#which. hi. i'm cajun.

[tomwambsgans]

greg said actually i wanna take YOU out and I'M gonna pay for it

[tetedurfarm]

rusasi-ma -> tetedurfarm

welcome to the new look; let's get it started with the perfect photo to encapsulate the changes

[poisondionaea-art]

I'm so happy with the 'Deadpool and Wolverine' Gambit

Man you have no idea, I'm Cajun and I've always been irked by the different variations of Gambit because Remy is one of my favorite characters but he's never been proper Cajun. He's always had a stereotypical southern gentleman accent that's not something anyone in Louisiana or New Orleans would have, he says French words in most variations but none of them are words we actually say here.

But this variation of Gambit, oh he is amazing, he has a proper Cajun accent which I was worried about when I saw Channing Tatum but he nailed it, it's spot on sounds like my family members and friends. They forwent his usual French words that no one here says for actual proper Cajun words we commonly use here in Louisiana the whole theater was going nuts. When he said sha (no one uses cher or mon cher / cheri everyone uses "sha" , " oh sha" or "mah sha" ) instead of cher or cheri you had people clapping and laughing with joy , he called someone a couyon (fool/ idiot in French commonly used even with monolingual english speakers here in louisiana) and everyone was loosing their minds.

I live in the part of Louisiana where Cajun accents, dialect and French are most prevalent in the state and everyone was so happy with Gambit. I love how this variation came out , I think Channing did a terrific job and I hope that any other variations of Gambit in the future are more like this one.

[kiwicopia]

🔞 Remy LeBeau/Gambit x Fem!Reader (blurb) 🔞

CW: Remy being soft, spooning, neck kisses, cock warming, hints of sex at the end.

Note: I haven't seen Deadpool & Wolverine yet, but spoilers let me know that Gambit girlies ate well. That being said, I'm basing this around 97's Gambit. Pardon if my French is poorly written.

Rays of sunlight peeked through the curtains of his room, illuminating your sleeping figure beside him. The sheets were draped over your hips, allowing for his fingers to gently dance along your side. Remy wasn’t a pious man, but moments like this seemed like a small slice of heaven for him. Moments that he could selfishly cherish every morning. His body scooted forward a little, the added warmth of his chest against your back causing you to stir slightly. 

“Ma chérie,” he whispered. His lips pressed against your bare shoulder, trailing soft kisses up to the sweet spot behind your ear. He heard you chuckle in response, the sound causing his lips to curl as he pressed another kiss behind your ear. “Didn’t mean to wake you.” 

“It’s fine,” you told him. “I have to get up, anyway.” Your body shifted as you tried to roll over and face him, but he slid an arm around you, keeping your back flush against his chest. “Remy—.” 

“Stay,” he said. His arm tightened around you while he adjusted himself, moving so that your head now rested on his outstretched arm. “Drills can wait, mon amour.” Remy was a stubborn man and lover—something you had learned the more time spent with him—and you knew how much he disliked your morning drills in the Danger Room. They were mornings in which he deemed could be better spent with him instead. 

A small sigh fell from your lips. “Fine, morning drills can wait a bit longer.” He smirked a little before letting a hand drift down your stomach, relishing in the way your thighs parted, as if expecting his touch. Instead, his hand slid under your thigh, fingers curling around the plump flesh before lifting your leg up a little. It was just enough for the head of his cock to push through your folds before letting himself rest in your warm, gummy walls. The feeling of being filled caused your body to squirm a little against him. “What are you doing?” You asked. It was a rhetorical question, really. You already knew what he was planning. 

“Stayin’ warm,” Remy answered. His eyes closed while his lips trailed kisses from the spot behind your ear and down to your bare shoulder. You wanted to roll your eyes, but all you did was moan when his dick twitched, causing your walls to squeeze him just enough to make him groan in satisfaction at the feeling. “Makin’ it difficult to stay warm, chérie.” Remy’s fingers dug into your thigh a little. “We can have a little morning drill of our own, yeah?” 

The suggestion he tossed out was too good to pass up—as if he’d ever let you in the first place—and your head gave a small nod. “Okay,” you agreed. A little workout before morning drills never hurt anyone, right? Your lover smirked against your skin, soon peppering a few more kisses to your shoulder before trailing up to your neck. Unbeknownst to you, however, the Cajun man had no plans on letting you go for drills. Not for a while, anyway. 

[dusterbishop]

have you come here to rescue me (all of this can be broken)

summary. || three timelines, you have watched remy lebeau die. you didn't believe you would earn a fourth chance to save him until you find a variant with no memory of his past, lost in a void of existence.

pairing. || gambit x f!reader (past relationship with current enemies-to-lovers)

count. || 2.7k

notes. || posted on ao3 here. warning for character death and violence. thank you for all the kind comments and likes! i'm happy i could share this with such a talented fandom.

part one. || part two.

You and Gambit meet before, eh?

Many times

Mais, pleasure’s mine, chér. Gambit’s never forgotten a beautiful woman

You draw your next card at random, and find yourself flat on your back, the back of your head still slick with the blood that pools beneath you. The hit from behind splintered your skull, but this body merely festers with a fading migraine. It is the closest you could get to avoiding death without skipping from this reality entirely. The pain has to keep you anchored, because you can’t count on Gambit to know what to do to keep you here.

Gambit, for his part, stares down at you. He looks like your Remy, which seems like such a strange thought to have. Of course he looks like Remy LeBeau. That is who he is in every lifetime. And yet it makes perfect sense that you halt upon this revelation for the very same reason.

Every Gambit is Remy LeBeau, and yet this one looks like Remy. He has the same strong jawline, the same furrow of his brow, the same black-rimmed red irises. He towers over you, the line of his shoulders set back and perplexed, at least until he crouches down to be closer to your level. Every movement is fluid, graceful. No sign of pain or hesitation. No snarl of distrust or blank expression of disinterest.

Found ya’, chér.

You would laugh if the back of your skull wasn’t just recently smashed in, new body or not. The daze of death’s lingering touch keeps you still as you stare back up at him. He had promised you would meet again, hadn’t he? In another lifetime, at least, he had. You are not the same body that he had been in love with, and yet some part of you can still smell the smoke in the air and feel the buzzing of kinetic lightning across your skin.

He is not your Remy. Not even if he’s looking at you with that same curious intensity. Gamblers could never refuse the call of the cards, and you have a stacked deck.

“Watch it, Cajun,” you tell him. Your voice is scratchy, grating the back of your throat. That explains the weariness in your joints, then. This version of your body is sick in some way. “I know how to wave a stick.”

A knowing laugh escapes him. “Oui, saw ya’ wit’ it. Don’ threaten Gambit wit’ a good time.”

Right, the flirting. Of all the swamp-dwelling boys you could have ended up entangled with, you just had to choose the one with that damned silver tongue. This version of Gambit is no different than the thousands of others you have witnessed in terms of that, at least. Perhaps thousands was even a conservative estimate. How many times have you crossed lives only to find a stranger wearing the face of the man you love?

God, you’re tired of it all. You don’t think you can handle another Gambit right now.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you sigh. “I’m not staying long.”

“S’il vous plait, you should.” He’s smiling, but you know that look in his eyes. Your gaze falls to the inner folds of his coat. You can barely make out the stitched lining where he keeps his cards, but you know that its there. He always had a habit of stitching the pockets in the same spot. Your Remy liked to command full control of the kitchen table to spread out his coat and ensure straight stitching. The cats liked it, too. You would come home to find them all clustered at the table, Remy idly scratching Oliver’s chin while he assessed his work, the other two boys stretched out languidly with them.

Gambit notices your attention, and his smile goes flat. “Where’ve you been my life, eh?”

“Could ask you the same thing,” you shoot back. The fatigue starts to settle deep in your bones. Maybe this body wasn’t sick when you borrowed it. Maybe this is just the effects of your time-skipping leeching over to another form. Your body feels like its burning a low-grade fever. “I don’t want to argue with you, Gambit.”

“Argue?” He looks almost offended at the mention of underlying tension. “Mon chér, you wound me. Dis is a civil conversation, non?”

“Don’t you get tired of talking?” You know he doesn’t. The two of you have spent so many hours sparring both in the danger room and verbally. He likes to make you take the backfoot in both fighting rings. At least, Remy did. This Gambit seems… off.

He almost seems familiar.

“Not when I’m talkin’ to you,” his smile edges with that coy charm. “Why don’ you tell Gambit about your travels?”

It feels like dunking your head beneath tumultuous ocean waves. Your gaze jolts to his eyes. His biggest tell had always been the way his pupils expand, consuming the ringed red of his irises. In some light, at some times, it almost looked as if he didn’t have irises at all. Just an all-consuming gaze of ink-black.

He looks that way, now, staring down at you. Black-eyed and smiling like a rogue, his elbows perched idly on the curve of his crouched knees, hands freely dangling between you. Unarmed, almost, if not for the weight of cards pressed against the cuff of his sleeves. That brand of stitching is new. Your Remy would have been absolutely delighted to see that sort of innovation as much as he would have groaned about not doing it himself.

“Ace up your sleeve,” you say instead. Your head is rattling with a desperate panic. How does he know that you can travel?

Gambit flicks his wrist, the air rushes, and a splayed set of cards stare back at you. Four of a kind. A handful of aces, in fact. Your Remy would be in absolute stitches over it.

“Some, oui,” he says. He looks just as pleased with himself. He always did like to be the smooth-talker. The air whirs with quiet trepidation, charging, turning metallic in the back of your mouth. One of his brows raises the same moment you half-raise your arm, reflecting the same suit of cards back to him. His fingers reluctantly slide closed on empty air.

“So do I,” you tell him. You hold steady when he goes to take them back from you and nearly yank your arm out of reach when his fingers close over your wrist instead. He’s wearing his gloves, but even the slight warmth of his skin pressed against yours makes your mouth go cotton-dry.

“Houdini,” he remarks.

“Not quite,” you whisper.

“Non,” he agrees. He studies your hand for a long moment. The cards are his, of course. You had shifted time just enough to reach across it and claim your prize. Nothing more than a parlor trick in the light of what you have done lately. What is a suit of cards in the face of endless, staggering realities? If you don’t like the way a restaurant cooks a dish, you can cross time until you find the same dish cooked to mind-numbing perfection. If you miss the city bus because it showed up three minutes early, you can change lifetimes to delay the driver by five minutes, the extra two minutes only for good measure.

If you lose one Remy LeBeau, why not venture out to find him again?

And again?

And again.

You know the answer, now. Maybe part of you always did, yes, but the answer is staring you in the face. You cannot ignore him any longer. You cannot skip timelines and pretend that there will never be a Remy like yours again. He was yours because he was not perfectly brought up as a child and ended up with some nine-to-five office job and a three-bedroom home with a white picket fence. That Remy does not have an interest in a strange paradox such as yourself. Neither does the Remy LeBeau that ends up being a schoolteacher, or a stay at home dad, or a volunteer at an animal shelter.

Your Remy was imperfect, and that was why he was the only version of himself that you could love.

This version of Remy LeBeau is still holding onto you. His grip is firm, but not bruising. He’s holding you fast to keep you with him, not to hurt you. You’re too tired to attempt to escape. Every muscle in your body feels leaden and overworked. That’s the other answer demanding your attention, but you let the revelation slip from its leash and ignore it.

“I know what you are, chér .” His grip doesn’t change, but there’s a dangerous riptide swelling in his tone. “What you do.”

“Wayfarer,” you say. It feels flimsy to say it like this, laying flat on your back, Gambit poised gracefully beside you. Remy had been rather nonplussed with the title when you first told him about it. Non, mon coeur, you are Wildcard. Not even Gambit knows your next move.  

“You travel, d’accord?” With the hand still holding you fast, he rubs the calloused pad of his thumb against the rapid flutter of your pulse. It’s nearly enough to make you flicker out of time itself, consequences be damned. His next words are a wistful purr. “You can leave.”

You aren’t sure why the surprise that lances through you hurts so much. Of course, he isn’t your Remy. You know this. He may smile and banter and touch you as kindly as Remy does — as he did, past tense, it’s all beyond your grasp now — but that does not make you something for him to cherish.

It does, however, make you something to use.

“I am always here,” you start, settling into this waltz slowly. This was the other part of your existence that used to confuse Remy. Some part of you hardly understood it, either. You don’t know how every part of a jet plane or automobile works either, though, so it doesn’t phase you much anymore. You had tried to explain it with the T.V. analogy, like your other versions were playing on different screens even if you aren’t tuned in, but that only served to confuse him more. He did enjoy your choice of explanation in some way, at least, by fully indulging in references from his favorite T.V. shows. The conversation had derailed into you hitting him with a pillow, and then you had both unraveled into a different sort of banter.

Not that Remy ever let you get the last word, though. Tuning the channel, he had said seriously, as you had writhed beneath his touch in a breathless rush. Smart-mouthed, smooth-talking swamp boy.

“Some part of me stays here. A variant,” you continue. Gambit waits, those slivered-red irises trained intently on your expressions. How strange to have him staring at you with such suspicion. You could never lie well to Remy LeBeau no matter the version you stumbled across. You could hold back, yes, but he would always know anyway. You have learned to stop hiding from him. It is inevitable that you will admit your life to him in some way, either by choice or by necessity.

“I am here,” you say. “Like I’m sitting in a coffee shop in Paris, reading the morning newspaper, playing the crossword. I can see the empty grid in my head. I know the clues.”

There’s a familiar furrow in Gambit’s brow. You’re suddenly glad he’s holding your hand before you end up surrendering to the urge to reach out and smooth it away. Not your Remy. A touch from you is not the sort he hungers for.

“Paris, eh?” He presses his thumb to your pulse. You wonder if he feels the leap in your heart beat at the touch. “Wha’s got you wandering da Void, then?”

“I didn’t choose to be here,” you admit. “I got… reset, I guess. My mind went to the next version of my body available.”

“Reset sounds awfully dire, I t’ink.” He gives you a pointed look. “Wha’s got you?”

For one long, awful moment, you almost tell him the terrible truth. You almost tell him that you went looking for a version of him that was familiar enough to soothe the gaping hole in your heart. That you found a Gambit that was witty and kind despite his shitty upbringing, one that liked to make you laugh and could keep up with the practice drills you still put yourself through. A Gambit that wasn’t afraid that you would one day vanish and be replaced by some version of yourself that he didn’t love.

You want to tell him that you found a Gambit that you had wanted to keep safe, and he was shot in the back trying to do the same for you. You tore yourself apart to take down the men that did it to him. You died with him and you still woke up within one breath and the next. You had to wake up and hear his voice, except this is not the Gambit that died because of you, this version does not know what he holds onto so tightly.

You want to tell him that three other versions of Remy LeBeau died just as terribly, and you just keep spinning the roulette wheel, and you just keep living.

“That version of me died,” you say. “Shot in the stomach.”

He’s looking at you as if he has never seen such a phenomenon. You suppose, technically, he hasn’t. He used to be one of the lucky ones that didn’t know you even existed. There goes that winner’s streak.

“Do’ya have t'die to… reset?”

You think about lying again. God, you wish you could. “Not always.”

He raises a brow at that, but you don’t offer to elaborate. Instead, you let the cards in your hand release from this reality with a soft whir of energy. Your head feels stuffed with cotton, or perhaps rocks. Maybe this is your mind finally burying itself alive in rebellion of your time-skipping antics.

“Tell ya what, chér.” His fingers loosen their grip on your wrist only to tangle with your own, intertwining your hands. Your breath catches. It’s the only split-second warning you have before he hauls you up to your feet, one hand entangled with yours, the other supporting the small of your back to keep you balanced. You have to shut your eyes against the vertigo that thunders in your head.

“Don’t die,” he continues. “Paris ain’t all it’s cracked up to be, hein? No reason to go dere.”

“I’ll keep it in mind,” you grit out. You think you might throw up. Or pass out. Your free hand grips onto the lapel of Gambit’s coat hard enough for your fingers to grow stiff. His hand on your back is a solid, anchoring weight. It supports you more than you would like. Relying on him could be a dangerous game.

Still, your power is a raw, aching nerve burning through your veins. You couldn’t switch without tearing yourself apart, not as exhausted as you are. Considering that this Gambit hasn’t driven a knife into your back, either literal or figurative, it’s easier not to resist when he makes a soft hum and sweeps you into a bridal carry. You keep your eyes closed, and try to ignore the burn at the back of them. A part of you waits for his sound of pain, the impact of bullets thudding into his back. Another part wonders if he will be vaporized from existence by the TVA, just a second before your hands meet.

The third, quieter part of your mind just thinks: Remy.

Gambit, the fourth ace in your suit, doesn’t do any of those things. He adjusts your weight, testing to see if you will squirm out of his grasp, then he begins to walk. He’s strangely quiet. It’s almost a relief in the wake of your draining, familiar conversation. How many times will you have to reintroduce yourself to a Gambit? What could you possibly offer this fate-curious, battle-wary version of the man you love? It’s the sort of question that makes you reconsider your choice to stay.

Stay with a Gambit with ulterior motives, or move on to another life with no guarantee of who will meet you there? Well. When you put it like that, there’s no other option at all.

And, as if he can read your mind, Gambit begins to explain.

[planchettewrites]

I'm Just Half Alive (In my Struggle to Survive Without You) - NSFW

Remy LeBeau (Gambit)/ AFAB!Reader

DESCRIPTION: It's your first night as Mrs. Remy Etienne LeBeau, and your new husband cannot wait to show you how much he adores you.

CONTENT: SMUT, Protected Sex (Always Wrap it Before you Tap It), Praise Kink (?), M!Overstimulation, AFAB Reader, She/Her Pronouns Used, French Used

A/N: This was a labor of love! I wrote this over two days, and I've only been in the X-Men fandom for three days. I immediately fell in love with Gambit and then found out there were so few fanfics of him. I decided to change that. My two song inspirations were "My Way of Life" by Frank Sinatra and "Life Eternal" by Ghost. Enjoy bbys! If you like this fic, reblogs are very much appreciated, as are likes and comments.

3.3K words | Minors DO NOT INTERACT

You smile as you look in the mirror. Today was arguably the best day of your life—you just became Mrs. Remy Etienne LeBeau, and nothing made you happier. 

Your wedding was exquisite. It occurred in one of the most beautiful venues in the French Quarter of New Orleans; the hall was rather large and historical. The hall was decorated with your favorite flowers—those your now husband had given you on your first date. The chandeliers in the building were all lit with candles that perfectly illuminated and complimented the ceremony. Your dress was similarly exquisite, and your closest friends were helping you pick it out. It was exactly what you wanted, and it fit absolutely perfectly—all with the help from the tailor’s shop, but that was beside the point. 

A majority of you and Remy’s coworkers and friends were there, even a sparse few from his days in the Thieves Guild. You were thrilled: everyone who loved you and Remy supported you on your big day. 

The ceremony was gorgeous. Filled with tears from both the guests and the wedding party, you two exchanged your vows. You spent about five minutes saying your vows to one another, making the other sob in the process. You did your best to speak some Cajun French in your speech, making Remy cry harder. Your husband wasn’t one to let his bravado falter, but seeing him in happy tears made you melt. You looked at your guest when he began to cry, and some of the toughest X-Men you knew were similarly in tears. In your vows, you both promised to share the rest of your beautiful, chaotic lives with each other, and come what may, your love will never falter. You two were bonded in holy matrimony; nothing could change that. 

Your first kiss as husband and wife was something you’d never forget. You both had practiced that dip for the past three months and had pulled it off perfectly. Of course, your husband, being your husband, kissed you harder and longer than you anticipated, which made your head spin and your heart soar. Walking back down the aisle, nearly dancing the whole way down, had suddenly made all the stress of planning the wedding worth it. 

The reception was a mere two hours ago, and it was a whirlwind of laughter, happiness, dance, and minor chaos. Your first dance was to “My Way of Life” by Frank Sinatra, and if the two of you weren’t looking lovingly at each other while dancing, one or the other was murmuring the words under their breath. That song perfectly encapsulated how you two felt about each other: you were each other’s way of life. Each day, you awoke to live, eat, and breathe each other. In some ways, you felt you were made for each other. As you were dancing, your bodies fit together like puzzle pieces, your arms wrapped around his neck and his around your waist. 

After your first dance and the further rupture of applause and tears, Remy and you began to socialize with family and friends. Ever the charmer your husband was, recounting the stories to your family and friends of how we knew you were the one the moment your eyes locked. Some of the telepathics in your reception had told you not a single lie was spoken by your husband; he meant every single word he said. 

Now, there you were, looking into the mirror of the hotel you two stayed at. The two of you spared no expense regarding your honeymoon, and you both wanted to make sure it was as memorable as possible. 

The black velour robe you wore kept you comfortable as you took all the pins and accessories from your hair. The kind ladies doing your hair certainly knew what they were doing, but they sure had put a lot of bobby pins in your hair. As you recounted the night in your head as the final pin came out, a satisfied sigh escaped your lips. 

As if right on cue, your husband walked into the room, two champagne glasses in hand. “Joie de vivre,” he said to himself. You turned around to face him, a large smile growing on your face. Remy looked divine, with a white suit that fit him perfectly, your favorite flower on his lapel, and his hair tied back. You always thought your husband looked wonderful but particularly good in a three-piece suit. “Ma chérie, you look as beautiful as always.”

“Thank you, my dear.” you smiled as he handed you the glass of champagne. As you sipped, you watched your husband remove his jacket and put it in the closet, placing the flower on the bed’s side table. His movements were smooth like his words, and you heard him sing one of the songs from the reception under his breath. “How’s it going, sweetheart?” you ask him. 

Remy responded in his native tongue: “C’est tout un sucre, chérie. Happier than I’ve ever been.” He waltzes over to you and presses a kiss to the top of your head. 

“I love you, Remy.” you place your hand on his cheek, stroking it gently. 

“I love you too, darlin’.” he smiles. 

This was happiness—absolute happiness. Nothing felt more right than this; this was perfection. Here you were with the love of your life, and he was with his. 

“Now, chérie, you look absolutely stunning,” his charming timbre weakens your knees. His hands fell to your shoulders and ran up and down your arms. “And I think I need some alone time with my wife.” 

You show him a coy smile. “Your wife? Hmm…I think I can make that happen.”

As you sit up from your chair, Remy guides you to the large bed against the wall’s middle. The bed was easily a California King with beautiful black sheets and a duvet cover. Remy guided you to lie down, and you looked at him with a dorky look. Remy was gorgeous, with his red and black eyes, chestnut hair, and body built like Adonis himself. 

“What you smilin’ at, ma chérie?” he laughed, his hands finding your waist.

“You!” you gush. “You’re just so handsome, and kind, and brave, and…and really fucking sexy.”

He laughs again and begins to fiddle with the tie of your robe. “You think Gambit is sexy? Well, you’re a sight, too, doll.”After a look of silently asking to undress you, you nodded. As he undid your robe, he smiled when he saw what was underneath—a breathtaking lingerie set. The set was a bit more expensive than you were willing to spend, but you knew that some sacrifices needed to be made for your wedding. “You’re tryin’ to kill Gambit aintcha?”

“Maybe.” you laughed, propping yourself up to fully strip yourself of the robe. You watched as your husband began to unbutton his dress shirt, slowly and precisely, and never breaking eye contact. You knew your husband too well at this point—he was teasing you. He attempted to test your patience, and simultaneously, he gave you a show. You could feel your cheeks flush. Something about your husband made him impossible to resist—whether it was that Louisiana charm or his general personality, something about him beckoned you like a siren song. 

As the dress shirt hit the ground, Remy reached for your hands, helping you stand. He spun you around gently, getting a good look at your body in that clearly expensive white set. He wolf-whistled, which made you giggle. “Damn, chérie, you’re gonna be lucky if I don’t rip that off of ya.”

As you finally faced him, you wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed your husband. These types of kisses felt like fireworks—maybe it was the slight kinetic energy that always radiated from Remy, or perhaps it was just the product of your love. If you had to guess, it was probably a mix of both. 

His hands fell to your waist, and he swiftly picked you up and placed you back on the bed. His lips traveled from yours to your neck, kissing at the crook of your neck to that sensitive spot he learned early on. Letting out a quiet moan, you could feel his smirk on your neck as he continued pressing kisses there. His hands explored your body freely, from massaging your perfect breasts to gently squeezing your thighs. The journey of his hands ended at the hem of your panties, a silent plea to let him take them off of you. Your response to that silent plea was another nod, and suddenly, your husband was off your neck and on his knees. 

Your husband did the hard work of spreading your legs for you, giving him a perfect view of your pussy. He licked his lips and smiled. “Bon appétit.” He pressed a lingering kiss to your knee before working down your thigh. Wrapping his arms around your thighs, he began to lap at your cunt with the vigor of a man starved. You let out a loud and staggered breath as your husband pulled his tongue from your entrance to your folds. He continued this movement until your breaths became ragged enough to where he decided it would be a good time to suck at your clit. 

“God, you’re so fucking gorgeous.” He paused for a second to say–almost as if he were saying it to himself and dived back into your core. You let out a deafening whine as he lapped at your clit, then sucked it particularly hard. 

He noticed your hips begin to buck at no discernible rhythm, and if there was one thing your husband was during sex, it was a talker. His thumb replaced his tongue, rubbing your clit in tight circles. “You like that, ma charmante?” your hips bucked against his fingers, and you let out a loud moan. “That’s it. Show me what you got, chérie. Work yourself on my fingers.”

“Shit!” you moaned. Your movements were becoming jerky—you were close. Remy immediately went back to lapping at your cunt, his finger making its way into your walls. Within seconds, you let out a moan you were sure the other patrons of the hotel could hear. 

You were practically dry-heaving, and within seconds of removing himself from your thighs, you pressed a heavy kiss to Remy’s lips. Your hands cupped his face, and one of his hands went to the small of your back. 

“God, Remy…” you heaved. Part of you couldn’t even form a sentence. You felt euphoric. Remy was always good with his tongue, both in his words and in his skills. 

“Yes, chérie?” Remy smiled. He was thoroughly enjoying this. You learned over the years that his pleasure came from your pleasure. You saw that in the way he’d do anything to make you laugh, you saw that in the way that he would cook for you, and you saw that in the way that sexually, your pleasure came first. 

“Remy, I need you.”

“Then take what is yours, darlin’.” 

You stood up carefully—your legs feeling like jelly—and pressed hard kisses to his lips. Dropping to your knees, you began to expertly unbuckle the oversized belt buckle of your husband’s belt. You place one hand on your husband’s large thigh as if to keep yourself steady. You could feel your mouth water at the thought of sucking his cock. You look up at him, your eyes meeting his. You begin to toy with his erection, palming him over his dress pants. As you finish unbuckling this belt, Remy slides his pants and underwear down to his ankles, swiftly kicking them off. 

You begin to move your hand up and down his shaft, hearing him let out a groan. A few strokes later and you lower your mouth onto his cock. You use your tongue to lick around the tip of his cock, and you lower yourself and take more of him into your mouth. He lets out a moan as you bob your head up and down on his shaft, taking as much of him as you could. You hollowed your mouth to create a light suction, which made your husband see stars. 

Remy finds his hands in your hair, letting you set your own pace. As you continued to worship his cock with your tongue, he began to blab. “Tu te sens si bien, chérie. So fucking good. Keep going…just like that. Fuck, keep going.”

As you swirl your tongue around the head of his cock one more time, he ruffles your hair. “Ma charmante et talentueuse femme, I need to fuck you.” he groaned. 

With a pop, you remove yourself from his cock with a devious smile on your face. “I’m all yours, Remy.” 

He guides you to the bed again and smacks your ass playfully. You turn to swat at him, and he laughs gently. You almost want to cry; you’re so happy. You are married to the love of your life; it’s your wedding night, and you are spending it with the man you love more than anything. Now, you were having your first night as husband and wife—you couldn’t be happier. As you find the headboard, you lean back and bend your knees, spreading your legs. You were on full display for your husband; by the looks of it, he certainly wasn’t complaining. 

“Hold on, ma chérie, one moment.” Remy started to search through the side table drawer, where he found what he was looking for: the box of condoms. You watched as he rolled the condom onto his cock, and you smiled to yourself. Remy had always been one for condoms; even times when you just wanted him to fuck you raw, he would kiss your hand and promise to always take care of you first. 

Crawling onto the bed, your husband towered over you, moving to hover above you. You looked up at him, your eyes full of need and lust. He pressed another kiss to your lips as he guided the head of his cock to your entrance. He moves his hips forward, and inch by inch, you begin to take him. You both moan at the feeling of euphoria. 

Remy continues to push his hips forward, beginning to rock in and out of you. He moves his hips slowly and deeply, as he prefers, to feel all of you as you take him. For the first time since your first dance, you feel your eyes well with tears. Remy is quick to catch onto this and stops his movements entirely. “Oh babydoll, what’s wrong?” 

“I’m just,” you start, “so happy to be yours, Remy.”

“Oh, these are happy tears!” he coos and places his hand on your cheek and the other on the headboard. He continues his ministrations in your cunt, feeling how you take him so, so well. You feel so full, and despite being with Remy for this long, you don’t think you’d ever get accustomed to this feeling. His cock is nestled between your walls, and each thrust urges you closer to an orgasm. 

Heat coils in your lower stomach as Remy thrusts into you, and for not the last time that evening, he talks you through the feeling. “Oh, ma femme, ma magnifique femme, you take me so well. And I love you, I love you so fucking much.”

“I’ve only been yours, love, and I’ll be yours for the rest of time.” you moan, repeating his sentiments out loud. 

“Damn straight. It sounds good coming from your lips. Gambit was gonna make you his, even when he first met you.” he groaned, the smirk on his face returning. “And I’ll be yours for the rest of time.”

You wrap your legs around your husband’s waist, letting him hit that spongy spot inside of you. His thrusts are starting to become faster, and with each thrust, he bucks his hips to ensure he is fully sheathed inside you. You’re close, so, so incredibly close. 

You yelp, “Fuck, Remy, I’m close, I’m really, really close.”

“Me too, darlin’.” he groans. His hand falls to your waist, and he begins to thrust far more erratically. He fucks you into him, slamming into you, causing you to moan his name. Loud. 

You’re nearly dry-heaving again as he fucks you. That heat in your stomach that had turned into a coil had started to unwind. You were coming close to another orgasm. 

“Fuck—I’m coming, shit!” Remy groans. Although, his pace doesn’t relent as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm.

Your legs tighten around him as that coil becomes completely undone. “Remy, shit, God, I love you. I love you so fuckingmuch. I am so fucking happy to be your wife! I can’t wait to make you a family!” you pant, your finish further slicking the space between you. 

“I love you so much. More than you know…and, and, I’ll love you forever, chérie!” His voice was shaky and erratic as he overstimulated himself to rock you through your orgasm. 

As you both begin to still, your breath erratic, you grab hold of him and just let his weight crash onto you. He buries his face in your shoulder, and you hear him let out a sigh. He mutters something to himself in his native tongue and presses a light kiss to your neck. You can hear him mutter one thing as he pushes himself upwards: “I love you.”

He nearly projects himself to your side, grabbing your hand and gently kissing your palm. “You’re my world. You truly are.” 

“I mean every word I said,” you murmured, so breathless you could barely speak, “I am really so happy to be your wife.”

“And I’m happy to be your husband.” he smiled, turning to face you. You pressed a gentle kiss to his lips and smiled. You were happy, and now you get to look forward to an eternity with the man you loved. Come what may, no matter how big or small, you would have Remy by your side. And that was going to be your way of life. 

[v33n4-c4rn1s]

"Promise."

Remy LeBeau x fem!reader

A/n: This is my first proper fanfic! it's over 2000 words lolol and it's just Angst/Comfort with everyone's favorite Cajun! I'm really proud of this and I'm happy Remy gets to be my very first proper fic..i hope you enjoy!! also tag for because they asked so nicely :3 @kaidan-z

Summary: When wade wilson dragged you into the mess you were miserable, mourning and utterly heartbroken but now, after following Wilson and Howlett around for hours, watching them fight you finally get your end of the deal. Seeing a man you thought you'd never see again.

────────────────⋆༺𓆩🂱𓆪༻⋆─────────────────

Maybe it’s the fact this was all so..confusing.

I mean how are you supposed to feel when you come face to face with a ghost? 

Well, not really. A ghost would still remember, clutching time in its weary hands, allowing freedom and the soft embrace of closure. A ghost would know. Instead you’re both faced with the haunting idea of a lost memory. Something to yearn and claw for, barely scratching the surface of remembrance. A flame of longing and desperation that’s snuffed out by the force of time. 

- - - - - - - 

You were forced into this mess, against your own will really. One minute you’re sitting in your own misery, clutching a pen and paper, biting back inevitable tears. You mourned the loss of a man who had been long gone, Remy Lebeau. Your Remy. God he was the brightest star, the sweetest man with a sharp tongue. You loved him. You loved him more than anything. The best part? He loved you. Of all the wonderful people in the world, he wanted you, always you. Only you. So that's why it hurt so much when he met his end. 

That's why it tore a hole in your heart. He was tied to you, so deeply rooted in your soul that nothing could pull him away, no gentle persuasion could remove him. Only brute force, A harsh tug that tore him away and left you burning. Painful rage that was so blinding that people cowered away. So in this moment..you just needed solace.

But the universe didn’t give you that, instead You're hauled over some guy's shoulder who's blabbering about how “relieved” he is to see you.

So..what the fuck?

You later learn that you're stranded in a trio, a pathetic one at most. A merc with a mouth, Anger issues in a little yellow bundle (he comes with claws too.) and of course...you.

To most, you weren’t anything special. A mutant? Yes. Despite that being heavy enough itself, your mutation wasn’t anything flashy, just simple enough to cope with.

So why the hell did this bloodstained bastard take you of all people? 

- - - - - - -

So here you are now, stalking behind the pair you now know as Logan Howlett and..Wade Wilborn?..no, Wilson. That's it. Wade Wilson. He was the reason you were here. The void. That’s what this place was..a void. An endless layout of trash and gunk. The TVA, who you later learned “preserved the Sacred Timeline and prevented the creation of alternate timelines.” 

Turns out Wade’s universe was fucked because it lost its “anchor being.” Which was his universe's version of the grouchy companion he’d brought with him..or well, forced with him. Paradox, the one responsible (sorta) for Wade's wonderful kidnapping plan did not seem too pleased..especially since wade had to be that tiny bit extra and break his nose. So he sent you all here..the void.

Wade seemed to be a bit too friendly in all the wrong aspects..seriously how many sex jokes are too many? He’s sweet, you’ll give him that. You found that out only after he attempted to use you as a human shield against some bald headed bitch that only existed to grind on your nerves..But hey, that Johnny guy definitely got it worse.

- - - - - - -

The two overgrown children further proved their hatred to each other by fighting all their tension out in a shitty honda odyssey..all night. They fought till the sun went down. You just sorta sat there, lazily trying to wipe the nose bleed you had received after Wade shoved you to the ground in order to reach a “precious angel.”

..A dog. She was cute but you didn’t take too kindly to him picking a slobbering dog over your mental stability. Still, now all you really had to do was sit and wait for the two to finish their very loud and sharp disagreements. 

- - - - - - -

So..now you’re all caught up? Good. Then let me jump back to our present time.

He could have been a ghost, hell he might as well have been considering how much he paled when he saw you. The way the cards in his hands fluttered to a gentle stop. Even when wielding his weapons he was a gentleman. His lips parted..He wanted to say something, anything..but words could not find him. He just starred. 

To say you felt sick was an understatement. You felt like your body was about to give up any second. Overcome with the heaviest wave of nausea you’ve ever experienced. Here he was..a dead man. Standing in front of your very eyes..and he was beautiful. A little different..but beautiful. From the hair to the tip of his boots, he was the most gorgeously sculpted man you have ever seen.

“Chere?..”

“Remy?”

  Oh fuck. You’re kidding right? So this..version of him had a version of you too? He knew you? He knew you and without even knowing what had happened to his version of you, just looking at his face you knew that something so unforgettable had happened that he was just as broken as you.

“Ooh shit!! Are you seeing this!? I gotta say..i expected all the flashy entrances but look at these two lost loves? Ugh it's like I'm drawing in their self deprecating..”

Remy gave a half glance at the merc, scowling immediadently. His eyes set on him for just a split second before the glare was gone and he was back to looking at you. A softness creeping into his gaze that you didn’t think you’d see ever again. His brows furrowed as he took a step closer.

He knew it wasn’t his lost love but still. From the tips of your hair to the flush in your cheeks, the tentative grasp of your fingers against the fabric of your suit, the way your eyes brimmed with uncertain tears..it didn’t matter. He could rebuild. As selfish as that sounded he could rebuild it all if you’d let him.

“it..it ain’t you but-”

He tried to speak, he really did but the way you flinched at the sound of his voice made him want to cower like a small child. Your eyes fell onto the set of cards in his hand that he soon tucked away into the pocket of his coat. The gentle rustle of the fabric brought you snapping back to the present, a sharp gasp slipping from your lips as you carefully backed away, allowing Wade to take the lead again.

- - - - - - -

He watched you the whole time. He didn’t pay attention at all to whatever the hell the nuisance in the centre babbled on about. He watched you like a hawk. Eyes tracing over every piece of you. The way you bit down on the plush of your lip or how your lashes seemed to dampen everytime you blinked. He took note of the unsteady rhythm of your chest. He knew all the signs. When his eyes flicked back up to your face, he saw a tiny tear, barely visible but he could see it. It slipped down your cheek, resting on the curve of your jaw before it dropped onto the floor, seeping into the wood.

Remy had known you all his time in the void. He had no grasp on anything other than this wasteland and well..you. For a brief moment, he let himself daydream, just resting in the past, in the familiar sight of the sweetest smile he had ever seen. Yours.

- - - - - - -

“Don’t you think this is an awful idea?”

“Nonsense Chere, you think Remy doesn’t know a fine place when he sees one?”

His lips curled into a smile as he watched you glance at the rundown diner. It wasn’t exactly heaven, he knew that..but that didn’t matter, as cheesy as it sounds everywhere was heaven when he was with you. You laughed at the way he struggled to open a cabinet, the way he tugged at the wooden handle.

“Careful remy..it looks unsteady..maybe you should-”

“No need to worry about me Mon amour, what? You think Remy can’t handle a little push and pull? Dis is nothing, you just sit there and look- merde!!-”

It swung open, nearly taking him out in the process. You burst into fits of laughter, your knees buckling under how hard your laughter had hit you.

- - - - - - -

And that..bittersweet memory was the very thing that kept him pushing. Your laughter was the sweetest thing to him, he adored it more than anything and he’d longed to hear it once more.

He glanced over at you again, seriously he couldn’t stop. How could he? It was like looking into the past, the love of his life was a few steps away from him and he was doing nothing? What was wrong with him?

He couldn’t stand the silence anymore, the tension. He watched as you looked at his hands that were now nervously playing with his card deck. He carefully placed them all in one hand before pointing at you. He saw the way you jumped a little at being addressed. He then pointed to himself before pointing to the exit.

He wanted you alone, He wanted to talk.

Despite the ache in your chest, the tremble in your body, you followed him. You followed him out the arch and into the cool near evening. The sun was beginning to set, it casted the warmest glow over the wasteland. It was the prettiest thing about the whole dump.

The two of you walked in silence for a bit. The only sound filling the air were the gentle crunches of twigs beneath Remy’s shoes. It suddenly hit you. You were here, with an exact copy of your former lover. This was so fucked up.

He led you to a smaller campfire, letting you take a seat on the log before lighting the fire, sitting down with a soft grunt.

“Remy know’s dis is a bit..confusing and he’s damn sorry about it but..he’s gotta know, cher..”

His soft honesty brought warm butterflies to your stomach. The words rolled off his tongue, combed by his heavy accent. His knee bounced nervously as he watched your face, biting his lip slightly.

“It's..complicated, it would take a long time to even-”

“Remy’s got all the time in the world Chere, just talk t’him..”

You glanced at him one last time. He looked like a kicked puppy when you denied him. How the hell could you say no to such hopeful eyes?

And so you told him, you told him everything. The love, the loss, the pain. The way his absence had left a gaping wound on your being, leaving the ugliest scar and a hideous rage, a burning hatred. You spilled it all and it felt good. It felt good to finally just talk. You were so into explaining it all that you didn’t even notice the fact you were in floods of tears, droples streaking down your cheeks. Your breathing shortened as you forced more words out of your throat. You were too engrossed in the pain.

“Chere.”

His firm tone cut you off, he reached up, carefully swiping a tear away with the pad of his finger. It sent a range of sparks up your spine and you quivered under his gaze.

He watched you for just a moment before making up his mind. He knew he was overstepping the imaginary boundaries but he knew his Chere well enough to know what she needed. One arm wrapped around your waist and the other slid up to your shoulder, bringing you into a warm embrace. He was so different yet the exact same. He smelt like whiskey and leather. He smelt like home and it made you feel sick.

“Ma pauvre fille..”

He was so comfortable that he didn’t even realise the words that left his mouth, the soft claim he made..but you did. You heard it and it stung, it healed a tiny part of your wounded soul, to be addressed as his once more. You squeezed his shoulder, letting the last few tears fall. He pulled back, hesitantly cupping your cheek, relaxing a little as you leaned into his touch. This felt right, despite the gnaw of pain it felt right. To be here with him, to feel him.

Remy lifted his hand, capturing your smaller ones with a gentle touch. He pressed his lips to the back of it. A kiss, full of tender love and sweet affection. A rush of blood reached both of your cheeks. The cool air gently brushed against the heated skin. He leaned forward pressing another kiss to your forehead this time, letting his own rest against yours as he brought one of your hand to his chestplate, placing it above his heart.

“It’s yours Chere, mon coeur est à toi.”

You knew what he meant, he had promised you that despite all odds, if ever something went wrong, he would find you. He’d find you in every universe.

And he did.

Remy Lebeau was many things. He’d been branded as a scoundrel all his life..but if there was one thing he couldn’t do, it was lie to you. He was an honest man who kept his promises to you.

He fulfilled each one. Including this one.

───────────⋆༺𓆩🂱𓆪༻⋆─────────────

[ohdeerfully]

Can I request Alastor baking or cooking for reader? Maybe making one of his old mother recipes for reader while he wears a silly apron or something? I'm loving all of your one shots!

☀️ anon

short but sweet!! i made it a human al story, hope thats cool! i really enjoyed writing this one but now i want cookies (,:

btw tumblr is really lacking with human alastor gifs so sorry guys

Sweet Treat

Human!Alastor x Reader (fluff)

TW: reader is implied female but pronouns arent used/doesnt effect story much. other than that none!

join my discord!

◈ ══════════ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ══════════ ◈

Alastor was always aware of your wants and desires as if the glasses he wore helped him read directly into your mind. You were tired? Okay, the bedsheets were freshly dry and warm. You were hungry? He already had a pot of aromatic food cooking in your kitchen. Thirsty? Here’s some ice water. Headache? Oh, here’s a remedy that he learned from a traditional healer in the city. 

You get the idea.

You had come home from a long day of work at the speakeasy you performed in, a hankering for something sweet filling your mind as your mouth watered at the idea of sugary goodness. You fiddled with your keys for a little, eyes slightly bleared from both a mixing of light alcohol consumption and just general sleepiness. No, those are your work keys… no, that’s to your office… Finally, you grasped your manicured fingers over the correct silver key and jittered it into the hole.

You slumped your body against the door dramatically as you pushed it open, a loud sigh escaping your lips to announce you were home. You knew Alastor was already home, seeing as his shoes were tucked neatly in the nearby rack and jacket hung up against the wall. Usually Alastor would join you when you were at work late, both to watch you perform and to walk you home, but he had been caught up with his own work and likely got home not long before you. A light smile dusted your face as you recalled how desperately sorry he sounded when he phoned you a few hours ago—it was sweet. 

Your own heels were unceremoniously kicked off in the general direction of the shoe rack—you’d fix them up later. Right now, you were mostly focused on the sound of a spoon scraping against a bowl as Alastor was doubtlessly stirring something. Your interest was piqued, and your stomach growled at the idea of food.

“Ah, you’re home a bit early,” He said as you rounded the corner, your gaze immediately fixating on the mixing bowl propped against the junction of his elbow as he stirred with his other hand. There was a plume of flour resting against the left rim of his glasses. “A bit too early for my surprise.” 

Your eyes then traveled down to the apron he wore, a black one that had a silhouette of a deer and text that read “best buckin’ cook.” You had gotten it for him as a joke for your anniversary due to his fondness for hunting and deer.

“Yeah, Ms. Ruby let me off early if I performed a couple songs in a row,” There was an eye roll as you said this. You pursed your lips as you approached him, gingerly taking his glasses off to clean the mess from the glass. His eyes held a slight squint as he looked at you, slightly unfocused without his aides. “I’m guessin’ you knew I’d want something sweet, then?”

A smirk crossed his lips as if you asked the most obvious question in the world. Which, considering how he always knew what you wanted, it kind of was the most obvious question in the world.

“What kind of suitor would I be if I didn’t know what my darling desires?” He leaned a little closer as he spoke, halting the stirring motion. His voice had dropped to a teasing husk, and your ears tingled at the hint of that Cajun accent you loved so much. It didn’t help that you were just a tad loopy with alcohol.

“And I love you for that,” You said, trying to ignore the heat in your face. You pressed the glasses back against his face, using your finger to push them up the bridge of his nose whilst simultaneously gently moving his face away from your own. “As soon as I wanted a treat I knew I’d come home to one.”

“It also helps that you always want one when you work late, love,” He mused, turning away and walking back to the counter that had a splay of ingredients. There was also a mess of flour—likely from the same incident that dirtied his glasses—but you bit back a comment. You knew he’d clean it up after.

With a hop you had sat yourself on a tall chair next to the kitchen counter, elbows resting on the cold granite top as you watched him work on mixing in the rest of the ingredients. He seemed a little nervous now that you were watching him, his stirring a bit stiff and measuring a little overanalyzed, but he kept working nonetheless.

The oven chimed when the preheating was done, and at that point Alastor was already in the process of portioning out little balls of dough. A proud smile donned his face.

“I think this is the fastest I’ve gotten to this point,” He claimed, not looking up from the task in front of him. You loved the way his brown hair fell in neat, light curls over his eyes. His glasses had begun to slip slightly down his nose, but he quickly pushed them back with a knuckle. “I nearly beat the timer.”

With an absent nod and quiet ‘congrats’ you eyed the nearly empty bowl and the discarded rubber spatula that sat nearby with velvety, doughy sweetness still clinging on the edges. You slowly raised your hand and inched towards it.

A hand snatched it up at the last second, and you slumped backwards in the chair with a defeated whine. Alastor waved it at you with a teasing grin. 

“So greedy,” He chided, although he did so unseriously. “I can’t believe you would spoil the taste before I even finished baking them… after I worked so hard…” There was a fake pout in his voice as his lips turned down, one hand on a hip and leaned against the counter behind him. You rolled your eyes in response and folded your arms.

“You know it never even tastes the same when it bakes,” You pursed your lips as you looked away from him towards the oven. You could see the faint silhouette of the cookies he had put in just a minute ago, now slowly flattening. “C��mon… Just a sample… please?” You drew out your plea, pressing your face between your hands as you tried your best to look at him with wide cutesy eyes.

It didn’t seem to work on him in the slightest, as he only looked down on you with a raised eyebrow. There was, though, a soft change in his brown eyes as his gaze swept over your face, though you were sure it had nothing to do with your current charming tactics. He was just, in all ways you can imagine, insanely devoted to you—he would tell you, very rarely as he had trouble expressing tender words, how he found you to be the most beautiful being he had ever been lucky enough to see. 

As corny as it felt if you thought about it too hard, you actually believed him when he said he would kill for you. It was something many men would exaggerate when courting, and they never truly meant it, but there was a glimmer of crazed obsession in his eyes when he had told you it one time. A look you had no choice but to take seriously—you tried not to think about it too much.

He sighed dramatically as he threw out his hand to bestow upon you… the spatula. You took it with a pleased grin and put a corner in your mouth to taste the dough. You could almost see the sparkles dancing around you as the light sweetness touched your tongue. You could see Alastor’s proud grin out of the corner of your eye but you chose not to meet his gaze and inflate his ego even more.

The two of you chatted idly about your respective days for ten or so minutes as you waited for the cookies to bake. You always had something to complain about considering the nature of your job—it was always either some drunk bonehead interrupting your show, or some drama between the other performers, or some hatred towards your employers… always something, and he always listened, equally attentive every time no matter how repetitive it was. He, on the other hand, never had much to say about his work. He was just a radio host, after all.

The little white timer finally went off, and Alastor cracked open the oven door to peek. He seemed satisfied enough with the result as he quickly removed them, gripping the pan with a small towel and carefully setting it down against the stove-top. The room was immediately filled with the warm, sweet aroma of fresh baked cookies. 

Just a few more minutes of waiting, but you could barely contain yourself when the cookies had finally cooled a bit and firmed up outside of the oven. When Alastor presented one to you it took all your self control not to just straight up bite it out of his hand. 

The cookie had a crisp, golden outside that gave way with a light crunch when you bit into it. The inside was soft and fluffy with a taste of vanilla and chocolate. You sighed loudly in glee at the experience, resting your head against your hand as you chewed.

“You really are the best ‘buckin’’ cook, Al,” You complimented, watching him as he cleaned up his mess from the process. “This recipe is new, right?”

“Ah, not really,” He admitted. You wanted to play offended at the fact he had never made these for you before, but the aura around him seemed to suddenly get a bit too serious for that. There was a vacant look in his eye, but his lips held a tender smile. You took another bite of your cookie as you waited for him to continue.

“It was one of my momma’s recipes, I actually found it today in the box of her stuff I keep,” He was washing out the dishes as he spoke. You could tell by the light glaze in his eye that he was reliving a fond but bitter memory. “She was the best baker I know.”

“If these cookies tell me anything, I would have to agree,” You were licking a glob of melted chocolate off your thumb as you spoke. “I wish I could’ve met her.”

Alastor nodded with a hum, agreeing with your statement. He told you many times before how much she would’ve loved you. You knew he didn’t like sweets, but you tried to prompt him to try one with you in an attempt to lighten the mood. He refused, as expected.

You stood from your seat and began to help him clean, much to his chagrin as he tried to push you towards your room to get ready for bed, but you forced yourself back towards the kitchen and stubbornly began rubbing the dough out of the mixing bowl. He sighed and yielded.

The two of you fell into a comfortable silence that was only broken here and there by utensils clinging and water splashing. You rested your head against his shoulder as you absently ran a dry towel over the now clean rubber ladle, and he pressed a featherlight kiss against the top of your head in response.

Maybe he could teach you the recipe later.

[tremendouscreationperson]

Logan x Reader pt.11

Lads it's here

Wade's party

Can y'all believe it?

<<Part 10 Part 12>> Masterlist

Logan and Laura sat silently at your dining table.

It would be funny if it wasn't so scary.

Their faces were stony, both merely staring at the other.

It wasn't until Logan ran a hand through his hair - it needed a trim, it was getting long - and cleared his throat.

“I'm sorry.”

Laura nodded, biting the inside of her jaw. She was sorry too. She really hadn't meant what had happened. Hated herself for causing any sort of pain.

“I know I was shitty but I was scared.” He paused. “Which doesn't help because you were scared, too.”

She shrugged one shoulder.

“I love her, Laura.” He vowed. “I know you do, too. And I know you hate yourself but she doesn't blame you and neither do I.”

Laura's eyes watered, she quickly blunk the tears away.

“So again I'm sorry.” He held a hand out. “Do you accept my apology?”

She nodded and met his hand with a firm shake.

“Right, now we have to beat your mother at Monopoly, she's a wizard at that game.”

~~

Wade did in fact hold his party off until Sunday, giving you an extra day to reassure Laura you were real.

Gambit had tackled you to the floor in a hug until Logan pulled the man off of you.

“Thou’we lo’ya, I ca’ ‘lieve yo’ alive! Thank heavens.” You frowned until it locked in and you nodded. Years of living with him making you fluent in Cajun, sometimes it took a moment but you understood.

“No, you'd never lose me!” You sat up and smiled.

Gambit was kneeling - having been hoisted up by his shirt like a kitten - giving you the widest grin. “I'm so ‘ppy, chere. Miss Laura was worried.”

You let him stand and help you to your feet. “She doesn't have to be now, I'm here.” Posing with your non-muscles, and dramatically declaring, “My body's strong, I can heal from anything!”

Blade had bowed his head when he saw you - slipping in to see what the commotion was - but you didn't let him get away with just that so you pulled him into a half hug.

“You alive?”

“I am.”

“Keep it that way.”

You scoffed. “It was definitely my intention.”

He rolled his eyes but patted your head. “I'm out, gotta finish my hunt before this famous ‘party’.”

One day you were going to force him to take you with him. You wanted to meet a vampire! Yes, technically, he was one but he wasn't! He was Blade. Your brother.

You let Blade leave and smiled at the rest of the room. Wade was on the phone making party arrangements whilst Al asked for more cocaine.

Laura was yet to make an appearance. She was a little embarrassed. These people had seen her at her worst. She needed time.

Gambit sat next to Al. She eased into him and began moaning about her roommate.

Mary Puppins twaddled towards you and you bent to pick her up. She was still wearing her dogpool outfit and you couldn't help but smile down at the ugly creature.

“Uh uh uh.” Wade was off of the phone shaking his head. “Maya forgot she existed so you're not allowed to hold her!”

“Wade, I have no idea who you're talking about.” You shook your head but let him snatch her from you.

Wade snuggled his face into her and made obscene kissy noises.

Logan raised a brow. “Seriously?”

“It's nothing compared to what we hear.” Wade smiles too wide and let his eyes shift between you two. “Where's babyrine?”

“She's going to come, I told her we were going to watch one of my favourite movies.”

“The Labyrinth is the best movie.” El announced walking through the door, her hair was wet from showering as she had just returned from the gym.

“I know right!” You agreed. “Let me text Laura that we're going to start soon.”

You'd finally received your phone. There were a few missed calls from Gambit, El and Blade but that was because of the confusion.

Y/N: were going to start the movie in 10 x

Laura: ok x

It was a good thing she decided she could speak through texting. At least this time you had a way to connect. Last time she was nonverbal was a struggle.

You and Logan sat on one sofa. Him resting his back against the arm and you laying your back on his chest. El sat next to Gambit, resting her feet on his legs.

Wade sighed at you all taking up his space but threw snacks at everyone before plonking himself down on the shag rug. Mary made a home on his back as he lay on his front.

“Oh my god, someone take a photo.”

You quickly snapped a few pics of them and sent them via WhatsApp to him. WhatsApp was just like texting except you used WiFi so it was free? You weren't sure but Wade had corralled you all into using the app.

Wade found the movie and inserted the DVD just as Laura crept in.

“Hey baby, come sit with us.”

She eyed Logan but did tiptoe over, he had been acting kind. He was nicer now. Not as angry.

She supposed she was too.

You were safe.

She was able to be with you again.

To have you as her mother again.

She wouldn't have handled your death well.

When she was within reach you pulled her wrist and made her sit on the sofa you were lounging on.

Laura eased back and rested her cheek on your chest, you stroked her hair.

“Okay we're ready. Press play!” You ordered Wade who was staring at Laura in disbelief. Mary Puppins had scooted over to her and jumped up and onto your stomach so Laura could pet her.

“I know you guys are 'healing' and whatever but fuck you all! That's my dog!”

“Shut up and play the movie.” Logan flipped him off.

“Mhmmm.” Al threw a cushion in his direction.

The movie was just as great now as it was then, except for Laura leaning on you. You forgot she had an Adamantium skeleton and were slowly being clamped down on but other than that you loved it. Your stomach was sore when the credits rolled.

“I don' kno’.” Gambit shrugged. “I think I would've stayed.”

“I know I would've.” El agreed.

“Yes.” You frantically nodded. “David Bowie offering me anything I want as long as I love him? Sign me up.”

Laura sat up, effortlessly hopping off to stretch her back and releasing the hold on your organs. She gave you a face and shook her head.

“No? Laura!” You chuckled. “You wouldn't stay?”

She shrugged.

“I wis’ my pants made m’ dick look like that.” Gambit hummed. “All big n’ sexy.”

“Well, it's really more of a curse than a blessing.” Wade shrugged. “I have to order in custom trousers.” He wiggled his red booty shorts.

“Is he revealing himself again?” Al shook her head. “Mother fucker doesn't know how many pillows I got.” Wade was currently in a nest of them due to her throwing.

“What about you, handsome?” You tilted your neck to find Logan's eyes were closed. “Bab-”

“No, don't wake him!” Wade whisper-yelled.

You looked back at the man who was positively giddy. Wade rushed off and came back with a Sharpie.

“We are all in this together, Wildcats.” Wade informed the group. “If I go down I am taking each and every one of you with me.”

He uncapped the lid and drew a very crude penis on Logan's forehead.

“All this hair makes it hard to graffiti him.”

Laura giggled as Wade stepped back. She gave a thumbs up on approval. El rolled her eyes whilst Gambit snapped a photo.

“Y/N, giv’ t’ dick a suck.” You snorted and poked your tongue out in the direction of his face.

“He is going to whoop all y'all asses.” Al chuckled as she heaved herself up. “Someone needs to film that for me, do a visual description and read it or turn it into braille.”

~~

Today was the day.

You had washed, styled and readied yourself.

Putting on the lilac dress you'd brought, with white knee high socks and some slip on shoes. You hadn't thought to buy nicer shoes because you all lived in the same building. You didn't even need to wear shoes to his.

Logan had unfortunately taken the nails off but he was forgiven because as styled his now longer hair - in the same fashion he always did - his kitten ears were back!

He picked up a flannel shirt to throw on top of his vest and jeans. It was almost insulting that he didn't need to put any effort in to look that good.

You smirked up to him, giving him a quick peck and went to check on Laura.

She was half dressed in jeans looking at different bottoms and an array of shirts.

She turned to smile in acknowledgement when you entered her bedroom.

“Struggling to pick?”

She nodded.

It was hard. You knew it when you had a panic attack while shopping. Too many choices meant different variables, different outcomes.

You plucked up the nearest shirt - a small red thing - and an over layer - a denim button up vest - and handed it to her.

“I think that will match your jeans well. Wanna show me?”

She slipped into the materials and you were right. You hadn't even thought about it, just making a choice and half lying to help her.

She scanned the outfit in the floor length mirror before giving it a final nod.

The two of you met back up with Logan, who was already opening a beer bottle.

“Already?” You raised a brow.

“I know I'll need it.” He chuckled.

“Hmm.” Your eyes swept across the dining table. “Did you move one of my hotels?”

A half finished game of Monopoly was set up and you were dominating.

“Would I?”

“Yes, you would!” You patted his jeans pockets. “Where is it?”

“Laura, tell her I'm innocent.” He laughed at your attempt at a strip search.

“I will find it.”

Logan shook his head, taking another swig and hoped to god you didn't check in the fridge.

You'd counted the amount of them left so he couldn't just put it back in the box, no it was sitting in his beer carton.

Laura was smiling easily at the two of you. She liked watching you both so clearly in love.

It was beautiful to see you at ease, you had always worried over her and ensured she was alright. Seeing you truly happy was a godsend.

She hadn't particularly cared for Logan not since her Logan but he wore the man's face so she couldn't help but feel comfortable around him. Couldn't help but feel bad when he was upset, she wanted him to like her. To be that father figure. Seeing him with you might be the closest to that she'd ever get. It was pleasant, if not slightly sad.

“Right kid.” You ruffled her hair. “Let's get going, eh? It's such a long journey.”

She rolled her eyes but allowed you to lead her to Wade's.

Logan was shadowing the both of you, he had decided to make peace with Laura. She was a kid and the closest thing to a child the two of you would get. He vowed to make her like him.

Wade had cleaned the apartment.

He. Had. Cleaned.

Hallelujah.

It was a miracle.

“Hey!” The man waved you over with one hand, the other clutching his baby. “Come and mingle!”

Laura stuck close to you as you agreed, heading straight over to the people he gestured towards.

“Y/N, Wolverines, this is Buck and Shatterstar.”

“Hi.” You shook their hands. “This is Laura and Logan.”

“You don't have to talk to them, they're extras. We're not paying them to talk.” Wade spun you to the next people. “This is Yukio, we love Yukio, and Negasonic Teenage Warhead. Real name unknown. Annoys the fuck out of me so just call her whatever you want.”

“Hi.” You pulled Laura closer to the young girls. They were stark opposites. Yukio was bubbly and colourful whilst Negasonic Teenage Warhead - shit that was a name - was dark and gloomy. “This is Laura. She is amazing. We've experienced a bit of a tough time so sadly she's nonverbal at the moment but I'm sure you girls would get along.”

God you were turning into your mother.

Yukio waved, her bangles jingling. “Hi Laura. It's nice to meet you.”

Laura untucked her hands from her pockets and waved back, smiling shyly.

“Do you want to sit and watch TV or something? Get away from prying eyes.” Negasonic made direct eye contact with Wade.

Laura turned to you before agreeing and the girls sat on the unoccupied couch.

“That's surely not her name.” You whispered as Wade produced the next victim. “Oh, hi.”

It was B-15. She was standing, drink in hand, next to a man. He had a moustache and seemed harmless.

“Hello.” B-15 smiled.

“B-15 was the lovely lady who Logan annoyed into getting you here. And here is the love of my life-" he dramatically spoke "-Peter.”

Some things never change.

“How's things?” You asked the two.

“Going steady.” B-15 replied. “We've had a few issues with another being but we think that's been resolved.”

“You're talking about the Kang dynasty being written out because of the actor right?” Wade asked excitedly as Mary Puppins wriggled in his hands. He let her down and she trotted off towards the girls.

“Things are good for me at work too.” Peter sipped his cup.

Footsteps halted any response from you as you turned to see - fucking hell - Colossus duck through the door.

“I hate your apartment’s parking.” He dusted himself off.

“You're friends with Colossus?”

Wade clapped. “Ahh you know him.”

“He's… well he's a lot fucking bigger.” You mattered. “Piotr.” You held your hand out. “My name is Y/N.”

He was careful as he shook your hand. “Pleasure.”

The party progressed and your group found their way to mingle with others.

Gambit was talking to Buck and Dopinder, El had made friends with Colossus, Blade had enticed Negasonic Teenage Warhead - you needed to find out her real name - Al was comfortable sitting with B-15 and Peter and Yukio stuck with Laura - who you swore was moving her lips.

You found yourself in the kitchen, making drinks and tidying the mess. Wade had attempted to cook but after almost burning the building down opted for take out.

The mess gave you something to do whilst you waited on your dinner. Made you feel at home. The chatter just above the music swirled around you as you washed up the final bowl.

“That's usually my job.” A beautiful woman spoke from your side.

“Sorry.” You offered.

“It's okay.” She smiled and leant against the counter. “I'm Vanessa.”

Oh. She was the one Wade liked. “Y/N.”

“Been a hell of a month, eh?”

“That's an understatement.” You dried your hands.

“Wine?” She offered. “He hides the good stuff from Al.” Vanessa opened a cupboard by your knees and behind the cleaning supplies was a bottle of wine.

You didn't know the difference between ‘the good stuff’ and ‘the regular stuff’. “I'm sorry to say but I think wine tastes like piss. Has he got any rum or flavoured gin down there?”

Vanessa chuckled but delved deeper finding a bottle of rum.

She poured you a decent amount, letting you grab your mixer and then poured herself a wine.

“The scary one yours?” She nodded to Logan who was currently in a heated debate with Wade.

“Yup.”

“And you have a pup.” She commented.

“Laura and Logan.”

“I want kids.” She whispered to herself before shaking her head. “How'd you guys find each other?”

“Oh, well we're all from broken homes. We all just met.” You sipped your drink. “I met her and took her in, then I found him again. He took us both in.”

“Oh so she's not yours?” Vanessa's eyes widened. “I didn't mean that.”

“No.” You forgave her. “I know what you meant. She isn't mine but she's technically his. It's a really long story. If you want to hear it I'll happily tell you but you have to be prepared.”

Vanessa nodded and you told her your tale until the doorbell rang and food was being plated up.

Negasonic Teenage Warhead had come up to you and told you Laura was very sweet. She informed you that they had exchanged numbers and that her name was in fact “Ellie” but forbade you to ever speak it in front of Wade.

Wade had forced two tables together and stole every chair in the building for you all. Ellie, Yukio, Buck, El, Gambit, you and B-15 sat on one side of the table, whilst Laura, Logan, Wade, Vanessa, Shatterstar, Peter and Dopinder sat at the other. Colossus and Blade were at the heads.

Dinner was nice. It was Chinese food. You all had a healthy amount and ate with a regular banter.

It was just like being in the X-Mansion.

You noticed Logan relieve Wade of Mary and saw Wade's nervous breath as he spoke to Vanessa.

Your Wolverines smiled over the world's ugliest dog.

It was so domestic.

So lovely.

You loved them so much.

“They're very cute.” El nudged you with her elbow.

“I know.” You may be biassed.

“I'm glad they're getting on.” She spoke lowly, you knew if they wanted they could hear but spoke in the same tone of voice back.

“Was it really awful?”

“She's done a complete 180.”

You sighed. “Sometimes I wish I didn't hold that power over them. I'm going to die, El, they aren't.”

She turned to face you fully. “They'll be happy with whatever they get from you.”

“I know.”

“They love you.” She rubbed your back.

“And I love them.”

“I love you.”

You smirked. “And I love you, El. I don't know if I would've survived out there without you.”

“Same.” She pulled you in for a hug and you squeezed her.

~~

It was later in the evening when Logan pulled you close. He had slipped off onto the fire escape for a break, bottle in hand and a cigar in his back pocket case anyone - Wade - questioned him.

You had found him and he motioned for you to be quiet as you joined.

The window was silently shut and he brought you to his chest.

“Why are you out here?” You whispered. “It's cold.”

“I'm warm now.” He kissed your crown. His back was against the brick of the building, in between two windows, to hide himself. You were brought in close, in hopes to conceal the two of you.

"I've been sent to bring you in, we're taking photos. I've been in so many." You giggled, slightly buzzed.

"Let me hold you for another couple minutes."

You hummed in response, wrapping your arms tighter around his waist.

“It's been a cute little party.” You commented, resting your head on him as you looked out into the distance. The buildings were beautiful. It was still relatively early so lights were shining. Each building was its own Christmas tree with colour. There was the standard warm white, purples, blues, a lime green. They all shine individually in a beautiful mosaic.

The fact that everyone was living their own life struck you. And this was one universe. The bazillions of lives that were out there was too crazy to even try to conceive.

“Your brain is loud.” He ran a hand down your back causing you to shiver. The hand landed on your ass and gave it a squeeze.

“Stop it.” You warned.

Logan raised his eyebrows in a taunt and pulled the skirt of your dress up to squeeze the pillowy flesh.

“I can't mark you any more.” He spoke plainly. It was true. The bruises he'd gift your neck now healed. He couldn't claim you and it was driving him towards insanity.

“So you want to show me off to the whole of New York?” You finished his sentence. “I don't think a public indecency charge is quite the same as leaving a hickey.”

He hummed and took a final swig of beer. “You know what you've done to me all night?” He ground his hip into you and you felt his erect dick. “You in your little dress and socks.”

“I am sorry.” You spoke without a hint of apology in your being, actually cupping him in your hand as you spoke, “It wasn't my intention.”

He groaned. “When you were sitting on our bed putting them on I knew it would be a hard night. You look like an innocent... kitten. I wanted to fuck you into next week right there and then. Wanted to have you sit on my face when you were plodding around looking for a pair of shoes. Wanted to fill you up when you were looking for that hotel.”

Fuck me. Why was he so- “So you admit there's a hotel missing?”

Logan let out a full body laugh. His chest rumbling. “I am going to fucking ruin you.”

You worried your lip in anticipation. “We better get back to bed then.”

“Why wait?”

Your eyes bulged. “You want to fuck me here?”

He looked away and shrugged playfully.

“I don't think we'd have enough time.”

“You're worried you'd be heard.”

Fuck him.

“Maybe.”

He smirked but took a step away from the wall. “C’mon. Let's say our goodbyes.”

You both re-entered the party and Wade whooped loudly. "Finally! Come on stand with Laura!"

You'd forgotten the party was waiting on you. Imagine if you had let him take you out there.

The two of you met Laura who was sheepishly smiling. You were positioned in-between the wolverines.

"Say cheese!" Vanessa joked as she held the phone.

Laura repeated the word, making the first photo taken you and Logan breaking your necks to look at her as she grinned widely.

~~

You were flickering through the thousands of photos that were sent, perching on the arm of your sofa. Slightly tipsy as you giggled whilst swiped at them, some of them were so silly.

You'd posed with your Void family, taken candids of Wade and Vanessa, there were a few of Al and Gambit that Wade hated, Yukio has sent over a few of her, Ellie and Laura. There was a group ‘selfie’ - you'd just learned the word despite taking some - that was pure chaos.

You deleted a few that were doubles and when it got to you and your Wolverines your finger hovered above the recycle bin.

“Don't delete that one.”

You jumped, not realising he was there. Logan was leaning over the back of the sofa staring at your phone.

“My eyes are closed.” You explain.

“Because you're laughing.”

“Exactly, I have a double chin.” Wade had made you all laugh. Logan and Laura were smiling on the lower end of the spectrum whilst you were cackling like a witch in the middle. “It's a bad photo.”

“It's not if you're in it.”

You playfully rolled your eyes, basking in the compliment, and leaned into his shoulder. He had removed the flannel shirt so his shoulders were bare.

“I love your slutty little vests.”

He huffed in amusement. “My slutty little vests?”

You nod, speaking into his neck. “You're unfairly handsome. With your little waist and kitty cat hair.”

“Are you drunk?”

“No.” You pulled up, staring into his soul. “But Gambit was pouring drinks so I'm halfway.”

Logan chuckled and stood upright. He disappeared into the kitchen, much to your annoyance, and reappeared with a glass of water and some tablets. “Here.”

You accepted what he offered and swallowed the tablets with no complaints. “See how good I am at swallowing?” You wink.

Logan was taken aback. He truly hadn't expected that from you.

“What Lo? Cat got your tongue?” You batted your eyes at him. “You were all talk earlier.”

Logan licked his lips and took the glass from your hands. Placing it on the side table. He leant his hands on either side of your legs on the sofa's arm. His nose inches from yours.

“I don't think you could handle it.”

You giggled. “Logan, I don't think you-” your pointer finger touched his chest, “-could handle it.”

He lent in to kiss you but side swept. What absolute bastard behaviour! You moaned as he stood to his full height. “C’mon. Bed time.”

Bed time?!

Bed time.

Is he being- bed time?!

You grumbled before demanding, “Are you being serious? Logan.”

“You're drunk.” He folded his arms.

“No, I'm really not.” Being so close and denied was very sobering.

He smiled softly down at your pout.

Logan offered you his hand and you huffed before accepting; getting up and letting him lead you to your room.

“Don’t think I don't want to. Earlier I was feeling the buzz, I was ready like you are now, but I can't really be inebriated so I don't think it would be right.”

Logan brought you to the bathroom, setting you on to the lip of the bath to help you with your ablutions.

“It's not rapey.” You rambled. “I respect how you feel but me being tipsy and wanting to be with sober you isn't weird. We're a coup-” You stopped yourself.

It was too late.

“We're a couple?” He teased, wiping your face with a cotton pad covered in micellar water.

He tilted your face as you asked. “Well… we are, aren't we?” Brows high.

“‘course we are.” He tossed the pad in the bin. “You're my girl.”

The warm feeling you got was actually so highschool. You shouldn't have these butterflies, you're a woman.

He spoke after a while, silently helping you wash your face. “You gotta send me those photos.”

“Did Wade not send them?” Your hands which were holding your hair out of the way dropped to your sides.

“I blocked that dick the second day I got a phone.” He chuckled. “He likes to text.”

You smirked up at him. “I'll send them.”

Logan's palms cupped your cheeks. “Good, ‘cause you looked drop dead gorgeous tonight.”

@littlecrowtime @geeksareunique @lovelyvaderx @br3nt-12 @st1nkabutt @maximumchilddreamland @catiwinky @twinkywink @ravenmedows @electricreader @racetrackheart @vulgarfuckinvirgo77 @bisasterbisexual @tzurue @narniansmagic @seamlessepiphany @4ria790 @caramelatae @mei-simp @slightlymediocree

The butterflies were back, your tummy and cheeks warming.

Part 12

[obessedwithfictionalmen]

Co-Stars pt.15

Callum Turner X Actress! Reader

Summary: Y/n is invited of cooking with Flo and gets a little drunk.

Warning: Kinda cringe (I'm sorry)/ alcohol/ Swearing/ use of Y/n/

Word count: 790 words

Florence Pugh invited her on her cooking show. She was excited to go with her, she loved to cook, and she was friends with Flo. She brought Callum with her, and Callum brought Austin. When she arrived, she hugged Florence and took the apron that she gave her. It was a white one with pomegranate all over it. ‘’I’m so excited!’’ she squeals. Y/n chuckles and kiss Callum before Florence goes live.

‘’It’s cooking with Flo, bitches!’’ she puts the knife in the cutting board. ‘’And Y/n is here!’’ Flo exclaims, hugging her again. ‘’Hey everyone! How’s everyone doing?’’ they look in the chat for the answers and then, they look at each other before laughing for no reason. ‘’Guys, today we’re going to do chicken Cajun alfredo, or whatever the order is. But for the drink, I made Y/n’s favorite, a rum n’ coke!’’ she gives her the glass and they tap their glass together before starting to pace around the kitchen to get the ingredients. ‘’By the way, if you hear people talking behind, it’s my husband and my husband’s husband’’ Y/n laughs. Austin, Callum and Florence burst out laughing, Y/n is proud of her joke, as she joins the group laughing.

‘’So now the chicken is seasoned – ‘’ Y/n impulsive thought took control as she slapped the chicken, like she would slap someone’s ass. ‘’- Mate, what the fuck’’ Florence’s smoker laugh took over her laugh, which made Y/n laugh even more. ‘’How many drinks did they have?’’ Austin asked, chuckling. ‘’I don’t know’’ Callum laughed. Y/n was out of breath from laughing so much. ‘’Okay, where were we?’’ she laughed again. Florence took a sip of her drink before looking at her friend. ‘’We have to cook the chicken’’ she explained. ‘’Oh, we should put music!’’ Y/n suggested. Florence nodded before she hit shuffle on her playlist, the first song that came to their ear was Vente Pa’ Ca by Ricky Martin ft Maluma. ‘’I love that song!’’ Y/n exclaimed as she took Florence hands to dance. ‘’The chicken is going to burn, love’’ Callum warned. As Y/n lip synced, Florence quickly took care of the piece of meat.

The pasta was almost done, so was the chicken, Florence and Y/n had about 3 drinks, Austin and Callum’s cheeks were hurting from laughing so much; Y/n was unhinged. Every thought that went through her head, she shared it. ‘’I think I would’ve been burned alive if I lived in Salem when the trial happened, because I have great tits and an opinion.’’ She said, touching the side of her tits, laughing. ‘’I’m hot, they want to make me hotter’’ she giggled. Florence face palmed as she stirred the pastas. ‘’I think you had enough to drink’’ Callum laughed. Y/n nods in agreeing with him. ‘’We’re going to take a little bit of pasta water before dumping it. That’s the secret, pasta water!’’ Y/n exclaims as she takes a scoop of the pasta water. ‘’Someone in the chat said that Callum and Austin are the parents and we’re the children’’ Florence laughs.

‘’Ok! It’s done! Look at how pretty it is!’’ Y/n says as she shows the plate to the camera. ‘’Austin, Callum, come and taste!’’ Florence says. The boys come behind the girls, Callum puts his hands on Y/n’s waist, making her giggle. ‘’That smells amazing!’’ Austin comments. ‘’Yeah, it does!’’ Callum adds. As they take a bite of the food, Y/n and Florence looks at each other. ‘’It’s so fucking good!’’ Y/n exclaims. Florence nods and chuckles. ‘’Babe, you need to come on the show more often’’ Florence says. ‘’I’ll gladly come back’’ Y/n smiles. Austin and Callum take a bite at the food and smile. ‘’That is Gordon Ramsey level’’ Austin exclaims. ‘’It’s really good, oh my! I love it’’ he smiles.

‘’Okay guys, so that was cooking with Flo and Y/n, bitches! See you next time!’’ Florence says as she stops her live. ‘’That was really fun! Thank you so much for the invite’’ Y/n hugs Flo. ‘’You’re welcome here any time. Maybe with less drinks’’ She laughs. Callum agrees as he puts his arm around Y/n’s waist. ‘’Ouh! Next time we can cook shrimp tacos!’’ Y/n proposed. Florence nods as she says goodbye to Austin.

The aftermath of the video on the internet is good. People are saying that Drunk Y/n is unhinged, the fact that Y/n called Austin her husband’s husband is funny, Florence needs to invite Y/n again, Callum’s love contact is physical touch and many more stuff. Y/n was a little bit embarrassed about things she said, but overall she had a really great time, and she wanted to do it again…

[felucians]

un bisou

Fandom: Marvel X-men | Gambit/Remy LeBeau x Reader

Reader is gender neutral with no physical descriptions. Rated PG-13 because Gambit would be the type of guy to grab anyone's ass during a kiss, he would test the boundaries and we all know it. Reader is a mutant with celestial Sun powers - technically based on my OC's powers which manipulates the Sun, specifically it's fire.

Summary: Takes place during Days of Future Past in the original X-Men series, where Bishop accuses Gambit of an assassination that destroys the future, reader is the only one to believe him. Pre-established relationships between Rogue/Gambit, Reader/Gambit and Reader is a member of the X-men team. Title is French for "a kiss". Wordcount: around 800 words.

"Don't nobody trust Gambit, eh?"

Rogue can't meet his eyes, her gaze downcast and guilt etched onto her features.

Gambit won't look at you, at your eyes glazing over in tears as your shared family denies him, believes that he could be the assassin. He didn't hear your whisper of "I do" as he loudly announces to the room, "Then Gambit don't need nobody."

He stalks away, glowering as his trench coat flows behind like a cape, and then the room is silent as his footsteps fade.

The lights black out and you're finally unfrozen, "How dare you? All of you? Not trusting one of our own, our team. Who are we if we cannot trust each other? What kind of family is this?"

The Sun hesitantly flickers through the windows, as solar flares begin radiating from your arms, anger burning through your body.

Rogue is first to speak, "Calm down, Sugah—"

"Calm down? When you all just turned your backs on him?"

Jean fixes you with a soft, understanding gaze and whispers "Go" in your mind - your chair hits the wall, leaving a dent with flashes of celestial energy trailing behind.

You don't even realise your feet carrying you through the hallways, yelling his name throughout the mansion, praying to anyone listening that he's still here and you find him before he leaves here, before he leaves you.

He's standing, paused at the doorway to the X-jet, breathing heavily with angry mutters of Cajun creole - blurring English and French seamlessly. Gambit looks up at the sound of your footsteps, a flash of vulnerability in his eyes that left in a second, replaced by a harsh piercing glare, "Porquoi êtes-vous ici, Dulcinée?" (Why are you here, sweetheart?)

The nickname is spat out, venom seeping out from the endearment that would usually bring a soft flush of heat to your face. You try not to flinch. Emphasis on try, because you do, and his face somehow looks even more pained at that. Words evade you as your throat dries, refusing to respond, so you take a deep breath and a soft gulp before you respond, grateful that you could understand his mother tongue.

"I'm here because I trust you, Remy."

He falters, searching your eyes desperately to spot any falsehoods, any inkling that you were spying on him for Charles - he doesn't find any. He finds pure raw love, the kind you knew you felt but could never truly verbalise.

Everyone on the team could see your soft spot for Gambit, and he knew it too. Sure, he flirted with every woman he came into contact with and he couldn't stop thinking about Rogue - but there was something about you that left the Cajun torn, as if he also loved you but didn't dare bare his heart to anyone, as if his shield crumpled, then his world would collapse and destroy everyone he cared about with it.

But here, with only you left, dangerously close to him in the enclosed space of the doorframe's entrance, he couldn't remember why he kept those walls up. He allowed his eyes to flicker to your soft lips, watching intensely as you involuntarily catch the bottom one in between your teeth. Your heart is hammering in your chest and before you can think to pull away, to move down the hallway or into the next room, his big hands are splayed on your soft hips, your spandex suit in bright terracotta separating your skin to skin contact.

He's surprisingly soft, as his lips meet yours and he tastes like spice and tobacco. It infiltrates your senses, enveloping you in a blanket of warmth and desire while you gasp, allowing him to deepen the kiss further, to let Remy explore your mouth, your taste, your emotions. His gloved hands grasp around your waist as the other dips down to your ass, giving it a small squeeze. His smirk brushes his stubble against your cheek at the soft breathy moan you let out from his actions - you would swear Jubilee was in here with the amount of fireworks lighting up your veins, the passion and love igniting your whole body in flames.

Gambit pulls away, and his face is almost unreadable and then it's sad. It's a goodbye kiss, you realise as he walks past you through the door to the X-jet - and you almost let him.

He's so lost on his own emotions and thoughts from the kiss that ghosts his lips that he doesn't notice you slipping into the darkened room after him, only to be blinded by the harsh lights as Bishop and Wolverine reveal themselves, entirely unaware of everything that just transpired between you both...

[kaysithekoolest]

Macho Man...

Gambit/Remy LeBeau x male reader

Handjob, semi-public, dirty talk, Top Gambit, cum eating (?) (I suck at tagging shit)

With the appearance of a cocky new X-Men, of course rumors were to come about. The only issue is when those rumors have to do with an already existing Cajun member. Even worse if they are false accusations of his private life...

The inability to sleep plagued many X-Men, even in the comfort of the dorms at the X-Mansion. You were no exception, and even despite it being around one thirty a.m. you still couldn't sleep, wide awake but tired. And it didn't help that you were completely parched. So you promptly pushed yourself out of bed, it wasn't like you were going to get to sleep soon anyhow.

You tried your best to Quietly pad down the hall and then the stairs to the kitchen. You really didn't want to wake anyone, or disturb others who were still awake. You looked around the kitchen when your feet finally hit the cold wood of the floor. A simple cup of water should do the trick and solve the problem of your dry throat. You tried to quickly open the cupboard and retrieve a soft red plastic cup. Most and widely considered all of the cups were plastic or something simple since glass was so easily broken by other mutants. You yourself and even had to learn that the hard way. It was like a right of passage, an unpleasant one. You just filled the red cup with water from the tap, not really caring how good or healthy it was for you at that moment. And decided to throw a few ice cubes in because why not? You filled the tray back up, sliding it into its place in the freezer before finally taking a nice long refreshing sip from your cup. And while it may have just been tap water in a plastic bag with a few ice cubes, it was the most refreshing thing you had in hours. And the tiles of the kitchen also kept the area cool.

A hum from the other side of the kitchen startled you, almost spilling the water in the red plastic cup in your hands. “Mon chére, Good to see you here… I needed to talk t' ya anyway.” A smooth Cajun accent cooed. A shiver ran down your spine, you knew what he was talking about. Being a newer X-Men meant you wanted to make a name for yourself (pun intended). So why disrupt the rumor that you were topping the charismatic Louisiana man? But it wasn't such a good idea to agree and add to those rumors, now was it? The dim light from above the sink aluminates Remy’s form. He was dressed in next to nothing, which was understandable due to the heat, seemingly only sweatpants he cut just above the knee himself. You could even see his hair shine a little with sweat, and it added a glossy shine to the rest of his visible skin, your eyes trailed over his body. “What’s wrong, Macho Man? Don't think ya can handle little ol' Gambit, anymore?” He cooed mockingly as he cornered you against the kitchen island. “Remy…” His name came out as barely a breath. “That was just…” You paused, unsure if you should double down or just give up. You took a deep breath, straightening up and puffing out your chest a little. “It's not like I couldn't handle you. I could fuck you brainless if I wanted to.” You shot back confidently, a grin tugging at your lips now. Remy tilted his head at your cocky demeanor, but the Cajun was always two steps ahead. “Then give it a go, (Name)... Come on, I'm sure ya could handle me.” He backed you against the quartz kitchen island too, the edge dug into the flesh of your hips, rubbing uncomfortably against the bone there.

You hadn't expected what came next, most because you were what was about to cum. (I couldn't resist a play on words) Remy’s hands, rough from years of thievery, dealing cards, and training with the X-Men reached down, and gave your cock a quick squeeze through your thin night shorts. You let out a loud involuntary moan, quickly made embarrassed and terrified someone might've heard and woke up. “Not so confident now, are we, Petit (Name)..?” Remy said with a cocky and arrogant tone. Your hand went down to grip his wrist as he kept stroking you through your pants. You bite your lips, to keep quiet, not wanting to be caught. Now the pressure from being pushed up against the island seemed forgotten. He leaned in closer, his warm bare chest now pressing against yours. Remy’s hot breath was fanning across your already flushed skin. “Admit it, you're a whore for Remy’s touch. You need someone to guide you.” He growled huskily against the flesh of your ear, nipping at the skin under your ear. His pace sped up and your grip on him tightened. Pathetic whimpers escaped from your clenched lips. It wasn't the type of noise you were proud of. Not the type of noise a dominant man would make. “God damn you, Rem...” You cursed him in a moan, your hips bucked against his hand. “Ah, chere… What's wrong? Cat got your tongue? I thought you were the one makin’ Gambit lose his breath?” He cooed sarcastically into your ear, his hot breath fanning over the sensitive skin. You throbbed in his firm grip, almost cumming undone as the pad of his thumb swiped over the sensitive skin of your tip. "You gonna come undone for the man you're s'posed to be toppin'?" Remy's accent rasped against the flushed skin of your ear. The hot knot in the bottom of your stomach snapped as your cock twitched, the thick white liquid spewing from your reddened tip. "Remy, yo- Goddamn it!" You cursed him, knowing if anyone else was awake they had heard you. But you were quickly distracted as your body felt like static and you were thankful Remy had you pinned up against the counter. Your nails had dug deeply into the warm flesh of Remy's strong bicep. And you could barely let go as your vision came back. Remy chuckled cruelly, well you knew it wasn't cruel but it felt so after the cocky just made you cum your brains out. "You're good for a midnight snack..." He hummed sensually as he brought his cum covered fingers to his lips. His pink tongue peeked out from his lips, and ran over his fingers, collecting the salty white liquid on his tongue as shallowing it. If you hadn't just cum, you might've gotten hard again immediately. "You couldn't have just..." You paused, taking a moment to catch your breath. "Just told everyone you were a top? You had to ring me out?" You managed to pant out. This only made the Cajun man grinned. "Well for that sass, maybe I'll just finish myself off, mr (Name)..." Remy cooed, making you look down to the outline of his boner. You felt a little guilty for forgetting the pleasure of your boyfriend but he had also just cleared your mind of any thoughts. "Please, Remy..." You pleaded, you needed that cock to milk your prostate. You had basically given up your macho act. "Maybe if you beg some more, Gambit will think 'bout it..." He purred sensually against your ear, pulling your still clenched hand to ghost over his chubbed cock. You knew tonight was going to be long and hot. Maybe you should goat more often....

[writingoddess1125]

I'm not sure if you take CoD requests but I was wondering if maybe you could do headcanons for Alejandro(if you write for him) with a reader who's Cajun, has a Cajun accent, and calls him Sha(its Cajun slang for sweetheart/dear/darling)

If you don't write for Alejandro, maybe Price or Soap

Oh this is so cute!!

Support me on Ko-Fi

Alejandro with Cajun Reader

PSA - I did a lot of research so I tried 😅

• You get stationed out to the main base in Los Vaqueros, tasked to help the people there and work alongside Colonel Alejandro Vargas.

• Arriving on a helicopter you smile as you meet Alejandro smiling at you. "Welcome to Las Almas my friend- Heard great things about you"

• "Boujour! Comment ça s’plume? Alejandro no?" You say cheerfully clearly throwing off the man at the French being thrown his way- But a French he was incredibly unfamiliar with

• "Sargent (Y/L/N)? Correct?" You nod calmly, The Colonel smiking a bit- "We must leave soon then"

• "Don't be like that Cher" You say with a laugh and watch the man's face twist in mild confusion still.

• "Sha?" He repeated, you realizing quickly your mistake with a hearty laugh. "It's a term of endearment- Like Darlin'- Now, You said we had to leave No? Allons!"

• Alejandro nods and leads you off to your station, Still a bit confused over what the fuck you were saying-

• After a few weeks on base he starts to understand, realizing you are speaking a form of French mixed with English. The two of you talking quite often now as he shows you around Las Almas and the situation there.

• "They told me you are American-" Alejandro questioned as you two drove through the town.

• "I am-" You clarified with a smile. "From Louisiana" Alejandro nodded his head like he suddently got it.

• "Isn't uh it Creole? Es.. That's the American word right?" Alejandro questions, making you shake your head. "Two differen' peoples Sha-" You say as you try to explain the difference.

• This poor man is so confused- Feels like he's in school again and was just given a very hard exam that he didn't study for.

• "Creole is more City and Cajun is country" You simplified, which seemed to ease the confusion for the time being.

• The two of you become fast friends- You of course a chatter box and always wanting to learn and Alejandro always wanting to teach and see new things.

• Alejandro begins to teach you more Spanish while you teach him French-

• He likes to tease about how you talk with your hands and your passion behind your speaking. Finds it funny

• You two do have arguments at times, like an old couple do at stupid things. However rank is never pulled or acknowledged since it's always fun/personal banter

• However what truly soothed over any issues was the food- The two of you becoming quick food buddies as you'd share your guys food with each other.

• Alejandro walked straight to you on base early morning after a briefing, staring hard at you as he held a wrapped item in hand-

"...This is a La Guacamaya torta- It is one of my favorites... I added extra chicharrón" He flexes as he shows off the item. You nodding in agreement that it looked pretty damn good.

• "Not bad Not bad-" You smile, Before reaching for your own item with a grin. Pulling out a well worn Tupperware bowl-

• "Now, Had to improvise is bit- since Not many of my ingredients in this neck of the woods so I did so?' Pastalaya and found ya a le Boudin to have later"

• You say proudly showing off your lunch. Alejandro nodding also impressed- Before the two of you switch lunches and sit together to eat happily.

• It didn't take a genius for others to figure out you were buddy buddy with the Colonel- While some didn't like it, most warmed up to you and stared in your joy and willingness to expand-

• While you let anyone else know clearly they could go fuck themselves-

• However Alejandro was always your ride or die.

• The two of you shit talk for hours while eating... Half the time Not even understanding each other as you share new insults and curse words.

• He was your best friend, and you his-

[hybbart]

What are magical Lizzie and magical jimmy’s powers and do their powers change with their outfits? What are the microphones for?

what do they fight or work towards in the au?

Well, it's funny that someone mentioned hirogaru precure in the notes first of all because the hirogaru transformation is the one I use in my head for theirs.

Anyways way too much info below

The Enchanter Wands are their transformation and final attack items, its day to day form is a pen probably. (This is where I show I thought too much about this) the paw on the front has three toe bean buttons and those control which mode they transform into and then press the heart in the centre while saying which mode into tbe microphone. The little coloured lights along it light up one by one during this cause all the best transformation toys do. And of course, the ribbon is moulded plastic like the rest of it. I'm awful at designing wands and toys alike but I think I did a good job of making something that meets the typical standards for the transformation trinket while making it stick out just enough to seem like it was designed first.

Anyways they're music themed! Just like my old art. They're Magical Enchanter Jimmy and Magical Enchanter Lizzie, because they're semi-idol magical girls so they sing, but I went with chanter because chanter is also french and it's not magical girls without random french. And enchanter makes it magical and a reference to minecraft. Magical is redundant but it rolls off the tongue. Also the abbreviation would be Macha rather than Maen or Maencha, just cause its cuter and be a similar pun to Precure.

Their transformation modes are as followed:

Cod Cajun and Axolotl Shanty. Aka their aqua forms they can breathe water and swim with these forms and their attacks are nature and water themed and magic oriented. They also let them create objects.

Cow Folk and Cat Carol. Aka their land forms, these ones have super strength more than the others and are defence oriented. They use fire and earth themed attacks. They also can make shields.

Canary Blues and Butterfly Ballad. Aka their sky forms. They can fly and have superspeed with theae forms. They're fragile but powerful. They use wind and light themed attacks. They also let them use disguises.

All the forms have about average strength, speed, jumping ability, and fighting ability like your typical combat magical girl, and they can also talk to animals. Jimmy also has super hearing while Lizzie's voice can travel long distances.

They're regular siblings who just love karaoke until their singing attracts the very distressed faeries, Norman and Joel, to them. They need help defeating The Silencer (Martyn) who attacked the Harmony Kingdom and stole the citizens' ability to connect. The seablings are heavily music themed but the overall theme is the arts and communication.

His henchmen are Tango, Cleo, and Shubble, all former citizens of the Harmony Kingdom brainwashed through their individual difficulties communicating. The daily baddies are manifestations of people's lonelines. The Harmony King is also Ren, who's been put into a great depressive slumber on his throne. Oli and Joe are also there somewhere too, but no one knows what's up with them.

Later they're joined by Katherine, the princess of the Harmony Kingdom who has a sewing and fashion theme who is very sociable but has a curse that turns her into the Dark Enchanter, who got brainwashed trying to save her faerie friend Shubble. And Pearl, a strange upperclassmen they meet in a gallery who has a sculpting and art theme who uses technical/scientific knowledge like redstone to enhance her art (cause the very first thing I would do if I was ever given a children's series to work onis subvert the performer-technician dichotomy trope since its my least favourite thing).

Both have their own unique trinkets of a makeup case and stamp palette, and their faeries are Shubble and Tango after they've been defeated and turned back to thwir faerie forms.

Jimmy and Lizzie's story is largely about them drifting apart after their parents divorce and they grew up going to separate schools, and reconnecting with one another through their shared love of singing and cute animals.

I think they would also all join theatre club together, as a way for them all to show off their talents. Lizzie is already part of her music club at the start but wants to switch to theatre because it better suits her passions (but isn't as respectable), and Jimmy is a bit more aimless, constantly getting in trouble and being bullied, and joins to make friends. Katherine and Pearl later join also in as the costuming and set design department. The teachers are oddly familiar...

[choster33]

Gambit- X-men 97's Romantic Hero

I love Gambit and after watching X-men 97 I'm sure that he's a lot of people's favorite right now. After watching and rewatching, season 1 I think that the writers have set him up as the Romantic Hero which is not just that he's a main part of a love triangle which he is but Romantic in the Byronic literary archetype way of "possessing the qualities of being larger than life, enjoying suffering, being isolated from society, being always haunted by an unseeingly unidentified sin and is known for being quite cynical" according to Brainly.com. Not to mention having a long suffering love interest!

He is not in the series for a lot of time, but his arc through episode 5 and the impact that he has throughout the whole show is monumental. He begins with a splash looking hot in his iconic pink crop top. I mean, there are very few people who would make this look good and he really does. He also comes off as way more interesting than Scott who bores me to tears. I sometimes skip Scott and Jean stuff to be quite honest and that comes from Remy being a good guy, but not boring. He has a sense of humor, a sense of adventure, and an all around down to earth personality. He is a strong fighter and loyal X-men, but even from the beginning he is seen as charming, funny and right. There is less of a threat after Xavier's death and Scott, Bishop and Ororo did have it handled.

Then we get to the club and Gambit is the ultimate lover in that he pairs up with Rogue and then proceeds to look at her lovingly whilst telling her what any worthwhile man would do to be with her. Swoon.

Then we have episode 2 where Rogue and Magneto reestablish their connection. We may cheer Rogue for being able to touch someone, but look at Gambit's hurt and sad eyes. Long suffering relationship indeed. Romantic heroes seem to love suffering and what is more painful and self inflicted than falling in love with someone who can't touch, but also is full of insecurities about love and commitment. I love Rogue, but she's afraid of love and terrified of hurting someone else which shows in how she handles relationships.

Mon dieu, it's freaky Rogueneto telling him what he tells himself, his deepest fears. A good Romantic hero always has demons and haunted by past sins and who is more haunted by his past than Gambit. I have to say here that some people might be thinking who is more tortured than Magneto, but I disagree. Magneto has a dark past, but he thinks he's right. Whereas Gambit is wracked with guilt and feelings of not being worthy of being called a X-man and being Rogue's man. He grew up a Cajun swamp rat from a Thieves guild raised by thieves, assassins and other nefarious people and lived most of his life as a thief. What makes him interesting is the tortured guilt and modesty that Gambit has.

He goes to Genosha because he's jealous and wants to make sure that there is nothing going on between Rogue and Magneto. Magneto even says as much. He wasn't even meant to be there and might have been safe on Earth, but we know what happened to him tragically. Plus we see how he is not cowed by Magneto and willing to ask questions no one else is willing to ask. Another reason why Magneto is not the Romantic hero, is that he is mutant MVP in this show, the heir to the X-mansion and the X-men, asked to be king of Genosha, and etc. where Romantic heroes are on the fringes of society like Gambit, who is a hero as a X-man but not wanting fame, glory, or power like Magneto.

Kurt is so observant and sees instantly the connection the two have and calls Gambit out on being theatrical. Gambit calls himself a scoundrel and yet again dismisses the possibility of a happy ending for himself. Then we get that iconic line of "There is no love without sin. Love is best measured in what we forgive." Gambit again falls into the Romantic hero trope of thinking he is too low for love, but isn't going to necessarily change his ways, just accepts that he is on the fringes of society and all that entails. One of the things I love about Romy is their understanding about one another. They both have murky pasts and are filled with self loathing and self doubt. They are strong attractive X-men but they are best friends because they GET each other.

Oof, the breakup scene. How more Romantic and tortured was this? He showed how amazing a man he was by patiently listening to her tell her story and then at the end not blowing up at her or making her feel like shit, but just wanting the truth from her and showing how much it hurt him. He played the Swamp Rat, because a lot of that was a game, a way for her to feel OK with keeping him at arm's length, dangling on a string, never fully letting him in because intimacy was too scary.

It's scenes like this that make me wonder if they have touched before even accidentally because Gambit as a character is so self loathing that if she touched him even by accident, she is holding so much of that loathing in her which may be something contributing to her doubts. A part of comic!Rogue leaving Gambit in Antarctica was because she absorbed him and was filled with self loathing.

He is such a gentleman that he even kisses her hand and agrees to be friends. And granted that the Magneto and Rogue dance was hot, but that must have been torture for Gambit. Then our Byronic hero becomes a man of action and hot damn we get James Bond level action and heroics. He shows his strength and does whatever is necessary to save his lady. Despite his differences with Magneto, he doesn't petulantly sulk but does what is required of him because he is a hero at the end of the day. He is brave and selfless and chivalrous. He is giving old school knight chivalry here and I'm here for it.

Then my heart breaks as does every other viewer at the death scene and the "can't feel you" line. It's very soap opera-y and dramatic to kill him after breaking his heart, but here we are. Rogue is the long suffering love interest and most Romantic stories don't necessarily have a happy ending. He wasn't even meant to be in Genosha and because of love and circumstance ended up dying tragically as the ultimate hero. He died a hero's death dying to save thousands, but more importantly to save the love of his life.

In later episodes, his death is a catalyst for Rogue taking action and even turning darker. Her love for Gambit shows more when he is gone and is going to be a fundamental chapter in her life. One that might make her think twice about being commitment phobic and using her abilities as an excuse not to feel intimacy and how wrong she got it with Gambit. It was love, true love and she didn't see it until she was too late.

This may just be a chapter in their story and we may have more drama and angst with Deathbit in Season 2, but even dead Gambit was the troubled Romantic lead that made X-men 97 work and be so interesting. Episode 5 was my favorite and probably the best episode next to the finale and that's due to Gambit. We relate to him and feel deeply in his pain, self loathing, jealousy, and love of Rogue. I find Magneto interesting and Rogueneto is fun to read and write about, but Romy is the OTP and Gambit is Lancelot.

[dusterbishop]

you believe me like a god (i'll destroy you like i am)

summary. || three timelines, you have watched remy lebeau die. you didn't believe you would earn a fourth chance to save him until you find a variant with no memory of his past, lost in a void of existence.

pairing. || gambit x f!reader (past relationship with current enemies-to-lovers)

count. || 3.8k

notes. || posted on ao3 here. warning for character death and violence. once again, i'm so grateful for the likes and kind words! it means a lot to me! this chapter is long, but the next one is going to be heavy and i needed to get it all out here.

part one. || part two. || part three.

Come’on, chér, just hold on.

Playing the odds?

Non, I’m bettin’ all on you.

Gambit talks for a long, long time. He tells you about Cassandra Nova, and the Resistance's intent to cripple her center of operations. He tells you about the other mutants he allied himself with. He tells you about the climate of the Void, which is dry and barren and desolate. He tells you about his liquor collection, even as he laments how he won’t be able to indulge in it for a while.

This version of him is dead-set on a suicide mission, you quickly realize. Nova and her power sounds far beyond the scope of Gambit’s abilities, and you doubt his allies could overtake her, either. They are all hopelessly outmatched.

Then again, they are also decaying in the Void. Void is a good name for it; the earth is desolate and menacing as the pair of you travel. Your powers flicker at the edge of your vision in a blurry mirage of recollection, like a film played backwards. You can taste the metallic tinge of blood in the back of your throat. Your body still simmers with feverish fatigue, even though you are five days deep into this timeline. You haven’t been using your abilities beyond necessity, but each time you wonder what would happen if your intended time-object doesn’t appear at the command.

C’mon, Wildcard, don’ get skittish on me now.

Just deal me in, Cajun.

They are all outmatched on their own. You stare at the broad expanse of Gambit’s back as you walk, taking in the way he walks over the uneven terrain, the idle twirl of his bo staff slung lax in his hand. The travel has worn him down at the edges; his hair is mussed and dirt-streaked, and his coat is weighted and torn at the hem. Five days of trekking through the daylight and camping through the night has taken a toll on his body, but he still hums to himself as you both walk.

You know this song. It’s the one Tante Mattie would sing to him when he was young and couldn’t sleep. Or at least, that’s what your Remy told you. Perhaps this version of Remy LeBeau found it through another source. You can’t imagine the man in front of you as a little boy needing comfort.

No. That isn’t quite true. You have seen photos of a younger Remy while visiting New Orleans, much to his dramatic announcements of utter embarrassment, and you never forgot just how small he seemed. How unfair that his life was wrought with pain and fear, even as that little boy, just for the color of his eyes. Abandoned by one family only to be raised in crime with another.

You know what your Remy went through. You just can’t bear to think about what this one has suffered with. Not now. Maybe not ever considering the terror Nova has been spreading across the Void.

“Okay,” you say suddenly. It’s nearly nightfall. You should find a place to settle for the night, then scrounge up enough from your rations to feed his burning metabolism and soothe the disquiet ache in your stomach. Despite the fever, you should eat something of substance even if the thought alone makes you feel nauseous.

“Go’on, chér,” Gambit says. He’s eyeing the horizon with a calculating look, no doubt thinking the very same thing you are. You don’t know how far the makeshift headquarters are for the rebel cause, but you can figure it’s still some ways off by the frown on his face. Just how far did he go wandering alone? You don’t allow yourself to wonder why he seemed to be looking for you, either. That would lead to more questions than your mind could handle.

“You want me to fight Nova,” you say. That catches his attention. He jolts as if you charged him with his own kinetic wave, his pitch-dark eyes sliding to lock on yours. He looks like he’s ready to argue, or maybe to sweet-talk, so you add, “I’ll do it. Fight her.”

“Suicide, chér?” His mouth is twisted unhappily. “Nobody tell you to do that.”

“Didn’t need you to, Cajun,” you shoot back. “No other reason for you to go hunting across the Void for me.”

“Mebbe,” he drawls out, his smile temptingly coy, “Gambit like what he sees.”

You don’t take the bait. “I can kill her, but where does that leave you? All of you?”

His smile grows just a little brighter at the misstep. It takes every nerve in your body to resist the urge to sigh in exasperation. You don’t have to remind him you care about his wellbeing. This Gambit isn’t yours to protect.

“Don’ worry ‘bout us, chér,” he says, nearly a purr. It sends a thrill down to the base of your spine. “We talk it out, eh? Our hand t’deal.”

“With a suicide mission?” Your laugh is strained. “You really know how to raise the bet, Cajun.”

“Playing de odds,” he agrees. In the half-light of the sinking sun on the horizon, his profile is cast in shadows, and yet you can see the faintest twitch in his mouth. Almost a frown. Then he turns his face away from you entirely, hiding back behind the facade of his relaxed shoulders. “We gonna get out dis place.”

He sounds so sure that you say nothing, taking in the moment of staring at the setting sun. It would be much easier to leave entirely, even with the heaviness of your limbs from the fever. Who knows how much time you have left in this place? Something about the timeline here has you untethered from reality. You keep swallowing back the taste of blood.

Part of you almost tells Gambit, right then, that you don’t think you have time to talk about plans. You can’t just wait for the right opportunity to land in your lap like a wounded bird.

But you don’t. The two of you quietly settle down around a fire and divide your meager rations. It’s a strange collection of his preferences with the oddity of your Void self’s miscellaneous tastes. It’s an unspoken agreement to swap the night watch while the other is asleep. Gambit takes the first watch. You pretend to sleep curled next to the heat of the fire, your mind flashing through broken images of different times, like watching broken sunlight filter in from under the surface of the ocean.

Remy used to think it odd that you didn’t dream. You would joke to him that you had enough of dreaming when you found him. Still, some part of you feels a hollow curiosity towards the thought of dreaming. How could your mind conjure images of desires only for you to wake up without them? There was never a time that you could remember where you didn’t just wave your hand and hold the world in your palm.

Yet the memories that flicker across your mind from the darkness behind your closed eyelids are strangely nostalgic. Thwarting a burglary attempt as your mutant debut, celebrating Jubilee’s birthday at the mansion, visiting New Orleans for the first time as a LeBeau. Waking up to Remy’s arm slung over your waist as if he was trying to keep you secured in this timeline, even as your mind traveled right in plain sight, gone beyond his reach.

It rends a heart-wrenching ache in your chest. You have to fight to keep your breathing steady. The memories are still there, rushing past you quickly enough to make you dizzy.

Marrying Remy and nearly missing on your cue to kiss because you were staring up at his eyes. Desperately reaching out to him as your power stuttered, nearly sending you tumbling over the edge of the roof. Discreet shuffling around in bed to avoid waking the cats piled around you two, with Remy sleepily pressing a kiss to your temple. Losing days at a time, flickering in and out of your life like a specter, only to watch him grow more and more desolate in the wake of your disappearances.

Growing sicker for all the time-summoning your body forced you through. Reaching out for Remy’s hand to kiss it. Laughing at the way Remy pulled you up out of your chair to waltz in the kitchen in the middle of the night, despite him supporting most of your weight. Staring at the abandoned costume hanging in your closet, no longer your size due to the weight loss, knowing you could not wear it again in this lifetime. Accepting that, to be with Remy.

Accepting it all, just to be with Remy. Playing the odds with your own sort of suicide mission, just to keep a life with him. To earn your title with the X-Men and get dispatched on missions with them again. To be able to cuddle with the cats without scaring them with a violent waking. To go to sleep next to your husband with the knowledge you could see the same version of him in the morning.

Deal me in, LeBeau.

Eyes, mon cuore.

Warmth burns the back of your eyes. You open them slowly to stare at the blur of the fire crackling quietly in front of you. You can taste the fresh warmth of blood coating your tongue and sticking to the back of your front teeth. There’s something small and rectangular in your hand, but you don’t shift out of your curled up position to see what it is. You hadn’t intended on bringing something out of the timeline.

How strange, to dream and wake with nothing to show for it?

“C’est tout un sucre,” Gambit says softly. You flinch at the sound of his voice. You had nearly forgotten that he was there. “Not gon’ go ahead an’ ask what’s got you so scared.”

It takes effort to swallow back the swelling emotion in your throat. “I can take watch.”

“I s’pose you jus’ want some quiet, eh?” There’s the whispering shuffle of fabric, and then Gambit is settling down to lay next to you, leaving a near-imperceptible gap between you. In another life, you could reach out and touch him. Just not this one.

“Not really,” you sigh. He lets that lie for a heartbeat, letting you collect the raging tempest of thoughts scrambling your head. It would be awfully convenient if a wandering pack of mutants tried to attack you, or if Nova herself descended from the sky to kill you. Anything to spare you from the grave you were preparing to dig yourself into.

“Gambit,” you start, still staring resolutely ahead at the flickering flames, “I told you what happens to me.”

“Reset,” he muses. You can hear the gentle rustle of fabric, then the soft flicker of shuffling cards as he takes them from one hand to the other. He thinks best when he’s in control, and so he has his cards poised for action. You don’t look at him, but you’re not entirely sure if it’s for the sake of your control, or for his.

“What I said,” you agree. “It’s not a suicide mission if I go after Nova.”

“No,” he says.

“Even if she destroys the Void version of my body, I keep traveling,” you continue. “I can — ”

“No,” he repeats. The edge in his tone makes you pause, but it’s the hand that grips yours that makes you turn to stare at him. He isn’t wearing his gloves, and the warmth of his skin against yours makes the heat of the fire feel insignificant. It’s his eyes, though, that make your lungs seize up. All night-black pupils with hardly the rings of red. His eyes are his only tell that he’s terrified out of his mind.

You blink back at him, stunned. 

“Don’ be a fool,” he finally says. Slowly, reluctantly, he takes his hand from yours. The cold air in the wake of his touch burns just as much as uncontrolled wildfire. “We all gon’ get out dis place. Nobody dyin’.”

“I can’t die,” you shoot back. “Don’t you understand? I will always move on to another life. None of this matters to me! Not the Void, or Paris, or fucking New Orleans! If I go and blow up Nova, then I can move on and live my life in another timeline without dealing with any of this.”

“Movin’ on,” Gambit notes. He’s smiling, but there’s an edge to the curve of his mouth. “Dat’s jus’ called runnin’ away.”

“And Gambit never folds, is that it?” You hold up your other hand, the one with the playing card, and toss it to him. It flutters in the breeze before resting on his chest. He narrows his eyes at you, but his curiosity wins as it always does. He was always too easy to bait. A gambler never gives up the promise of a winning prize.

You don’t have to look to know what the card is. If you were dreaming of Remy, it only makes sense that you dreamed of his favored card. Gambit studies the Queen of Hearts with an inscrutable gaze. It’s not the version that Remy gave you; that one was likely consumed in the same blast that destroyed your body. This one is unwrinkled and vibrantly colored. Brand new.

“You don’ know, do you?” Gambit says. The flatness of his tone makes you pause, though you can’t bring yourself to look at the expression on his face. Your gaze locks onto the card he’s holding so delicately, as if he’s holding onto your heart rather than a piece of pressed painted cardboard.

“You kno’ me, hein?” He turns his head to look at you, and you have to force yourself to release the breath you’ve been holding in a slow, controlled sigh. Still, you feel stripped raw by his gaze. You wrap your arms around yourself to avoid the impulse to summon a staff and fend him off from his next words: “You recognize me.”

“Seen a lot of you lately,” you say. It’s meant to be dismissive and unaffected, but even you can hear the hitch in your breath when he shuffles an inch closer, eyes burning black into yours.

“You and Gambit meet before,” he half-laughs, not happily.

“Many times.”

“Then you know Gambit’s never forgotten a beautiful woman.”

Like that, he’s up and crouched above you, his hands clasped tightly to your upper arms. You’ve forgotten how quick he can be when he’s lost in the lure of a gamble. His warmth leeches through the thin fabric of your coat, time-stolen to match the beige wasteland around you and offer some hope of camouflage. It’s nothing like the armored fabric woven into his, and his touch reminds you of just how vulnerable you truly are right now.

You’ve met a few Gambits that have tried to actively kill you, before. One had plunged a sharpened edge of his staff right into your chest, aiming with precise calculation to slip it straight through the soft skin between your ribs. Another had taken you down as collateral in pursuit of more satisfying prey, stepping around your fallen body as he continued his game. And, of course there had been Remy, too.

This Gambit doesn’t tighten his grip, though you can feel the tension humming like hornets beneath his hands, kinetic energy pulsing in anticipation.

“Gambit,” you warn him. You don’t try to pull away. You don’t even reach for the veil of time that whirs at the edges of your vision, even if it would be almost easy to summon some method of distraction and escape this sudden intervention.

“He ain’t forget,” Remy repeats. He squeezes you, just once, eyes darting over your expression with intent tenacity. “Listen to me, eh? I promised you, chér. Even if you don’ remember it, I mean it. We gonna get out dis place together.”

Something metallic tastes spoiled in the back of your throat. You blink at him, struck suddenly by the realization that you have been hiding in plain sight. The Void must be more of a well-fitting title for this place than you initially assumed, as it’s given you nothing but barren territory to let your power meander. It gives you space to let the timelines mingle in a blurry mirage of recollection at the edges of your vision, like a film played in rapid reverse.

You thought you had been desensitized to meeting Gambits, and perhaps you were right. You couldn’t even recognize Remy LeBeau until he was right in front of you. How else would you explain finding your Remy here, and not recognizing him sooner?

One of his hands flickers, almost too quick to follow, and the cuff of his sleeve unravels to reveal a card. It’s not one of the suit of aces.

It’s your Queen of Hearts.

“Is dis your card?” His words are meant to be wry, but there’s a catch in his voice where his breath stutters, so soft you might miss it if you weren’t struck senseless at the sight. The edges of the card are singed black, no doubt remainders of the kinetic energy, but the crease down the middle is undoubtedly from your nervous fidgeting during missions with the X-Men. You kept it in your pocket as a good luck charm only to fiddle with it during downtime. Folding it over and over, running your thumb over the lines to memorize every feeling.

You can’t speak. It feels like being dragged into a violent undertow, the waves of memories flickering at the edges of your vision threatening to drown you. You suck in a shuddering breath, nearly a cry, and finally succumb to the urge to reach out and touch the curve of his jaw. He’s warm and familiar beneath your touch.

“‘M all in for you, mon coeur,” he says, and then he leans in and kisses you.

Warmth burns the back of your eyes, the telltale harbinger of the tears that start trickling down your cheeks in a slow caress. He’s kissing you with reckless abandon, and you open up under his touch, unwinding your arms from your sides to reach up and clutch at the lapels of his coat. One of his hands wraps around your waist, tugging you impossibly closer, the other moving up to cup your salt-streaked cheek. You can hardly feel the rough pad of his thumb wiping away the tears beyond the whir of power buzzing in the back of your throat.

You have to pull back, breathless, though Remy is holding you tight from retreating too far.

“I’m the kinda man that don’t leave,” he tells you. His voice is just as hoarse as you feel. “I don’ care if it hurts, mon coeur. Dis place can’t have you. We gonna get out.”

“I care, you idiot.” You press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, pulling back before he can turn his head to steal a proper one. He makes a soft noise of indignation, but you can’t let him think that any more sacrifice will fix the gaping wound festering between you two. “I don’t know how we can fix what’s broken between us, Remy. I’m terrified that you’re going to end up dead trying to fix it yourself.”

“Non,” he shakes his head, though he can’t hide the way his body tenses up beneath you. “Since when you talk that way, mon coeur? Gambit has a plan.”

“He knows the odds, is that it?” You tug him down to kiss him again, and he goes willingly to your silent command, his mouth warm against yours. You can taste the salt from your tears, only to pull back and see the shine in his eyes, too. How long had it been since you two were separated for good? You don’t remember. You have lived far too long outside of this time to remember when. You hope that Remy, however he ended up in the Void, doesn’t remember either.

You can’t bear the thought of him waiting to see if you would return, following in the wake of this Void version of your face. Counting the days, over and over, just to see a stranger wearing your body every time the sun rose.

“In this, he do,” Remy agreed. There’s a furrow in his brow, and you marvel at the way you reach up and smooth a thumb over the wrinkle, only for him to scrunch his nose at you in familiar distaste. “I taste blood, mon coeur. You hurt?”

Even as he asks, his hand runs down your side, checking for hidden injury. The memories at the edge of your vision flicker to a time where he had done the same thing after a particularly rough mission sent you crashing into a wall. You had cracked two ribs and spent some downtime on mandatory bedrest while he fussed over your every movement and tried to keep the cats from sleeping on your chest.

You don’t realize how long it’s been since you’ve seen him fuss over you, but the back of your eyes start to burn again. “I’m okay, Cajun. Just adjusting to the timeline.”

He lets you kiss him again, this time keeping your mouth closed to hide the taste of your blood, but he’s still frowning when you break apart. “Six days.”

You’ve never had to spend so long adjusting. You didn’t think Gambit would notice your lack of time-summoning, but then again, you hadn’t realized Remy was silently cataloging every action that confirmed your identity. In some instances, you would only spend a minute or two in a timeline. Six days counts as practically permanent without a reset.

God, how the hell had you not noticed him watching you? Of all the Gambits for you to return to, it had to be him. And out of all the versions of you that cross-trek the known universes, he had to get the one that is too goddamn tired of losing him. He had to get the version of you that was too tired to pretend that this life was worth wrestling with every moment of the day.

No wonder he broke his silent watch to admit the truth to you. Even if it broke his heart to watch you leave the timeline, he couldn’t sit there and listen to you act willing to destroy yourself again.

Which is why you can’t tell him you’re dying, anyway. Time doesn’t exist in the same capacity in the Void. The memories overlapping your vision are nothing more than ghostly shrouds of a past life. However your power works, it doesn’t have the same support in this place. Staying here will kill you.

“Listen,” you tell Remy. His body burns hot above you, a livewire of kinetic warmth. Alive and real. Your Remy, alive. “I promise we’ll get out of here, okay?”

I promise I will save you, you think as he kisses you, his hands cupping your face as if you are something precious to protect. No matter what.