides but slower. A satifying clink against the fragile rim of the glass takes me out of my own head for a split second. There are hushed voices from the kitchen, I notice. I walk over to the door that lay ajar, I lean in to listen.

“We need to tell him,” it sounds like Jameson.

“Not now,” the accent indicates Nash.

“Then when?” Xander’s voice asks, “how long can we prolong it.”

“I can hear you,” I tell them, raising my voice a little.

They turn to face me, awkwardly remaining silent. The expressions on their faces don’t offer me comfort.

“Whatever it is, spit it out,” I say, “it’s not like tonight could get any worse.”

They share a look. Apparently it can. I feel sick to my stomach.

I can barely breathe, “who died?”

“No one has died,” Xander says quickly, “yet.”

“What?” I say, my tone deadly,

Nash glares at him, then turns back to me. There’s sorrow laced delicately, deep within his hazel irises.

“Gray,” he says gently, “Gray we hate to do this but…”

“What? What is it?” I ask urgently.

“Gigi’s missing.”

The words shock me to my core. I feel my throat begin the close up as panic returns with a smirk and triumphant greeting. My whole world has collapsed in less than 24 hours.

***

YOUR POV

I don’t hate him. Call me naive or call me stupid. But I don’t. I don’t think I ever could. The kind of love I have for him is unconditional, irrevocable. Time can’t heal a wound this deep and although it is still fresh now, I can tell. But if he were to say sorry I think I would forgive him every time. And if he asked me back I’d fall into his arms into an instant. And I hate myself for it, it’s stupid and it’s a little cruel. How easily I would take him back after what he did. I know I shouldn’t but something inside of me is drawn to him. Like an invisible magnet has been planted in our hearts. I wish I didn’t love so hard, fall so deeply, maybe I wouldn’t get hurt so badly. But it’s in my nature, it’s who I am. I wonder if he knows how much pain I’m in, the rippling agony that rolls across my chest relentlessly with no hint as to when it will cease. I’m tired of being the second choice but unfortunately I wouldn’t mind being his. And I know it’s completely stupid of me to think that way, completely wrong but love makes you do stupid things so they say. I sit on the beach, by the sea in a state of numbness. Silent tears roll down my tears as the waves lap my feet. Deja vu washes over me and the memories of Grayson and I the night of the game flash through my mind.

I grip his hand and run with him as he guides me the just beyond the shore. He sits down swiftly on the sand and pulls me down to sit between his legs. I lean my back onto his chest and let him nuzzle his face into my collarbone.

“I love you,” he whispers, kissing my neck, “only you.”

Only me, huh? Only me…

The waves crash against the rocks, hurtling a salty spray towards me. I hear footsteps and turn around. Avery stands there, a mournful expression over her delicate face. She knows. I stumble towards her and collapse into her arms in a fit of uncontrollable sobs now and she holds me. Her touch is gentle and warm but it’s nothing compared to his. I realise he might never hold me in his arms again and I cry even harder.

***

I don’t hold Lyra accountable. She is not to blame. Some girls in my position might dream about different ways to brutally murder her but I can only ask what comfort would it bring me? My feelings are already dead, what good is more pain doing?

There was a choice that Grayson Hawthorne was given: his dancer or his angel. He chose his dancer and I hope he’s happy. Because angels have wings and we rise up stronger.

idk guys I think I wrote Grayson’s POV really awfully to be honest… also I feel like the 911 meet up was not like their normal ones where they try and like do something (e.g drink or dare) and then talk about the pain but that’s bc Grayson was in such a mess and then they had to drop the bomb that Gigi was missing. so anywayyyss…

I am sorry this took so long and I hope it lived up to any expectation you wanted it too (sorry if it didn’t) and I hope you enjoyed 🤍🤍 thanks for reading as always

TIG masterlist

[thirtysomethingloser92]

Yooo. Amazing Gambit writing. 💕 Sooooo I was thinking. I’m feral for the new movie Gambit, especially that VOICE, and can’t stop thinking on this.

Soft non-mutant reader who doesn’t deal with violence and blood very well, like sick or panicky because they were so protected growing up, while Remy is trying to protect them during a fight (could be anywhere). Like, bad time bad place thing. But the reader wants to help, by throwing a shoe when they were about to hurt Remy. Chaos ensures when they turn toward the reader.

So as I was writing this, I was thinking "EXCUSE ME THIS IS A GREAT STORY CONCEPT,". Also, Am I able to use this prompt to possibly, maybe add to my 'I need to write this into a multi chap story' Gambit x reader file? But I hope you enjoy :)

The air crackled with tension as the fight erupted around you. It was supposed to be a simple errand, just a quick stop in a small town that had seemed peaceful enough to get a few hours sleep in. But then, as if fate had a cruel sense of humor, things went south, and it went south fast. The sudden ambush, the flash of weapons, and Remy pushing you behind him—everything happened too quickly to process.

You had never been good with violence. The sight of blood made your stomach churn, and the sound of gunfire was enough to send your heart racing in sheer panic. But Remy was so much more different that you, complete polar opposites. He moved through the chaos with a deadly grace, cards charged and ready, every motion calculated and precise. It was like watching a storm unfold, fierce and unstoppable.

You tried to stay out of the way, pressed against a wall, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps. But then you saw it—one of the attackers sneaking up behind Remy, a blade glinting in the dim light. You didn’t think, didn’t hesitate, just acted on pure instinct.

You looked around, hands still pressed against the red brick wall, trying to find something, anything, that would help. You let out a small huff, reaching down and grabbing the closest thing within reach—your dark coloured shoe—and flung it with all your might. It sailed through the air, smacking into the man’s head with a dull thud. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make him stumble, giving Remy just enough time to turn and disarm him with a swift, brutal strike.

But then the man's eyes snapped towards you, fury burning in them as he realized where the attack had come from. You froze, heart hammering in your chest, as he took a menacing step toward you. "Shit," You whispered to yourself.

Remy, still engaged with another opponent, glanced over his shoulder, catching sight of the man advancing on you. "What exactly did you think that would achieve?!" he shouted over the noise, his Cajun accent thick with frustration.

You blinked, caught between terror and a strange sort of defiance. "I don't really think about things before doing them, you know?" you shot back, voice trembling but determined. "It's how I ended up here with you to begin with, remember?"

The irony of your words wasn’t lost on you. You’d never been the type to seek out trouble, to dive headfirst into danger. In fact you, thrived staying away from it. Spending most days either inside or at your job. But meeting Remy had changed everything. He was chaos wrapped in charm, a magnet for the kind of trouble you had always been shielded from. And yet, somehow, you’d found yourself dragged into his world, into the madness that seemed to follow him wherever he went.

It had all started so innocently. You’d met him by chance, a twist of fate that had brought the two of you together. He was on the run, tangled up in something that you didn’t fully understand but couldn’t walk away from. Before you knew it, you were caught up in his orbit, swept along by his easy smile and the thrill of something you’d never felt before—excitement, danger, a sense of purpose.

And now, here you were, in the middle of a fight you had no business being in, your shoe—of all things—your only weapon. The absurdity of it might have made you laugh if you weren’t so scared.

The man lunged toward you, but before he could reach you, Remy was there, faster than you could have imagined. He moved like lightning, his bo staff connecting with the man’s side in a sickening crunch that made you wince. The man crumpled to the ground, and Remy turned to you, his eyes flashing with a mix of relief and exasperation.

"When I said stay behind me, ," he stated, his tone showing his annoyance at you, "It wasn't an optional request chère'".

You nodded, swallowing hard as you clung to the remnants of your composure. This wasn’t your world—this world of violence and bloodshed—but it was his, and as long as you were with him, you’d have to find a way to survive it.

Remy’s order to stay behind him was clear, but the chaos around you made it hard to follow. Every sound seemed amplified—the clash of metal, the shouts of your enemies, the pounding of your own heart in your ears. You stumbled back, trying to keep your distance, but the room felt like it was closing in on you, suffocating you with every breath.

Remy was a blur of motion, a dangerous dance of power and precision. You marveled at how he seemed to anticipate every move, every attack, as if the world around him was moving in slow motion. But despite his skill, you could see the strain in his eyes, the worry that flickered every time he glanced back at you.

You weren’t supposed to be here. You knew that much. But there wasn’t time to think about the ‘what ifs’ or the ‘should haves.’ Right now, the only thing that mattered was getting out of this alive.

Another assailant broke away from the fight, making a beeline for you. You instinctively took a step back, your hands trembling as you searched for something—anything—you could use to defend yourself. But there was nothing. No more shoes to throw, no weapons within reach. Just you and the growing dread in your chest.

Before you could react, the man was on you, his hand grabbing your arm with a painful grip. You let out a small cry, the fear surging up, threatening to overwhelm you. His grip tightened, and you could see the cold, calculating look in his eyes—a predator sizing up his prey.

And then, just as suddenly as it had started, it was over. Remy was there, moving like a shadow. He wrenched the man away from you, his eyes blazing with a fury you had never seen before. "I said stay behind me!" he snapped, his accent thick and his voice laced with an edge of desperation.

You didn’t have time to respond before Remy shoved you back, his attention already turning to the next threat. The man who had grabbed you was on the ground, groaning in pain, but Remy didn’t linger. He was already moving, his staff whirling as he took down the next attacker with a brutal efficiency.

You pressed yourself against the wall, your heart still racing, your body trembling with the adrenaline coursing through you. This was too much. The sights, the sounds, the raw violence of it all—it was overwhelming, like you were drowning in a sea of chaos with no way to escape.

But then you saw it—a flash of movement out of the corner of your eye. One of the attackers, a woman with a cruel sneer and a gun raised, aimed directly at Remy. Your breath caught in your throat, your blood running cold as you realized what was about to happen.

There was no time to think, no time to hesitate. Without a weapon, without a plan, you did the only thing you could think of. You threw yourself at her, arms flailing, a wild, desperate attempt to stop her before she could pull the trigger.

The impact surprised her, but it surprised you even more. The two of you tumbled to the ground, her gun skidding across the floor. She cursed, scrambling to get up, but you were already on her, holding her down with a strength you didn’t know you had.

For a moment, everything was a blur. You didn’t think, didn’t feel—just acted, driven by pure instinct and the overwhelming need to protect Remy. But you weren’t a fighter, and it didn’t take long for her to get the upper hand. She rolled you off her, slamming you against the floor with a force that knocked the breath out of you.

Pain radiated through your body, sharp and overwhelming, but you didn’t let go. You couldn’t. You had to hold on, had to keep fighting, because if you didn’t, if you let her win, she would kill Remy. And that thought was more terrifying than anything else.

But you were no match for her. She was stronger, more experienced, and it wasn’t long before she overpowered you. Her hand closed around your throat, squeezing, cutting off your air. You struggled, panic rising as your vision started to blur, dark spots dancing at the edges.

And then, just when you thought it was over, the pressure was gone. You sucked in a desperate breath, gasping for air, as you saw Remy standing over you, the woman unconscious at his feet. He knelt beside you, his face a mask of concern and something else—something raw and unspoken.

“Chère,” he whispered, his voice tight as he reached out to help you up. “You alright?”

You nodded, even though you weren’t sure if it was true. Your body hurt, your mind was spinning, and you felt like you might be sick. But you were alive, and so was he. That was all that mattered.

He pulled you to your feet, steadying you as you wobbled, your legs weak beneath you. “I told you t’stay back,” he muttered, though there was no anger in his voice now, only worry.

“I—I’m sorry,” you stammered, your voice hoarse and trembling. “I just… I had to do something. I couldn’t just stand there and watch.”

His expression softened, and for a moment, you saw the walls he usually kept up start to crumble. “I know,” he said quietly, his hand still on your arm, grounding you. “But you gotta trust me t’protect you, alright? This ain’t your fight.”

You nodded again, tears stinging your eyes as the reality of the situation finally started to sink in. You weren’t made for this—for the violence, the blood, the fear. You were out of your depth, dragged into a world you didn’t understand and couldn’t handle. But you couldn’t leave him, either. Not when he needed you.

“I’m sorry,” you repeated, feeling the weight of your own inadequacy pressing down on you. “I’m not… I’m not like you, Remy. I can’t do this.”

He shook his head, pulling you into a tight embrace, holding you close against him. “You don’t gotta be like me, chère,” he murmured, his voice soothing. “You just gotta be you. And that’s enough.”

You clung to him, burying your face in his chest as the tears finally started to fall. The fight was over, the danger passed, but the fear and the adrenaline still pulsed through you, leaving you shaky and exhausted.

Remy held you, his presence warm and comforting, a steady anchor in the storm of your emotions. For a long moment, neither of you moved, just stayed there, holding on to each other in the aftermath of the chaos.

Finally, he pulled back, just enough to look at you, his hands gently cupping your face. “We’re gonna get outta here, alright?” he said, his voice firm but gentle. “An’ I’m gonna make sure you’re safe. Always.”

You nodded, swallowing hard as you wiped at your eyes, trying to pull yourself together. “Okay,” you whispered, your voice still shaky but stronger than before. “Okay.”

He smiled, a small, reassuring smile that made your heart ache with a strange mix of relief and something else—something warm and tender that you didn’t quite know how to name.

“Good,” he said simply, “Let’s get moving.”

You followed him, your hand in his, allowing him to pull you into the street, feeling the weight of everything that had just happened. The fight, the fear, the realization that you were in over your head—it all hung heavy in the air. But there was also something else, something that made you feel like maybe, just maybe, you could handle this after all.

[ginger375]

Update

In light of the release of X-Men 97 and the fact that I'm getting a lot of kudos emails lately, I have finally put my X-Men: Evolution stories into a proper series! Which means they can be read in chronological order! Yay!

Romy Evolution (dumb name, sorry about that) is a collection of one-shots I wrote that take place post-series finale that has Gambit joining the X-Men, as per that finale group photo. Because I was/am a long-time Romy shipper, it's mostly about Rogue and Gambit.

I don't know if I will ever go back to the series... maybe if they decide to do with Evo what they've done with TAS... but at least they are in some semblance of order for those that want to enjoy them.

[hearthown]

Jameson - One Hell of A Shot

[requested by @aria-1105] - the ff begins during the time Jamie skipped school to find the next clue in the game (TIG) and before finding the clue on the Winchester rifle (it's kinda like an AU).

The Black Wood.

Jameson inhaled the scent of the forest - the fresh air, the wood, the metal tang of the grass. He knew that he should’ve been searching for clues, clues from the latest game his grandfather had left them.

He didn’t know why he had ended up here, out of all places. Ground targets surrounded him, half of them punched with holes, the other half brand new. He couldn’t remember when he last stood here, rifle in hand. Maybe he didn’t want to remember.

Then, his gaze moved to the many trees that surrounded the clearing. He had always known that trees were a representation of knowledge. Of memories. And it was memories that he was seeing in front of his eyes now.

——————————————————————

[Okay, let’s pretend that TTH taught Grayson and Jameson shooting on Jameson’s 12th birthday, as one of his “schemes” to get them to compete]

Jameson's 12th Birthday

“Alright, boys,” Tobias Hawthorne began. “The first thing you need to know about shooting is that you always treat a rifle as if it is loaded, even if it isn’t.”

Jameson watched as his grandfather started loading his own rifle. It was his 12th birthday and he had expected this. Well, not the fact that he’d have to learn shooting on the morning of his birthday, but the fact that Tobias Hawthorne loved making him and Grayson compete. On one day every year, he and Grayson were the same age, and his grandfather pulled out all the stops. Last year, they had to fight each other using the martial arts skills they had cultivated. Grayson had won. Today, Jameson was determined not to let history repeat itself.

He was determined to WIN. Just like any other Hawthorne, he loved to win. But today, he had to be better. He had to beat Grayson. And he wasn’t going to go down without a fight.

As his grandfather took up position and showed them the different stances that would affect the accuracy of their shots, Jameson had eyes for nothing else in the world. He was always known to have laser focus. Once his attention was latched on to you, it would take a lot for it to be snatched away.

“You lose focus, you lose the game.” His grandfather’s words echoed in his head.

Tobias Hawthorne continued his lesson, now moving on to aiming techniques. “Make sure that you have proper sight alignment. A good shooter must not only have a good arm, but he must also be able to use his eyes.”

Jameson wiped sweat off his brow. If Grayson thought he had a chance of winning today, he was wrong.

BAM! His thoughts were cut off by an ear-splitting sound.

He looked at the target and… BULLSEYE. His grandfather had made the perfect shot. Tobias Hawthorne was as Hawthorne as the rest of them. Jameson might even go on to say that he was THE Hawthorne. Hawthorne values had been made by him. His lessons were ingrained in their minds, his blood their blood. It was no shock that everything he did was perfect.

Before he knew it, his grandfather had walked them through the whole process again, several times, one-on-one. It was time to compete.

Five ground targets were prepared. In order to win, they had to get the most number of bullseyes. As always, their grandfather expected perfection. Nothing less, but there was always room for more.

Grayson was up first. Every inch the heir apparent, he got into his shooting stance, his rifle raised to eye level. His first three targets were all bullseyes. Jameson clenched his hands into fists. On the fourth one, Grayson fumbled, and the shot went a little way off. He watched as Grayson noticed his mistake, as his muscles tensed. He must’ve pulled himself together before shooting the final time because that was a bullseye too.

“Now your turn, Jameson,” his grandfather patted him on the shoulder. Tobias Hawthorne might as well have been asking him to have his turn at the merry-go-round at the funfair. Hawthornes didn’t go to funfairs for leisure or fun. This was fun at Hawthorne House.

Jameson positioned himself in front of the first target and tightened his grip on the rifle. As he brought it up to his gaze, he noticed a word carved on the rifle’s stock. WINCHESTER. His middle name.

Electricity surged in Jameson’s body. This was meant for him, he knew it. He was going to prove to his grandfather that he could do this.

He closed his eyes, all of his five senses somehow sharpened. When he opened them, he fired his first shot.

BAM! Bullseye. Bullseye. Bullseye. Bullseye.

At the final target, he set his jaw. This was it. He lined up his shot one last time and… BULLSEYE.

He had done it. He had won.

He barely had time to process what had just happened when his grandfather appeared behind him and clapped him on the shoulder.

“Very good, Jamie, very good.”

Jameson basked in the praise. Tobias Hawthorne was stingy with his compliments, to say the least. He didn’t exactly give them out like candy.

“I’ve never seen a shot like that before, especially one from a 12-year-old. You’re ahead of your time, Jamie. Keep this up and I’ll see to it that the rifle collection is passed on to you.”

Jameson’s eyes widened. He knew how much that rifle collection meant to his grandfather, how much time his grandfather had spent finding collector pieces all around the world.

“Happy Birthday, Jameson.” Tobias Hawthorne beamed.

Jameson grinned, and then turned back to find Grayson, offering him a rare smile although he knew that deep down, Grayson was disappointed of his loss.

——————————————————————

Present Day

“WINCHESTER.” Jameson repeated to himself. Within the next moment, he sprinted into the House and entered the armory.

He knew exactly where the next clue lied.