riot

your bedsheets were wrinkled, soiled with the stench of someone who’d given up.

someone who used to smile.

someone who used to.

a quiet knock at your door, a repetitive tap in a sequence so familiar it made your heart ache.

jubilee.

why was she here?

you felt her presence against the wards you’d placed in your room, a gentle hand pressed against the invisible barrier. “we miss you,” she whispered, “dinner’s ready…um, let me know if you want anything.”

you stayed still.

tears soaked your pillow. you curled up, arms tightening around the only thing that gave you any sense of safety.

remy’s coat.

it didn’t smell like him anymore. a whisper of bourbon, that stupid cologne he always sprayed on you, a warm undertone of spices and cinnamon.

it drowned you.

the sleeves fell over your hands, the length of the coat covering your curled up body completely.

“okay,” jubilee gently patted the door, “goodnight.”

you heard her leave and pause, hesitant and worried. your fingers twitched, a ripple in your defenses. jubilee stared down at her shoes, feeling the barrier that kept her in place. she smiled, an exasperated laugh leaving her.

“change your mind?”

“how’s an—rogue?”

you didn’t recognize your own voice. hoarse, whispery, painful. jubilee walked back to your door, leaning against it. your barriers served as a gateway for your voice, gentle ripples tickling her spine.

“she’s…she’s good. i mean, she’s smiling.”

which is more than she can say for you.

“she misses you, y’know,” jubilee slid down the door, settling against it, “she always looks at that stupid polaroid of the three of you before she goes anywhere. it’s disgusting.” you barely cracked a smile when she giggled, “the three of you were so lovesick.”

were.

it was quiet, contemplative.

“jubi?”

“uh-huh?” she replied, smile on her lips as she made tiny fireworks in her palms.

“i need help,” you admitted softly, heart in your throat. the hardest part was over, the admission of needing assistance. you felt her hope through the gentle hum of your mutation, the way her heart had begun to race.

“i’m really,” you winced, “gross right now. i understand if—“

“unlock the door,” jubilee stood in an instant, “please, i’d love to help you.”

you sat up from bed, your joints and bones groaning in strain. you held remy’s coat close to you, barely catching a whisper of his scent as you crept to the door. your weak fingers twisted the lock, wood unlatching and creaking open.

you saw jubilee’s bright face, her warm eyes.

your defenses collapsed.

she embraced you in an instant, ignoring the deathly scent that encased you and the grave state of your room and health.

“i got you,” she murmured, “we’re gonna get through this, okay?”

you cried in her arms, pulling away and sniffling. jubilee followed you inside, and you watched her assess the damage. “you wanna go shower? i’ll start on your laundry,” she offered.

“okay,” you agreed, and you saw the way her eyes flicked to his coat. she smiled knowingly, “he would be proud of you for asking for help.”

jubilee stuffed clothes into the laundry basket, lifting it up with ease. she sent you a wink:

“he’d also love seeing you in his coat.”

you laughed wetly when she left to the laundry room, turning to your bathroom.

the shower greeted you with blazing water, a rain of warmth and a purging of grief. you remained in there for an hour, washing off days of neglect and open wounds.

when you emerged from the muggy bathroom, jubilee was folding clothes and packing them into drawers.

“feel better?” she asked, noting that you were still hugging remy’s coat. you nodded silently. you still felt weak, mentally and physically, but now you were clean. towel dried hair, skin dewy with moisturizer, a fresh set of pajamas on.

you looked more alive than you did an hour ago.

“jean saved us a plate,” she said, tucking a pair of sweatpants you remember wearing a month ago into the drawer, “if you don’t want to eat down there, i’ll bring it up here.”

“do you think she wants to see me?”

jubilee paused, careful.

“i think she’d love to,” she answered, walking to you with a sweet smile, “ever since you…y’know, hibernated, she was always the one that brought you stuff. cyke needed her for mission briefing so i went for her.”

“i’m glad you did.”

“yeah, me too.”

you turned around, picking up the framed photograph that you’d knocked onto the ground in a fit of grief. you traced the line of remy’s jaw, the curl of rogue’s hair.

“i wanna see her,” your voice cracked slightly, hands trembling.

“then let’s go,” jubilee set the frame aside before you dropped it, scooping your hands into hers as she guided you out. you winced at the brightness of the halls, keeping your eyes low as the doors slid open.

you frowned when the alarms began to blare.

your hands covered your ears, and you saw the solemn look on jubilee’s face.

“what’s happening?” you asked her, and she shook her head. she knew something, something she knew would ruin all the progress she’d just made.

jubilee turned to redirect your attention, to bring you up to the helipad, where she knew cable was landing.

you were gone.

queen of hearts.

you watched jubilee pull the burnt card from her pocket, handing it to rogue with worry in her eyes.

you shifted your gaze to apocalypse, his mangled corpse on full display. burnt skin, exposed bones. you faintly heard them discussing the lack of control over his horseman of death—

but all you could hear was ringing.

“…whatever’s been brought back,” rogue started slowly, “might not really be remy?”

she still held the card in her hands.

you wondered if she was thinking about the same moment you were. the three of you in the game room, you mindlessly throwing darts as remy did card tricks for rogue.

“look at ‘dat, chère,” he mused, accent thick, “‘s missin’.”

“you took it out the deck and hid it!”

“mm, not quite,” remy pointed at you, a soft brush of kinetic energy making you flinch and jerk towards them. “check our lady’s sleeve.”

rogue reached over, gloved fingers pulling you into her lap. you sat there, pliant and flustered as she pulled up your sleeve. two copies of the queen of hearts fell from the fabric, and remy grinned arrogantly.

“two cards for my two queens.”

you followed behind rogue and nightcrawler, frowning at the way she was pacing in distress.

“remy’s alive and he’s killed apocalypse,” she ran her hands through her hair, “what am i ‘pposed to do? what if this plan ain’t work?”

kurt reached for her, gently holding her shoulders, “it will work, sister. if it does not, then all will still be okay.” you watched as they hugged, peering down at your translucent hands. “i’m just worried sick about her,” rogue said, her voice watery and pitched, “she’s up there alone, tryin’ to get through somethin’ so heavy by herself.”

you parted your lips, closing them shortly after.

you quietly sat on the nearby wall, one that overlooked the sand and the waters. your figure became visible beneath the moonlight. it was always easier to show up silently than it was to announce your arrival.

remy always did that part.

“sugar?” you heard her barely say, her voice awed and shaky. a few hushed words and you felt the soft puff of kurt disappearing, the gravel crunched beneath her shoes as she neared you.

you couldn’t look at her.

she sat next to you, warmth radiating off her. it was tempting, the urge to just fall into her body and let her hold you a while.

“i’m not mad at you, honey,” she whispered, fingers pressing gently against your jaw to turn your head to her.

“i left you,” you wept, “i’m sorry.”

“you didn’t leave me,” rogue brought you into her loving embrace, “you didn’t do anythin’ wrong, ‘kay? ‘cept not take care of yourself, that you did wrong.” you curled into her chest, arms wrapping around her waist. her hands caressed you, comforting and so so warm.

rogue really didn’t want to acknowledge it, but she knew she had to.

“do you know?”

you nodded, shaky and sad.

“he’s comin’, sugar,” she cradled your face, lips gently pressing against your skin. she barely felt the chilly hum of your shield, grateful that she could touch you like this. “we gotta go,” rogue pulled back, eyes dipping to your lips.

“will you kiss me, annie? please?” you whispered, hands greedily gripping the front of her shirt. you didn’t feel worthy enough to ask, but you’d spill blood for the sweetness of her laughter if it gave you the chance to feel her kiss you again.

she smiled, devastating and smitten.

“‘course i will, sugar. never gotta ask.”

your lips met in a sweet and solemn dance, a release of emotions you hadn’t quite had since he died.

“let’s go get our remy, yeah?” she swept you up, effortlessly carrying you and flying up to the helipad. she landed softly, placing you down. you saw them all staring at you, and you felt the thrum of your mutation coat your skin. rogue still held your hand, and you knew neither her nor you would want to let go.

scott nodded once, pleased.

the aircraft was boarded, the plan was set.

remy lebeau was alive.

alive and on a mission.

his gray skin shifted where his lips curled into a grin, wind blowing his pale hair as he and his warped comrades neared the aircraft.

you stared down at the yellow scanner, watching the line swirl in repetitive circles.

“rogue, is null here?” cyclops asked, spine straight as he examined the space next to her. she nodded, feeling the way you squeezed her hand. “the two of you need to separate.”

you saw rogue’s eyes narrow in clear disdain.

“it is logical,” psylocke said calmly, “you will become distracted in your task if you are concerned about her.”

“or worse, if he sees her,” jean averted her eyes.

before rogue could protest, you appeared.

you did your best to ignore the pitiful stares, the eyes that widened in awe. you kissed her cheek and stepped away, disappearing before she could grab you again. she glared at scott, who simply looked away. he didn’t like it either.

the sensor began to beep rapidly.

“i sense no mech sentinel pilots outside,” psylocke’s hands neared her head, the reflection of a purple butterfly emerging, “but i do sense—“

“a swarm of black holes where minds and souls should be,” jean paled, and a sudden explosion racked the aircraft. you instinctively wanted to run to rogue, to grab her and stay with her, but you couldn’t.

she had a job, and you couldn’t get in the way.

lightning crackled outside as purple blasts of kinetic energy tore apart the ship’s defenses. you peeked outside the windows, spotting familiar faces on glowing motorcycles.

“okay, that’s cool,” you muttered, flinching when a nearby air vent was kicked open. bella donna and robert crawled inside, their faces blank and eyes bright red.

“find gambit, now!”

you ran from the main room, ducking into the cargo space. the end of the area was blown off, leaving a window for an open, black sky. you tensed when the door hissed open, revealing rogue in a frantic state. you sighed, so much for staying separate.

“remy? it’s me,” she shouted, her voice echoing over the whipping winds, “it’s rogue!”

you hid near the wall, a translucent barrier preventing you from flying into the night. you caught a glimpse of his coat, a barely noticeable shadow running along the boxes. “apocalypse poisoned y’mind—i can help you,” she pleaded, and you watched her glove get carried away by the wind.

“trust me.”

you felt tears well in your eyes when you seen his form behind her. the shape of his coat—the same coat that laid safely on your bed at home—the lines of his side profile, the heaviness of his footsteps.

“y’know,” he drawled, deep and utterly familiar, “life does flash before our eyes when we die.”

you crept closer.

you froze in your spot when he came into the light, red irises glowing in the shadows. white hair emerged from the darkness, a grayscale of the man who used to be so colorful.

“and when i died…”

tears fell down rogue’s cheeks.

“all i saw…was you,” he paused, eyes flicking to where you were crouched, “and her.” you felt your heart race, how did he know? he stood directly in front of a seemingly enchanted rogue, head still turned in your direction. you bit your lip when her hand pressed against his face, pushing his body against the crate.

nothing.

your eyes widened when his hand reached up to touch hers, “what’s wrong?”

“that ain’t…possible,” rogue tensed when his hand slid to her wrist, gently yanking her towards him. he smiled serenely:

“warned ya, chère. some things? they be deeper than skin.”

his index lifted, a puff of purple energy coiled at the tip of it. your hand lifted, and he frowned at the sudden resistance.

“don’t move,” he whispered to rogue, releasing her wrist before turning your direction, “our girl’s rearin’ for me t’catch her.” he may not have been able to touch her face, but his energy locked her place via her legs. “sugar, get out!” she yelled, doing her best to get free.

you remained invisible as you aimed for the door, but it was too late. he had you.

“hard not t’hear a heart ‘dat beats f’me,” he mused, hands sliding around your waist, “hm, mon ami?” remy admired the teary look in your eyes when your body became visible. he lifted a hand, and you tried to fight against him when his finger pressed against your forehead.

“sleep.”

rogue watched helplessly as you fell into his arms. normally, the sight would make butterflies bloom in her stomach, but all she felt right now was fear.

he approached her, tilting his head down at you in a quick motion, “ain’t she sweet?”

he gently shifted your weight, his now free hand lifting to rogue’s face. he caressed her cheek before whispering the same command he gave you, a dot of kinetic energy infiltrating her mind.

he caught her, easily tossing her sleeping form over his shoulder.

remy placed the two of you on the bike with the care of a man who wasn’t death himself, smiling fondly:

“two of a kind.”

it was warm when you stirred awake.

you pushed yourself up, the plush mattress dipping beneath your weight. rogue laid next to you, a blanket draped over the two of you.

“annie,” you whispered, gently shaking her, “annie, wake up—“

“let her rest, chère.”

you flinched, head jerking towards the entry of the room. remy stood there, leaned against the doorframe like he hadn’t just kidnapped two x-men.

“remy…”

“mhm,” he hummed, like he’d just tasted something delicious, “missed ‘dat.” he walked inside, nearing you. he smiled playfully when you cloaked, watching the indentation of your body on the mattress shift.

he stood still.

you were directly in front of him, eyes examining him so closely. he could feel the shift in the air, hear the thrum of the shields you kept up.

his head tilted when you tried to sneak by.

he followed you out the door, smiling when your footsteps began to pick up. he quietly closed the door behind him, getting one last fond look at rogue’s sleeping face before heading after you.

remy walked through the corridors, unhurried and unbothered.

you dipped inside one of the rooms after doubling back, knees tucking into your chest and covering your mouth as he whistled lowly, “y’know, coulda swore y’missed me.”

i did.

you stared with horror as his red irises peered inside the room you were hiding in, the outside light bleeding in as he pushed the door open.

“gambit ain’t feelin’ real loved, chère.”

remy knelt in front of you, his hands landing firmly on your knees.

“let me see ‘dat pretty face o’yours.”

you uncloaked, gradual and slow. he smiled warmly, thumbs brushing over your pajama pants. you hadn’t changed earlier, not having the time to throw on any battle appropriate clothes.

“tu es belle,” he whispered, awed and enchanted, “gambit missed you, mon coeur.”

you tentatively raised your hands, fingertips barely grazing his face before you got nervous. you tried to pull them back to you, but he caught your wrists before you could.

he raised your hands, eager yet still giving you the chance to say no.

“are you our remy?”

“‘course i am,” he mused, “always been your remy.” you pressed your trembling lips together, and his eyes softened at the sight of your emotions. you launched into his arms, sobbing as he held you.

“shh, shh,” he soothed, “it okay, chère. gambit okay.”

he pressed his lips to your hair, his hand lifting to run through the strands, “not lettin’ you go again. neither of ya.” he smiled as he slowly moved to stand, you in his arms.

“wanna help me make dinner? y’favorite?”

you nodded.

you knew in your mind that this wasn’t gambit, that this wasn’t the remy you laid to rest.

but he smelled like him, he felt like him—

he held you like him.

remy kissed your forehead, carrying you down to the kitchen. your eyes widened when you seen kurt, his usually golden eyes pure crimson.

“kurt—?”

“ignore him,” remy easily smiled, “focus on me.”

you watched over his shoulder as kurt went upstairs, and remy sat you on the counter. he stood between your knees, hand lifting to brush fondly against your cheek, “sois sage.”

you observed as remy cooked and set the table, porcelain plates floating into the next room. your meek offer to help made him give you a look. as the stove clicked and the spice bottles returned to the cabinet, you thought about rogue.

“annie will wonder where i’m at,” you whispered as he scooped a golden crusted batch of fried chicken from the oil. “ya wanna go get her? dinner’s bout done,” he asked, toweling off his hands. as you went to get down, you felt the soft buzz of his kinetic energy circle your waist and lower you off the counter.

“careful on ‘dem stairs.”

you nodded once, rushing off to get her.

kurt stood next to the bedroom door, and you could only smile weakly as you pushed inside. rogue was in the process sitting up, her eyes frantic as she scanned the bed.

“annie?” you called, closing the door behind you as you went to her. you crawled on the bed with her, and she easily recepted you. she held you on her lap, worriedly examining you.

“are ya alright? where’d you go?”

“i woke up before you, remy…um, he came and got me,” you explained, “told me not to wake you up. i hid for a little…”

“but he found ya,” she finished, frowning as she kissed your cheek, “where’s he at now?”

the door creaked open on cue, kurt stepping inside cradling a candle, “time to rise, sister. dinner is served, and you are the guests of honor.” he smiled, hollow and blank. you hugged rogue’s neck as she stared at him with sadness, “kurt? what’s he done to you?”

he didn’t answer, simply gesturing to the dark corridor.

you slid off rogue’s lap, cloaking and holding her hand as she followed kurt to the dining room. “don’t let go o’me if i can’t see ya,” she murmured, and you squeezed her hand in response. she peeked around the doorframe to the dining room, spotting remy pouring out flutes of champagne. an eerie record of old music spun under the needle, the fireplace casting a warm glow over the room.

it would be romantic if remy wasn’t a living corpse.

“evenin’, chère,” he cautiously tilted the glass of champagne as greeting. his name left your lips, “did she get lost?” you uncloaked briefly, barely visible from where rogue had tucked you behind her.

“mm, shy thing,” he mused, devastatingly adoring and loving. remy rounded the table, pulling out one chair first. you nudged rogue forward, and she hesitantly let go of you to go sit. once rogue was settled, remy moved to the seat across from her.

you quietly moved to the seat, sitting down as he pushed your chair in. his hands draped over your shoulders for a moment, leaving a loving squeeze as he took his own seat.

“siccing your brainwashed ex on your ladies is a mighty bold way of asking us out to dinner,” rogue muttered, concealing the joy in her eyes at the fried chicken revealed on the platter.

remy chuckled, “two a’ya always did like my unorthodox flair.”

he lifted his flute of champagne. rogue lifted hers to his, and you raised yours. the three glasses clinked together, but only remy drank right away. the silence lingered, the only sound the soft crackle of the fireplace and the whoosh of the candle flames.

you hadn’t touched your plate.

“eat, chère,” remy reached over, gently pushing your plate closer, “y’love fried chicken ‘n collard greens.”

rogue watched as you uncloaked, lifting your fork to tear open the meat and collect the greens.

remy’s lips quirked into a smirk:

“you’ll need the energy for later.”

when you’d started to eat enough for his satisfaction, he lowered his fork as he finished a bite, “gambit never would’ve dreamed you’d be workin’ the merc huntin’ me down.”

“cable?” your brows knit together, his eyes barely shifting to you before locking on rogue. “no, remy, we were tryin’ to save you,” she turned away, ashamed, “i…i thought i could.” you watched her sadly, and your mind could only think of how pretty she looked. highlighted by the fire burning behind her, the sparkle in her eyes.

you went to lower your fork, but a flick of remy’s fingers made you stop. he shook his head, nodding to your plate.

“world’s been conspirin’ to keep us apart for so long, chère,” remy sounded contemplative, almost angry, “we both learned to expect the worst.” you wanted to contribute, to be involved somehow—but this was beyond you.

these were things you’d missed because you’d locked yourself away instead of facing them.

remy slid from his seat, kneeling next to rogue’s seat. he took her hand, peering up at her with those haunting eyes of his, “but now? now, we’ve been dealt a whole new hand.” you stared at your plate, eyes glossing over.

“the gap between the man i was and the one you want is finally gone.”

his thumb traced over her cheek, shifting to the opposite side to direct her gaze to him. he guided her eyes to you, his own staring at you as well, “the man you want me to be for her.”

“or,” he said, amused and encouraging, “atleast, it can be.”

you cloaked out of sheer discomfort due to the suffocating tension, noting the way remy frowned and how rogue’s eyes immediately flicked to you. you were so unsure how to feel. this wasn’t remy, but it was. this remy wanted to be better for the two of you, he wanted to be the man rogue wanted him to be.

“this is just…so strange,” she muttered, standing from her chair and nearing the fireplace, “gettin’ you back is all we ever dreamed of. but now, you’re here—and i don’t know if i should be relieved or scared.”

remy tracked her movements with his eyes, standing and facing where you sat. he crooked a finger, smiling faintly when your chair squeaked. he felt you pass him, and rogue didn’t flinch when your arms curled around her.

“i ain’t crawled outta my grave to repeat regrets,” remy’s eyes stared into your soul, “this is our second chance.” your power flickered, and rogue felt your grip loosen, “no more holdin’ my cards close to my chest. so, here they are, belles.”

remy leaned over the fireplace, unbothered by the ashes that sparked near him. you, however, were irritated with how close the hem of his coat was coming to the fire.

he smiled mid story upon feeling the chill of your shield emerge between him and the fire—

“…locals know her as the x-ternal.”

remy turned, his easy going smile gone and his eyes serious. you tried to back up, to retreat around the table, but with a casual shift of his knuckles, you were pinned. rogue watched warily as he neared:

“her relic will make you immortal like me.”

he walked towards you—his loves, his queens.

“it’ll bind us together forever…husband and wives.”

rogue looked down at you, and in a blink, remy was right next to her. his crimson irises scanned the two of you, hands lifting to hover on either side of your waists.

“and then nothin’—not even death—ever keep us apart again.”

your teary eyes, exhausted and nearly dull, met his excited ones, “nothing? you promise?” remy smiled comfortingly, hand rising to cradle your face. he swept a thumb over your tears, leaning forward to kiss your forehead, “i promise, mon coeur.”

“how do we know we can trust you?”

“cause i’m offerin’ us a second chance,” remy reached for rogue, lovingly tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, “you gotta believe in me—believe in us, chère.” his hand cupped her jaw, thumb brushing along her bottom lip.

you watched rogue’s face shift with acceptance, and she closed her eyes as remy lowered his lips to hers. you tried to step back, to give them their moment, but they both tightened their hold on you.

“want some sugar, too?” remy asked teasingly, “ought not to stay too long. bad luck seein’ mes dames before our weddin’, non?”

he kissed you sweetly, and you could faintly taste rogue’s lip balm as he pulled away. his tongue barely ran along his lips, savoring the flavor of the two of you before winking.

“get dolled up f’me, yeah? gots us a weddin’ to be had,” his eyes fell to your pajamas, a playful grin on his lips, “though, i ain’t mind ‘dem jammies.”

as you and rogue returned upstairs in hope of finding something to wear—fret not, remy already knew his ladies would need beautiful fabrics to don—remy sat down at the head of the table.

he reached in his pocket, tugging out three rings.

kurt appeared in the room, taking the rings to the makeshift venue.

remy could only grin, crimson irises sparking with something sinister, desperate, obsessive, and something that looked awfully like love.

your bedsheets were wrinkled, soiled with the stench of someone who’d given up.

someone who used to smile.

someone who used to.

a quiet knock at your door, a repetitive tap in a sequence so familiar it made your heart ache.

jubilee.

why was she here?

you felt her presence against the wards you’d placed in your room, a gentle hand pressed against the invisible barrier. “we miss you,” she whispered, “dinner’s ready…um, let me know if you want anything.”

you stayed still.

tears soaked your pillow. you curled up, arms tightening around the only thing that gave you any sense of safety.

remy’s coat.

it didn’t smell like him anymore. a whisper of bourbon, that stupid cologne he always sprayed on you, a warm undertone of spices and cinnamon.

it drowned you.

the sleeves fell over your hands, the length of the coat covering your curled up body completely.

“okay,” jubilee gently patted the door, “goodnight.”

you heard her leave and pause, hesitant and worried. your fingers twitched, a ripple in your defenses. jubilee stared down at her shoes, feeling the barrier that kept her in place. she smiled, an exasperated laugh leaving her.

“change your mind?”

“how’s an—rogue?”

you didn’t recognize your own voice. hoarse, whispery, painful. jubilee walked back to your door, leaning against it. your barriers served as a gateway for your voice, gentle ripples tickling her spine.

“she’s…she’s good. i mean, she’s smiling.”

which is more than she can say for you.

“she misses you, y’know,” jubilee slid down the door, settling against it, “she always looks at that stupid polaroid of the three of you before she goes anywhere. it’s disgusting.” you barely cracked a smile when she giggled, “the three of you were so lovesick.”

were.

it was quiet, contemplative.

“jubi?”

“uh-huh?” she replied, smile on her lips as she made tiny fireworks in her palms.

“i need help,” you admitted softly, heart in your throat. the hardest part was over, the admission of needing assistance. you felt her hope through the gentle hum of your mutation, the way her heart had begun to race.

“i’m really,” you winced, “gross right now. i understand if—“

“unlock the door,” jubilee stood in an instant, “please, i’d love to help you.”

you sat up from bed, your joints and bones groaning in strain. you held remy’s coat close to you, barely catching a whisper of his scent as you crept to the door. your weak fingers twisted the lock, wood unlatching and creaking open.

you saw jubilee’s bright face, her warm eyes.

your defenses collapsed.

she embraced you in an instant, ignoring the deathly scent that encased you and the grave state of your room and health.

“i got you,” she murmured, “we’re gonna get through this, okay?”

you cried in her arms, pulling away and sniffling. jubilee followed you inside, and you watched her assess the damage. “you wanna go shower? i’ll start on your laundry,” she offered.

“okay,” you agreed, and you saw the way her eyes flicked to his coat. she smiled knowingly, “he would be proud of you for asking for help.”

jubilee stuffed clothes into the laundry basket, lifting it up with ease. she sent you a wink:

“he’d also love seeing you in his coat.”

you laughed wetly when she left to the laundry room, turning to your bathroom.

the shower greeted you with blazing water, a rain of warmth and a purging of grief. you remained in there for an hour, washing off days of neglect and open wounds.

when you emerged from the muggy bathroom, jubilee was folding clothes and packing them into drawers.

“feel better?” she asked, noting that you were still hugging remy’s coat. you nodded silently. you still felt weak, mentally and physically, but now you were clean. towel dried hair, skin dewy with moisturizer, a fresh set of pajamas on.

you looked more alive than you did an hour ago.

“jean saved us a plate,” she said, tucking a pair of sweatpants you remember wearing a month ago into the drawer, “if you don’t want to eat down there, i’ll bring it up here.”

“do you think she wants to see me?”

jubilee paused, careful.

“i think she’d love to,” she answered, walking to you with a sweet smile, “ever since you…y’know, hibernated, she was always the one that brought you stuff. cyke needed her for mission briefing so i went for her.”

“i’m glad you did.”

“yeah, me too.”

you turned around, picking up the framed photograph that you’d knocked onto the ground in a fit of grief. you traced the line of remy’s jaw, the curl of rogue’s hair.

“i wanna see her,” your voice cracked slightly, hands trembling.

“then let’s go,” jubilee set the frame aside before you dropped it, scooping your hands into hers as she guided you out. you winced at the brightness of the halls, keeping your eyes low as the doors slid open.

you frowned when the alarms began to blare.

your hands covered your ears, and you saw the solemn look on jubilee’s face.

“what’s happening?” you asked her, and she shook her head. she knew something, something she knew would ruin all the progress she’d just made.

jubilee turned to redirect your attention, to bring you up to the helipad, where she knew cable was landing.

you were gone.

queen of hearts.

you watched jubilee pull the burnt card from her pocket, handing it to rogue with worry in her eyes.

you shifted your gaze to apocalypse, his mangled corpse on full display. burnt skin, exposed bones. you faintly heard them discussing the lack of control over his horseman of death—

but all you could hear was ringing.

“…whatever’s been brought back,” rogue started slowly, “might not really be remy?”

she still held the card in her hands.

you wondered if she was thinking about the same moment you were. the three of you in the game room, you mindlessly throwing darts as remy did card tricks for rogue.

“look at ‘dat, chère,” he mused, accent thick, “‘s missin’.”

“you took it out the deck and hid it!”

“mm, not quite,” remy pointed at you, a soft brush of kinetic energy making you flinch and jerk towards them. “check our lady’s sleeve.”

rogue reached over, gloved fingers pulling you into her lap. you sat there, pliant and flustered as she pulled up your sleeve. two copies of the queen of hearts fell from the fabric, and remy grinned arrogantly.

“two cards for my two queens.”

you followed behind rogue and nightcrawler, frowning at the way she was pacing in distress.

“remy’s alive and he’s killed apocalypse,” she ran her hands through her hair, “what am i ‘pposed to do? what if this plan ain’t work?”

kurt reached for her, gently holding her shoulders, “it will work, sister. if it does not, then all will still be okay.” you watched as they hugged, peering down at your translucent hands. “i’m just worried sick about her,” rogue said, her voice watery and pitched, “she’s up there alone, tryin’ to get through somethin’ so heavy by herself.”

you parted your lips, closing them shortly after.

you quietly sat on the nearby wall, one that overlooked the sand and the waters. your figure became visible beneath the moonlight. it was always easier to show up silently than it was to announce your arrival.

remy always did that part.

“sugar?” you heard her barely say, her voice awed and shaky. a few hushed words and you felt the soft puff of kurt disappearing, the gravel crunched beneath her shoes as she neared you.

you couldn’t look at her.

she sat next to you, warmth radiating off her. it was tempting, the urge to just fall into her body and let her hold you a while.

“i’m not mad at you, honey,” she whispered, fingers pressing gently against your jaw to turn your head to her.

“i left you,” you wept, “i’m sorry.”

“you didn’t leave me,” rogue brought you into her loving embrace, “you didn’t do anythin’ wrong, ‘kay? ‘cept not take care of yourself, that you did wrong.” you curled into her chest, arms wrapping around her waist. her hands caressed you, comforting and so so warm.

rogue really didn’t want to acknowledge it, but she knew she had to.

“do you know?”

you nodded, shaky and sad.

“he’s comin’, sugar,” she cradled your face, lips gently pressing against your skin. she barely felt the chilly hum of your shield, grateful that she could touch you like this. “we gotta go,” rogue pulled back, eyes dipping to your lips.

“will you kiss me, annie? please?” you whispered, hands greedily gripping the front of her shirt. you didn’t feel worthy enough to ask, but you’d spill blood for the sweetness of her laughter if it gave you the chance to feel her kiss you again.

she smiled, devastating and smitten.

“‘course i will, sugar. never gotta ask.”

your lips met in a sweet and solemn dance, a release of emotions you hadn’t quite had since he died.

“let’s go get our remy, yeah?” she swept you up, effortlessly carrying you and flying up to the helipad. she landed softly, placing you down. you saw them all staring at you, and you felt the thrum of your mutation coat your skin. rogue still held your hand, and you knew neither her nor you would want to let go.

scott nodded once, pleased.

the aircraft was boarded, the plan was set.

remy lebeau was alive.

alive and on a mission.

his gray skin shifted where his lips curled into a grin, wind blowing his pale hair as he and his warped comrades neared the aircraft.

you stared down at the yellow scanner, watching the line swirl in repetitive circles.

“rogue, is null here?” cyclops asked, spine straight as he examined the space next to her. she nodded, feeling the way you squeezed her hand. “the two of you need to separate.”

you saw rogue’s eyes narrow in clear disdain.

“it is logical,” psylocke said calmly, “you will become distracted in your task if you are concerned about her.”

“or worse, if he sees her,” jean averted her eyes.

before rogue could protest, you appeared.

you did your best to ignore the pitiful stares, the eyes that widened in awe. you kissed her cheek and stepped away, disappearing before she could grab you again. she glared at scott, who simply looked away. he didn’t like it either.

the sensor began to beep rapidly.

“i sense no mech sentinel pilots outside,” psylocke’s hands neared her head, the reflection of a purple butterfly emerging, “but i do sense—“

“a swarm of black holes where minds and souls should be,” jean paled, and a sudden explosion racked the aircraft. you instinctively wanted to run to rogue, to grab her and stay with her, but you couldn’t.

she had a job, and you couldn’t get in the way.

lightning crackled outside as purple blasts of kinetic energy tore apart the ship’s defenses. you peeked outside the windows, spotting familiar faces on glowing motorcycles.

“okay, that’s cool,” you muttered, flinching when a nearby air vent was kicked open. bella donna and robert crawled inside, their faces blank and eyes bright red.

“find gambit, now!”

you ran from the main room, ducking into the cargo space. the end of the area was blown off, leaving a window for an open, black sky. you tensed when the door hissed open, revealing rogue in a frantic state. you sighed, so much for staying separate.

“remy? it’s me,” she shouted, her voice echoing over the whipping winds, “it’s rogue!”

you hid near the wall, a translucent barrier preventing you from flying into the night. you caught a glimpse of his coat, a barely noticeable shadow running along the boxes. “apocalypse poisoned y’mind—i can help you,” she pleaded, and you watched her glove get carried away by the wind.

“trust me.”

you felt tears well in your eyes when you seen his form behind her. the shape of his coat—the same coat that laid safely on your bed at home—the lines of his side profile, the heaviness of his footsteps.

“y’know,” he drawled, deep and utterly familiar, “life does flash before our eyes when we die.”

you crept closer.

you froze in your spot when he came into the light, red irises glowing in the shadows. white hair emerged from the darkness, a grayscale of the man who used to be so colorful.

“and when i died…”

tears fell down rogue’s cheeks.

“all i saw…was you,” he paused, eyes flicking to where you were crouched, “and her.” you felt your heart race, how did he know? he stood directly in front of a seemingly enchanted rogue, head still turned in your direction. you bit your lip when her hand pressed against his face, pushing his body against the crate.

nothing.

your eyes widened when his hand reached up to touch hers, “what’s wrong?”

“that ain’t…possible,” rogue tensed when his hand slid to her wrist, gently yanking her towards him. he smiled serenely:

“warned ya, chère. some things? they be deeper than skin.”

his index lifted, a puff of purple energy coiled at the tip of it. your hand lifted, and he frowned at the sudden resistance.

“don’t move,” he whispered to rogue, releasing her wrist before turning your direction, “our girl’s rearin’ for me t’catch her.” he may not have been able to touch her face, but his energy locked her place via her legs. “sugar, get out!” she yelled, doing her best to get free.

you remained invisible as you aimed for the door, but it was too late. he had you.

“hard not t’hear a heart ‘dat beats f’me,” he mused, hands sliding around your waist, “hm, mon ami?” remy admired the teary look in your eyes when your body became visible. he lifted a hand, and you tried to fight against him when his finger pressed against your forehead.

“sleep.”

rogue watched helplessly as you fell into his arms. normally, the sight would make butterflies bloom in her stomach, but all she felt right now was fear.

he approached her, tilting his head down at you in a quick motion, “ain’t she sweet?”

he gently shifted your weight, his now free hand lifting to rogue’s face. he caressed her cheek before whispering the same command he gave you, a dot of kinetic energy infiltrating her mind.

he caught her, easily tossing her sleeping form over his shoulder.

remy placed the two of you on the bike with the care of a man who wasn’t death himself, smiling fondly:

“two of a kind.”

it was warm when you stirred awake.

you pushed yourself up, the plush mattress dipping beneath your weight. rogue laid next to you, a blanket draped over the two of you.

“annie,” you whispered, gently shaking her, “annie, wake up—“

“let her rest, chère.”

you flinched, head jerking towards the entry of the room. remy stood there, leaned against the doorframe like he hadn’t just kidnapped two x-men.

“remy…”

“mhm,” he hummed, like he’d just tasted something delicious, “missed ‘dat.” he walked inside, nearing you. he smiled playfully when you cloaked, watching the indentation of your body on the mattress shift.

he stood still.

you were directly in front of him, eyes examining him so closely. he could feel the shift in the air, hear the thrum of the shields you kept up.

his head tilted when you tried to sneak by.

he followed you out the door, smiling when your footsteps began to pick up. he quietly closed the door behind him, getting one last fond look at rogue’s sleeping face before heading after you.

remy walked through the corridors, unhurried and unbothered.

you dipped inside one of the rooms after doubling back, knees tucking into your chest and covering your mouth as he whistled lowly, “y’know, coulda swore y’missed me.”

i did.

you stared with horror as his red irises peered inside the room you were hiding in, the outside light bleeding in as he pushed the door open.

“gambit ain’t feelin’ real loved, chère.”

remy knelt in front of you, his hands landing firmly on your knees.

“let me see ‘dat pretty face o’yours.”

you uncloaked, gradual and slow. he smiled warmly, thumbs brushing over your pajama pants. you hadn’t changed earlier, not having the time to throw on any battle appropriate clothes.

“tu es belle,” he whispered, awed and enchanted, “gambit missed you, mon coeur.”

you tentatively raised your hands, fingertips barely grazing his face before you got nervous. you tried to pull them back to you, but he caught your wrists before you could.

he raised your hands, eager yet still giving you the chance to say no.

“are you our remy?”

“‘course i am,” he mused, “always been your remy.” you pressed your trembling lips together, and his eyes softened at the sight of your emotions. you launched into his arms, sobbing as he held you.

“shh, shh,” he soothed, “it okay, chère. gambit okay.”

he pressed his lips to your hair, his hand lifting to run through the strands, “not lettin’ you go again. neither of ya.” he smiled as he slowly moved to stand, you in his arms.

“wanna help me make dinner? y’favorite?”

you nodded.

you knew in your mind that this wasn’t gambit, that this wasn’t the remy you laid to rest.

but he smelled like him, he felt like him—

he held you like him.

remy kissed your forehead, carrying you down to the kitchen. your eyes widened when you seen kurt, his usually golden eyes pure crimson.

“kurt—?”

“ignore him,” remy easily smiled, “focus on me.”

you watched over his shoulder as kurt went upstairs, and remy sat you on the counter. he stood between your knees, hand lifting to brush fondly against your cheek, “sois sage.”

you observed as remy cooked and set the table, porcelain plates floating into the next room. your meek offer to help made him give you a look. as the stove clicked and the spice bottles returned to the cabinet, you thought about rogue.

“annie will wonder where i’m at,” you whispered as he scooped a golden crusted batch of fried chicken from the oil. “ya wanna go get her? dinner’s bout done,” he asked, toweling off his hands. as you went to get down, you felt the soft buzz of his kinetic energy circle your waist and lower you off the counter.

“careful on ‘dem stairs.”

you nodded once, rushing off to get her.

kurt stood next to the bedroom door, and you could only smile weakly as you pushed inside. rogue was in the process sitting up, her eyes frantic as she scanned the bed.

“annie?” you called, closing the door behind you as you went to her. you crawled on the bed with her, and she easily recepted you. she held you on her lap, worriedly examining you.

“are ya alright? where’d you go?”

“i woke up before you, remy…um, he came and got me,” you explained, “told me not to wake you up. i hid for a little…”

“but he found ya,” she finished, frowning as she kissed your cheek, “where’s he at now?”

the door creaked open on cue, kurt stepping inside cradling a candle, “time to rise, sister. dinner is served, and you are the guests of honor.” he smiled, hollow and blank. you hugged rogue’s neck as she stared at him with sadness, “kurt? what’s he done to you?”

he didn’t answer, simply gesturing to the dark corridor.

you slid off rogue’s lap, cloaking and holding her hand as she followed kurt to the dining room. “don’t let go o’me if i can’t see ya,” she murmured, and you squeezed her hand in response. she peeked around the doorframe to the dining room, spotting remy pouring out flutes of champagne. an eerie record of old music spun under the needle, the fireplace casting a warm glow over the room.

it would be romantic if remy wasn’t a living corpse.

“evenin’, chère,” he cautiously tilted the glass of champagne as greeting. his name left your lips, “did she get lost?” you uncloaked briefly, barely visible from where rogue had tucked you behind her.

“mm, shy thing,” he mused, devastatingly adoring and loving. remy rounded the table, pulling out one chair first. you nudged rogue forward, and she hesitantly let go of you to go sit. once rogue was settled, remy moved to the seat across from her.

you quietly moved to the seat, sitting down as he pushed your chair in. his hands draped over your shoulders for a moment, leaving a loving squeeze as he took his own seat.

“siccing your brainwashed ex on your ladies is a mighty bold way of asking us out to dinner,” rogue muttered, concealing the joy in her eyes at the fried chicken revealed on the platter.

remy chuckled, “two a’ya always did like my unorthodox flair.”

he lifted his flute of champagne. rogue lifted hers to his, and you raised yours. the three glasses clinked together, but only remy drank right away. the silence lingered, the only sound the soft crackle of the fireplace and the whoosh of the candle flames.

you hadn’t touched your plate.

“eat, chère,” remy reached over, gently pushing your plate closer, “y’love fried chicken ‘n collard greens.”

rogue watched as you uncloaked, lifting your fork to tear open the meat and collect the greens.

remy’s lips quirked into a smirk:

“you’ll need the energy for later.”

when you’d started to eat enough for his satisfaction, he lowered his fork as he finished a bite, “gambit never would’ve dreamed you’d be workin’ the merc huntin’ me down.”

“cable?” your brows knit together, his eyes barely shifting to you before locking on rogue. “no, remy, we were tryin’ to save you,” she turned away, ashamed, “i…i thought i could.” you watched her sadly, and your mind could only think of how pretty she looked. highlighted by the fire burning behind her, the sparkle in her eyes.

you went to lower your fork, but a flick of remy’s fingers made you stop. he shook his head, nodding to your plate.

“world’s been conspirin’ to keep us apart for so long, chère,” remy sounded contemplative, almost angry, “we both learned to expect the worst.” you wanted to contribute, to be involved somehow—but this was beyond you.

these were things you’d missed because you’d locked yourself away instead of facing them.

remy slid from his seat, kneeling next to rogue’s seat. he took her hand, peering up at her with those haunting eyes of his, “but now? now, we’ve been dealt a whole new hand.” you stared at your plate, eyes glossing over.

“the gap between the man i was and the one you want is finally gone.”

his thumb traced over her cheek, shifting to the opposite side to direct her gaze to him. he guided her eyes to you, his own staring at you as well, “the man you want me to be for her.”

“or,” he said, amused and encouraging, “atleast, it can be.”

you cloaked out of sheer discomfort due to the suffocating tension, noting the way remy frowned and how rogue’s eyes immediately flicked to you. you were so unsure how to feel. this wasn’t remy, but it was. this remy wanted to be better for the two of you, he wanted to be the man rogue wanted him to be.

“this is just…so strange,” she muttered, standing from her chair and nearing the fireplace, “gettin’ you back is all we ever dreamed of. but now, you’re here—and i don’t know if i should be relieved or scared.”

remy tracked her movements with his eyes, standing and facing where you sat. he crooked a finger, smiling faintly when your chair squeaked. he felt you pass him, and rogue didn’t flinch when your arms curled around her.

“i ain’t crawled outta my grave to repeat regrets,” remy’s eyes stared into your soul, “this is our second chance.” your power flickered, and rogue felt your grip loosen, “no more holdin’ my cards close to my chest. so, here they are, belles.”

remy leaned over the fireplace, unbothered by the ashes that sparked near him. you, however, were irritated with how close the hem of his coat was coming to the fire.

he smiled mid story upon feeling the chill of your shield emerge between him and the fire—

“…locals know her as the x-ternal.”

remy turned, his easy going smile gone and his eyes serious. you tried to back up, to retreat around the table, but with a casual shift of his knuckles, you were pinned. rogue watched warily as he neared:

“her relic will make you immortal like me.”

he walked towards you—his loves, his queens.

“it’ll bind us together forever…husband and wives.”

rogue looked down at you, and in a blink, remy was right next to her. his crimson irises scanned the two of you, hands lifting to hover on either side of your waists.

“and then nothin’—not even death—ever keep us apart again.”

your teary eyes, exhausted and nearly dull, met his excited ones, “nothing? you promise?” remy smiled comfortingly, hand rising to cradle your face. he swept a thumb over your tears, leaning forward to kiss your forehead, “i promise, mon coeur.”

“how do we know we can trust you?”

“cause i’m offerin’ us a second chance,” remy reached for rogue, lovingly tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, “you gotta believe in me—believe in us, chère.” his hand cupped her jaw, thumb brushing along her bottom lip.

you watched rogue’s face shift with acceptance, and she closed her eyes as remy lowered his lips to hers. you tried to step back, to give them their moment, but they both tightened their hold on you.

“want some sugar, too?” remy asked teasingly, “ought not to stay too long. bad luck seein’ mes dames before our weddin’, non?”

he kissed you sweetly, and you could faintly taste rogue’s lip balm as he pulled away. his tongue barely ran along his lips, savoring the flavor of the two of you before winking.

“get dolled up f’me, yeah? gots us a weddin’ to be had,” his eyes fell to your pajamas, a playful grin on his lips, “though, i ain’t mind ‘dem jammies.”

as you and rogue returned upstairs in hope of finding something to wear—fret not, remy already knew his ladies would need beautiful fabrics to don—remy sat down at the head of the table.

he reached in his pocket, tugging out three rings.

kurt appeared in the room, taking the rings to the makeshift venue.

remy could only grin, crimson irises sparking with something sinister, desperate, obsessive, and something that looked awfully like love.

remy chuckles against the crown of your head, ducking his own lightly to press his chin to your sweaty hair. 

“gambit knows t’at.” his grin is easy. 

he’s hurting too; he’s equally as exhausted, but he grins and bears it and puts you first anyway. you love him. 

“i’ll get blood on your coat.” 

not yours, you don’t think. well, maybe a little bit of yours, but the majority of the blood staining your clothes belongs to cassandra’s gang of mutants. you fought hard. all seven of you did. 

“gambit knows t’at too, chère,” he says, still grinning. you want to reach up and poke your finger into the dimple in his cheek, but your arms won’t listen. you’ll settle for studying his handsome face instead, eyeing the sharp cut of his cheekbones, the tall slope of his nose. “a lil’ blood ain’t never hurt nobody.” 

“is that how the saying goes? i don’t think that’s how the saying goes.” maybe he’s right though… you’re too tired to think too much about it, and remy’s right about a lot of things. 

he shrugs and it jostles you, so you adjust your arms around the wide breadth of his shoulders and hold on tight. 

as soon as the resistance hideout graces your sight, you’re nearly ready to fling yourself out of remy’s arms and run to the door using what little bit of energy you have left. it might not be much, but it’s your home here in the void, and you’re ready for the small comforts of it that you didn’t know you’d be able to come back to. the warm glow of the lamp lights, the chill of the pool water on your skin, the heady taste of remy’s ever growing collection of liquor. 

your head lolls against his arm as his steps carry you to the door. “god, i can’t wait to take my bra off,” you groan, and remy laughs again as he shoulders the door open. 

“you need any help widdat?” 

his mischievous gaze never wanes even when you level him with a halfhearted glare. 

you shouldn’t need any help, but maybe you’ll let him anyway. 

there’s a twitch at the corner of his lips as he carries you down the steps. he’s favoring his right leg, you can tell by his gait, but he hasn’t said a word about it. you know your gambit well enough to know that he’d rather take care of you first and downplay his injuries when you inevitably ask about them. 

it doesn’t hit you until remy gently sets you down in the entryway just how quiet the hideout is with only the two of you in it. there was always some sort of noise to be heard: laura’s heavy boots thunking on the floor, blade sharpening his weapons, the sluicing sound of elektra twirling her twin sai. now all you hear is the rhythmic dripping of the bathtub faucet and the airy shuffling of remy’s deck of cards as he takes them from his coat pocket. it’s a lot to take in at once, the silence is. the silence, and the inherent knowledge that you have no universe to return to like the others did, that remy has no universe to begin with. remy is the only thing worth living for here in the void. him and the surprisingly earnest promise wade left you with.  

we’re gonna get you out of there, sweeties, you and step up just sit tight! whoever the hell is writing this hasn’t figured that part out yet, ‘kay? and you know what? you’re welcome. i actually know a couple of things you can do to pass the time while you wait. have either of you ever heard of smashturba—

remy’s gentle, gloved hands on your shoulders bring you out of your thoughts, and your head rolls back until it thunks against the bulk of his chest. 

“lemme take dis off, chère, how ‘bout t’at? gon’ draw you up a bath. get you cleaned right up.” 

you know you need it. it’s then that you can feel every bit of the grime from the fight: the dirt under your nails, the blood caked in your suit and on your skin, the nasty bruises that must litter your body. the exhaustion seeps forward tenfold, and you teeter on your feet. remy steadies you as always, flexing his hands on your shoulders before he unzips the back of your suit and presses a slow kiss to the nape of your neck. he gets you bare just like this - tenderly pulling your arms from the sleeves of your suit and kneeling to help untie your boots and take off your pants. your hands grip remy’s shoulders to balance yourself while you step out of them. he’s as solid and sturdy as a mountain, your gambit. 

and he does, in fact, expertly undo the clasps on the back of your bra when he’s done, sliding the straps down your arms and giving you a playful wink as he tosses it to the side. he studies you - eyes the bruises and nicks and blood that paint your skin. he clicks his tongue and shakes his head at himself, thumb tracing the shape of a particularly nasty purple-blue bruise on the curve of your hip.  

“should’a kept a better eye on you,” he fusses, and remy steps away for a moment to turn on the warm water in the tub. it runs brown before turning clear. he plugs the drain when the water heats to the temperature you like the best. “i kno’ you can hold your own, but t’at don’t mean i like seein’ you hurt.” 

you can relate. watching remy get tackled, shot at, and thrown around wasn’t easy for you either. 

it was a harrowing experience all together. a rag-tag team with a rag-tag plan, even though the end result turned out much better than expected. you even managed to escape alioth, which is a feat in itself. but the what ifs, the could have beens, they hit you like a ton of bricks. 

you watch him pull off his gloves and take off his coat, but other than that, he remains completely clothed. remy’s hands are steady as they guide you into the tub. your teeth gnash when the warm water laps against the gashes that litter your torso and legs as you ease your way down. you wish he could join you, sit behind you and pull your back against his warm chest so that he could hold you like you need, but he can barely fit in the small tub by himself, much less with another person. at least he’s close, kneeling by the bathtub on his knees and watching you keenly. 

your own knees curl to your chest as he dips a cloth in the water and rings it out before bringing it to your cheek. the first touch of the cloth on your face makes your eyes droop; he’s gentle, only applying the softest amount of pressure to scrub the drying blood off of your skin. 

the water tinges pink when he dips the cloth back under. 

he continues like that, pressing the wet cloth against your neck, your chest, your arms and cleaning the blood from your body. the ends of his black sleeves are soaked from the water, so you use your last remaining strength trying to push his sleeves up his muscular arms so they won’t get wet again. he lets you fuss over him for a moment with a glint in his eyes.

“let remy see dose hands,” he mumbles, and he hums his thanks when you present them to him. he scrubs the cloth across your palms and between your fingers, paying close attention to the tips of your fingernails to make sure he’s cleaned the dirt and blood from under them as best he can. remy is thorough; his deft fingers work wonders. his hands increase their pressure when he starts to really bathe you, lathering the cloth with a bar of soap and scrubbing you clean. he chuckles when you start to sway with his movements. “done fell asleep on me, eh? we almost through, chère.” 

“you have magic hands,” you breathe, words slurring, and remy chuckles again. he really does, in more ways than one, whether that be the energy that thrums under his skin or the way he takes care of you. 

“that so?” 

“mm.” 

he thinks you’re sweet. it’s not often that he gets to see you like this; remy loves your spitfire attitude and the way you carry yourself from day to day, but here, both physically and mentally exhausted after the day you had, you’re pliant and malleable under his hands, more honest. you slump to the side of the tub so that you can rest your head against his chest plate, the beat of his heart thumping underneath it. 

“remy,” you say. “remy.” you just want to say his name, taste it on your tongue. 

“mon chère.” a kiss to your shoulder, your neck, the top of your head. he’s content to let you rest there for several moments before he sits you up again and watches as your eyes struggle to stay open. “c’est tout, up we go.” 

when he pulls you to your feet, you cling to him like you’ll disappear if you don’t. it truly feels like you might - like the world would swallow you whole if you let go, if you don’t hug him tight. if he doesn’t wrap his arms around you and hold you steady, tether you to the ground. 

the water sloshes when he helps you step out of the tub, and it almost physically hurts when he turns away from you to grab a towel. 

that’s when you look down; the water is darker than you expected it would be, a debilitating pink-red color that might stain the already dingy tub if you don’t drain it soon. you shiver, slightly overwhelmed that all of that blood came off of your body. how much of it belonged to cassandra’s mutants? how much of it belonged to you? you could have— 

“look at me,” he tells you, and your gaze refocuses on him in an instance. there’s nowhere else you’d rather look. remy unplugs the drain before you have the chance to get distracted again. “look here. reckon it’s better to look at gambit’s handsome mug den t’at mess, huh?” 

that does bring a shaky smile to your lips, a small one that’s just for him, and remy dries you off as best he can while you steadily try to wrap yourself around him again. 

you let him play doctor when he’s done drying you off. he sits at the table while you stand between his legs to dab alcohol on your wounds and bandage them up before he helps you put on some clothes, a clean pair of underwear and one of his cropped tops that he likes so much. 

you’re halfway asleep when he takes you in his arms once more to carry you to the skull bed. he lifts you onto the mattress with little trouble, over the massive teeth around the edges of the jaw and straight onto the pile of throw pillows. remy putters around the bed for a bit, pulling the covers over you and arranging the pillows to make you more comfortable. it’s not until your eyes droop closed that he moves to head back to the bath himself, but your arm shoots out to grab his hand before he can. 

“mon petit chère,” he croons, something dulcet and warm and soothing. “i need t’get down to the bath right quick.” 

you frown, you can’t even help it. you want him in bed, spooned right behind you with his arms wrapped around your waist, you want to rest your head on his chest so that you can hear the rhythmic beat of his heart. you want him here with you, but you know he’ll feel better too when he gets the dirt and grime off of his body, just like you did. you should get up and help him like he helped you, erase the bloody signs of the fight from his beautiful body as best you can, show him how much you love him, how much you cherish his presence. 

“what’s t’at bobin for, huh?” remy chuckles. 

you pout harder. “i want to help.” 

he leans against the massive teeth and reaches over to smooth your hair from your forehead. “why don’tcha stay right here and keep an eye on me? gambit need all the lookin’ after he can get.” he lifts your hand up and kisses your knuckles before you finally ease your loose grip from his fingers. 

your eyes aren’t nearly as keen as they usually are when you watch remy take his clothes off. your blinks get slower and your eyes stay shut for longer, but you do keep your eyes on him like he asked you too. it’s the least you can do. his balaclava comes off first, then his chest plate and fitted shirt. his traps flex when he pulls the shirt over his head. if you were any less tired, you’d probably be biting your lip by now. 

just like you figured, he’s as banged up as you are. dark bruises litter the wide expanse of his muscular back, and his front looks the same when he turns around. the next time you open your eyes after another long blink, he’s already easing himself into the bath. remy lets himself relax for a moment, and you watch as his bulky arms come up to rest against the sides of the tub, head tilting back against the lip. you stare, you can’t help it. it’s the longest you go without blinking in a while, all so you can trace the never ending curves and lines and shapes of his body. 

“you go any longer without blinkin’, chère, ya eyes gonna dry out,” he jokes, a satisfied grin growing on his handsome face. 

“says the preening peacock,” you mumble, and you make a spectacle of blinking your eyes rapidly. a sleepy whine works its way into your voice. “you told me to watch! you like it. don’t even lie.” 

“mais oui, caught me red handed.” 

he doesn’t stay in for long, only long enough to relax for a few moments and clean himself off. you hope the water isn’t as dark with blood as yours was; the thought nearly makes you sick to your stomach, unable to bear the thought that remy could have been hurt worse than he was. 

your eyes stay on him still while he towels off, while he dabs alcohol on the worst of his injuries and bandages them up. remy’s naked as a jaybird when he finally makes his way back to the bed, and you throw the blankets back so they’ll be ready for him when he climbs in. he’s still favoring that right leg; he grunts as the muscle twinges when he climbs over the set of teeth in the jaw of the bed frame. you’re immediately pulled into his strong arms, one snaking around your shoulder and the other resting over your arm where it lays against his toned stomach. 

home at last. 

it’s like your brain shuts off the second you come into contact with his skin again. he’s dewy and warm from the bath. you can hear the thump of his heart, his steady breathing, and your eyes nearly roll as they finally slip shut. 

“sleep,” remy whispers. “gambit ain’t goin’ nowhere.” 

his dulcet voice is the last thing you hear before you finally succumb to your slumber, safe and sound in remy’s arms. 

it’s sweltering. 

the heat blankets you like a fog, wraps around you like a vine.

a blazing, orange fire, flames that lick themselves up your legs and torso. they should burn. the flames should scorch your clammy skin, and they do, until the orange of the fire makes way for dazzling purple. breathtaking, gleaming bursts of purple that embrace you like a warm hug instead. 

you’re hardly awake, haven’t even opened your eyes yet. without the use of your eyes, your fuzzy brain works in overdrive to understand what it is that you’re feeling. 

the feeling of heat, of unbridled pleasure. 

your hips twitch on their own, chasing the feeling your sleep-addled body and mind suddenly crave so desperately. the noises that bubble from your throat can’t be stopped: choked whimpers, pitiful keens, airy whines. you rub against something hard, something warm, and it’s the best thing you’ve ever felt. your fingers frantically search for the source of the heat, clenching and unclenching in their haste to pull it closer toward you. 

the soft give of skin, a deep breath, a tender kiss to your sweaty hair. 

a particularly hard snap of your hips has your eyes finally fluttering open, and the source of the heat makes itself known.

how could it be anything other than remy? 

even with your mind hazy from sleep, you immediately feel bad for tugging on him like you were, for disturbing his much needed rest, so your fingers unclench themselves from his bicep. his heartbeat is steady; you can hear the rhythmic beating of it from where you’re resting on his chest. 

“you up?” he rasps. he hasn’t been up long. “y’killin’ me dead.” 

how mortifying. you were rutting against him like a dog all because of something you don’t even know if you could consider a wet dream? you’re sweating, and your underwear is soaked. the shirt of his you wore to bed is so twisted and wonky from sleep that your bare breasts press against his side, but he holds you close regardless. 

“this is so embarrassing!” you wail, and remy chuckles. 

“mais non.” your leg is still thrown over his thigh, so he cups you behind the knee and drags your leg up until it’s resting over his crotch. he’s hard, mouthwateringly so, leaking against the muscular ridges of his stomach all from feeling you rut against him in your sleep. his hand rubs up and down your thigh when you begin to lightly press it against the bulge of his cock. “you can do whatever you want to remy, chère, don’t gotta ask. done drove him out his mind…”  

his lips are warm when you kiss them. your hand comes up to cup his face, his stubble scratches against your fingers. remy groans deep in his throat when your tongue licks lazily against his, and your cunt throbs in response. can he feel it with you pressed against him like this? he gives you his own answer with a flex of his thick thigh, pressing it against you harder. it’s easy to grind down on him like this, when you’re half on top of him and relaxed with sleep. 

“y’know, ah, if my mind serves me right, somebody told me once t’at i have magic hands.” 

he says it with a grin, right against the pout of your kiss swollen lips. 

“somebody, huh? who, some couyon?” 

“the love of my life,” he says instead, green eyes earnest and soft. “l’amour de ma vie.” 

you can’t help but kiss him again; you put your all into it, hoping that he can feel every ounce of the adoration you have for him. he’s the love of your life too. it’s deep from the start, slow and all encompassing, and you can’t get enough of the way remy holds you close to him by your thigh and your back. 

the heady press of his thigh against your soaked core is sorely missed when he rolls you over on the bed and throws the covers back. remy props himself on his elbow beside you, his eyes roam like you’re a feast he’s ready to devour. he doesn’t have to spread your legs, you do that yourself, unveiling the ever growing wet spot that covers the gusset of your panties. 

“gardez donc,” remy breathes, shaking his head like he can’t believe his eyes. 

you jolt when he thumbs the wet fabric before pulling it to the side to see you bare. you watch as he works his jaw, sitting up on your elbows to have a better look when he finally ducks down to spit onto your already soaked pussy. your head flops back onto the pillow nearly as soon as it happens. it’s too much… the feeling, the sight of it. remy’s thick fingers spread you open, and he watches raptly as his spit seeps down the glistening skin of your cunt. he rubs you like that; two fingers dip shallowly into your hole to gather your wetness and his spit before bringing them back up to your swollen clit. 

“oh my god, remy, fuck,” you keen, and those beautiful, green eyes bore into yours. 

“dass’it, you jus’ lay back and let remy deal de cards, eh?” 

all you can do is nod. 

his hands are magic, no one’s ever touched you the way remy has; you’ve never felt such unbridled pleasure until remy took charge of it. the two of you didn’t have the chance to do this too often, not with the others present. of course, you did find your ways. he’s taken you plenty by the fire outside, in the stone staircase at the doorway, and even on a few particularly memorable occasions, on a table in joe’s diner while you don his leather coat. a bed this big is a luxury, and you know exactly how you’re going to spend your time together until wade fulfills his promise. 

your legs shake as remy’s fingers slip inside. his middle finger first, with the heel of his palm pressed right against the bud of your clit for that delicious stimulation he knows you need. you stretch easily for him, and your thighs spread wider to accommodate his movements. his ring finger makes its way inside shortly after, and soon, your hips are rocking sharply against the rough heel of his hand while his thick fingers bully that spongy spot inside that makes your toes curl. 

“pleasedon’tstop,” you whimper, voice frantic and airy. remy nudges your cheek with his nose, breathing heavily against the line of your jaw. 

“wouldn’t dream of it, chère.”

he hums when your hand flies down to grip his wrist. it’s so overwhelming, it’s everything, that dazzling purple heat flashes again until it’s all you feel. 

“curl them, curl them like tha- oh.” remy listens well; he curls his fingers like you tell him to and keeps his motion steady until he has to sit up further and use his other hand to hold you down. he presses down on your stomach to hold you still but soon moves it to your restless legs where they writhe against the mattress. they nearly snap shut around his insistent fingers before remy pries them back open. you like when he uses his strength on you, when he holds you down. 

the devil’s always been good to you, your own fallen angel. 

“lemme see it,” he goads. “don’t hold nothin’ back from me.” 

it’s loud; you don’t have to tell him how much you like it because the sloppy noise of your cunt does that for you. his cock leaks steadily against your hip, you can feel the sticky drip of precum on your sweaty skin, but all you can do is grip remy’s wrist and hold on tight while his fingers rub against your spongy walls relentlessly. 

your eyes roll when he gets you there, and you cum with a full-body shudder. remy holds you to his chest as you curl in on yourself, shaking and shivering in his warm embrace. his fingers fuck you through it, only slowing his rhythm and easing their curl when your own fingers tighten around his wrist. remy ushers you back against the pillows now that you’re done, slipping his soaked fingers from your core only after you finish pulsing around him. his gaze is soft, but it darkens as you use your hold on his wrist to bring his digits to your mouth. 

“ooh, you nasty!” he grins, and his eyes slide down to your swollen, spit-slicked lips. remy curls his fingers again, petting them against your soft tongue and fucking them deeper into your mouth. “she’s sweet, eh?” 

you’d suck on his fingers all day if you could, but you slip them from your mouth with a pop! to answer him. “mm. i can see why you’re so obsessed with me.” he swats you lightly on the thigh for that, and you wiggle gleefully. 

remy slips your panties from your legs before he settles himself between them to kiss you again. he kisses your sweetness from between your lips, tongue curling around yours and sucking it into his mouth for a better taste. you’d let him fuck you like this if you didn’t remember his leg was hurt; you’d let him bend you in half and fuck you until your knees are clamping shut around his wide shoulders, but the thought that he could hurt himself more makes you hesitant. 

he kisses down your neck when you pull away from his lips, purses his lips around your sensitive nipple and flicks his tongue. it has you arching your back, and the cropped t-shirt you’re wearing rucks further up your chest. you curl your fingers into his hair to tug him closer. 

“let me- god, let me get on top?” you breathe. he makes to pull his head back, but you hold him in place. remy laughs through his nose and continues to kiss and lick and suck at your chest, and it isn’t until he nips at it that you let him go, but not without a swat to his shoulder. 

you almost squeal when remy takes you in his arms to roll you both over. his lap is your favorite seat; you wiggle your hips to get comfortable, and remy takes hold of them. his cock slips between the lips of your pussy where it’s warm and wet and soft, and you rock down onto him slowly. 

“you keep t’at up, chère, gambit won’t last a minute,” he grits. 

he’s cum like this before, with you just grinding yourself on his cock, shooting ropes of pearly cum up the ridges of his abdomen until you duck down to lick it all up. you’d do it again, but you’re aching to have him inside where he belongs. when you lift up on your knees and reach down to grip him, remy cups the backs of your thighs to help keep you steady. he’s a stretch, his length and girth is nothing to scoff at even after he fingered you pliant and needy. 

“dunno if it’ll fit,” you pick, circling your hips so that the give of your hole teases the head of his cock. 

“y’know gambit fits. just gotta let him in, chère.” 

you don’t have it in you to tease him any longer, so you press him inside with the tips of your fingers and sink down slowly. dazzling blasts of purple burst behind your closed eyelids; he feels so good, you fit together like a perfect puzzle. the first rock of your hips has your head lolling, and your hands scramble for leverage against the bulk of remy’s chest. 

“dass’it, dass’a good girl,” he grunts. “mon dieu.” 

you’ve always been his good girl, you always want to be. it spurs you on to do your best. your own body is sore from yesterday’s fight, but you feel reinvigorated on top of him like this. the bouncing of your breasts is covered by the shirt you’re wearing - it’s enough for remy, the sway of the cloth, the peak of your sensitive nipples through the fabric. one hand leaves his chest so that you can tug them jagged hem of your top up to your mouth. you bite down on it, baring your bouncing breasts to the man below you, and remy cups them in his hands. 

“hoo, merde. lemme take t’at off’a you?” 

he loves to see you in his clothes, you both know it, but he wants you naked. remy tugs the hem from between your teeth and shucks the shirt over your head, tossing it off the bed completely. you preen when he takes you in; there’s nothing to be shy about here, not with your gambit. 

“what are you looking at, remy lebeau?” you ask with a cock of your head. your hips resume their movement, grinding in slow circles until your eyes are fluttering. 

“you a sight for sore eyes, chère, i’ll tell you t’at.” 

like he’s one to talk. the window on the ceiling above the bed bathes him in warm light. remy’s beautiful, the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen. his beautiful heart, beautiful soul, beautiful body… he’s the perfect package. 

you change tactics, switching your sensual grinding to rough bouncing that has your breath hitching in your throat. he’s deep like this, and every time you drop down in his lap, your swollen clit rubs against the coarse curls of remy’s pubic hair. 

you’re so close, so fucking close you can taste it. it has your knees trying to kiss where they’re straddling his hips. he notices the shaking in your thighs, he always notices everything about you, and his hips immediately buck to help you out. your eyes roll, mouth dropping open in a silent moan as remy begins to fuck you. he’s so strong, his hands grip your waist to pull you down on him harder, and it has you keening high in your throat. 

“eyes on me,” he grunts. “keep dese pretty eyes on gambit when he makes you fly.” 

it’s a struggle, but your eyes find his as quickly as they can. your hands are still planted on his chest, but you move them to either side of his head so that you can be closer to him. remy’s grip on your hips is intoxicating; you’ll feel it for days, god, you hope you’ll feel it for days. you’ve never felt safer in someone’s arms, never felt more loved or wanted. 

remy nods his head when your eyebrows start to furrow, hands moving from your hips to clutch the rippling fat of your ass. 

“you’re gonna make me cum,” you whimper. “baby, you’re- oh, remy, fuck!” 

you give him another full-body shudder when you cum, nearly lifting yourself clean off his cock in the process due to how hard you shiver. he holds you down, hips rutting as he chases his own release and follows right behind you. the rhythmic pulsing of your cunt gets him there quickly, it always does. 

“keep on clenchin’ like t’at, chère. bon dieu, ça c’est bon.” 

you plop down onto his chest when you’re both done, and remy’s hands come up to massage your back. 

it’s quiet again, all you can hear is your shared heavy breathing and the distant drip of the bathtub faucet. you’re content to lay here until remy’s hands get restless, until they reach out in search of his deck of cards. for now, you’ll rest against his chest and listen to the beat of his heart. 

you don’t know what will happen in the coming days or how long you’ll be stuck in the void until the tva finds somewhere for you and remy to go. you’re not sure of much, you won’t ask for much either, but you’re sure of at least one thing. 

as long as remy’s by your side, home isn’t far away.

dictionary!

(mon) chère: term of endearment - (my) "dear" or "sweetheart"

c'est tout: that's all

petit: little

bobin: frown

mais oui/non: well yes/no

couyon: (could also be spelled as couillon?) a rascal, a fool

gardez donc: look at that

mon/bon dieu: my/good god

merde: shit

Frown deepening on his features, legs uncrossing and scooting closer to the edge of his bed. "What are you thinking about so hard?"

"Not telling," you answer, spinning around in his office chair so that you’re facing away from him.

His desk is neat, everything organised and probably put exactly where it should be. Beside his monitor sits a little black cat figurine, one you had bought him not too long ago because it reminded you of him. Seeing it displayed makes you smile; he must like it.

Geto’s voice cuts through your small reverie, "So, you're not only going to ignore me, you're also not going to tell me what's wrong?"

Not even glancing back, you hum at him, "That would be a correct assessment... yes."

"Have I told you that you're annoying yet today?" He exasperates.

Shrugging, "I don't think so?"

"Oh? In that case, you're annoying."

"You're so mean to me; this is why I don't want to tell you what's wrong." You’re being dramatic but so is he.

A sigh leaves him, "If I promise to be nice, will you tell me what's wrong?"

Your head flops back onto the headrest, jabbing at him jokingly, "I don't know if you're capable of kindness, Suguru."

"Now who's being mean? I'm nice all the time."

"Maybe to strangers..." You mumble out.

There’s no reply from him and for a second you think he’s going to leave the issue alone… that is until you’re suddenly spinning. His footsteps are always so light, you didn’t even hear him come up behind you. You’re facing him now, his hands holding himself up by the arm rests of his office chair. He’d spun you around just to lean down into your space and pointedly look at you.

Geto squints. “I’m nice to you all the time.”

“I don’t think this constitutes as ‘nice’.”

He groans your name, “Come on, you always talk to me when something’s wrong.”

“Maybe this is awkward for me to talk to you about,” you pout back at him.

His tongue clicks in realisation, “So, it’s about your love life?”

The immediate and correct guess stumps you, causing you to sputter out, “What!? You have no way of—”

“—You never talk to me about your dates, and you also got defensive so I’m guessing I’m right.” His gaze is even, unconcerned.

You huff at him and echo his earlier question, “Have I told you that you’re annoying yet today?”

“Yes, earlier when you almost fell over and I smiled,” he reminds.

Your response is a grimace and a matter-of-fact tone when saying, “I don’t tell you about my dates because I don’t go on them.”

“Ever?” Geto’s eyes widen slightly, clearly surprised by your confession.

Cementing back, “Ever.”

“People have definitely asked you out though.”

“Yeah, but not that often because they always think we’re together.” Glaring at him.

His hand reaches for your face and squishes your cheeks between his fingers. “Don’t look at me like that, that’s not my fault.”

Your voice comes out all mumbled and difficult to understand, “It so is.” He rolls his eyes at you, and you slap his hand away. “Stop squishing my face!”

Letting go, he sighs and takes a step back, sitting on the edge of the bed again. “Something about your love life is bothering you.”

Crossing your arms over your chest and looking to the side, you complain, “You’re so nosy.”

“Am not.”

What a liar, he’s always in your business. Though, now that you’re thinking about it, you don’t think he’s usually in other people’s business this bad. He does like hearing about the gossip you collect though, always ready to hear it while acting as though he doesn’t care.

There’s no reply you can think to give, so you give him the silent treatment. Still looking away from him and silently pouting, you can feel his eyes watching you, waiting for you to break. It’s a frequent game you start that he finishes, silently ignoring him while he watches and waits until you can’t take it anymore and tell him what’s on your mind.

A few more moments pass by and you already feel ready to give in, you hate how much more effective his silence is. Glancing at him from the corner of your eye, your gazes meet and you feel yourself folding all at once.

Large and exasperated groan leaving you as your shoulders slump back into the chair, “Fine!”

He perks up at your concession, a self-satisfied look on his face that irks you.

You’re looking at him properly to say, “I was asked on a date earlier today.”

The expression on his face changes to one of annoyance, like he’s not happy to hear that. “Who?”

“Some guy, you don’t know him,” you wave off, not really understanding why it matters to him.

Geto prods for more information, “…And what did you say?”

“…I said no.”

“Oh?” His reaction is indecipherable to you, “Why?”

This question is exactly why you didn’t want to talk about this. “I don’t know…” You’re lying, trying to avoid talking about this in more depth.

“Did you like him?”

“I didn’t not like him,” you shrug, “I would’ve liked to go out with him at least once but…”

“But…” He pushes.

“I don’t know, Suguru,” you scowl at your own reasoning, “I’ve never been on a proper date before, I don’t know what to expect or what’s expected of me. What if he wanted to kiss me or something?”

He’s quiet for a long moment, making you antsy while you wait for him to talk, “…Would you want to kiss him back?”

“Maybe?”

“I don’t think I’m understanding the issue.” His brows are pinched with his confusion.

You’re exhausted with him, like you aren’t the one being purposefully cryptic. “Am I gonna have to spell it out for you?”

“Yes.”

“Ugh!” You kick your legs in a mini tantrum, “I’ve never properly kissed someone… it’s always been like… a peck, I don’t know? But what if he expected more of me?”

You can see the way he’s actively fighting against the smile threatening to break out on his face. “Is that—” he bites down an amused sound, “Is that why you always say no to dates?”

“I don’t like you very much right now.” You were already feeling silly and embarrassed and his clear joy from this is not helping that.

He pouts at you mockingly, “Don’t be like that, I can help.”

“How could you possibly help me with this?”

A smile comfortable on his face when he states, “I could teach you.”

“You want to teach me how to kiss?” You scrutinise him, “Have you gone insane?”

“You’re the one all hung up on this and I’m offering to help you,” he puts his hands up, “But if you’d rather be a dateless loser for the rest of your life—”

“—Hey!” You point at him, “Uncalled for… and rude!”

A very signature and very annoying, polite smile sits on his pretty features. Unbothered by your outburst at his very clear bait. He simply raises his arm and grabs the hand you had pointed at him, tugging you from the chair and into him on the bed. You’re taken aback by his bold move, so close to him so quickly. Falling into his lap less than gracefully, his other arm wrapping around your waist to hold you steady as you sit sideways between his legs.

You stutter out at him, “Wha– what are you doing?”

Letting go of your hand; he reaches for your face. His thumb stroking softly against your cheekbone. “Do you want my help or not?”

“What you’re basically asking me is if I want to kiss you,” you correct… because that is what he’s asking right now.

Geto’s head drops back slightly as he fights the urge to roll his eyes at you dramatically, hand resting on your outer thigh now. “Don’t be so pedantic. You have a problem and I’m offering to help fix it.”

A sound of disapproval slips from you at his wording, “I know the theory behind kissing someone, Suguru. What you’re offering is making out with me.”

“So?”

Your expression is dumbfounded, you know he’s not this dense. “You want to stick your tongue in my mouth and then go back to the usual?”

He leans in again, dodging your question with his own, “Do you want me to stick my tongue in your mouth?”

“Geto—”

“—Ouch—”

“—Shut up.” You cut him off, “If! We did this and I do mean if. Would you be able to look at me the same?”

“The same as I always have? Sure.” There’s no hesitation from him.

He seems so sure, like he’s not worried about what this might mean for your friendship at all. The easy-going look on his face is both pissing you off and relaxing you, emotions he’s always been able to pull from you.

His hand is large on your thigh and the way it makes you feel is not how you should feel for him. Mumbling out a small, “You’re annoying.”

An amused breath leaves him, “You’ve already told me that today.”

“I don’t know what I’m doing.” You look up at him through your lashes.

“That’s kind of the point of this.”

“Right…” You can’t help but find yourself feeling nervous, embarrassed that you won’t be good enough. For some reason… you really want him to think you’re a good kisser.

He must take your silence as rejection because his tone is gentle when he says, “We don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“I know, I just…” You frown while looking at him, trying to figure out exactly what steps to take next. “I don’t know what to do now…” Geto’s face relaxes and a smile replaces his concern causing you to chastise him, “Don’t smile, it’s not funny!”

“No,” he agrees, “But it is a little cute.”

“Whatever, can we just kiss now?”

“Desperate?” He asks teasingly.

You deny it, “I just want you to stop talking.”

“Sure.” It’s all dragged out and has a teasing lilt to it. Damn him and his need to have the last word. You don’t reply to that and instead try to shuffle off him, thinking sitting like this would be awkward. His hold becomes firmer on you, “What are you doing?”

You’re confused. “Isn’t this position weird?”

“Makes it easier,” is all he says in reply.

Being sat between his spread legs, your own draping over one of them while he holds you doesn’t seem ideal. To you, this couldn’t be a more awkward position to be in for this. Instead of telling him that though, you settle back. “Alright…”

When you look back up at him properly, he’s already looking at you. There’s a funny feeling that runs through you at the look in his eyes. The hand on your thigh moves to your face again, cradling you as he leans in. Murmuring a soft, “I’m gonna kiss you now, okay?”

Just as he’s about to move all the way in, your hand covers his mouth. “Wait.” You stop him, your nerves getting the better of you. “What if… what if you don’t like kissing me?” He looks a little frustrated, so you pull your hand away, giving him a chance to speak.

“Do you want me to like kissing you?”

You feel flustered by his question, “Why do you always answer my questions with a question?”

“Because your questions are interesting…” he pauses, “…And also, I like teasing you.”

“If you answer my question, I’ll answer yours.”

“Fine,” he indulges you, “I’m not gonna dislike kissing you so your question is dumb.”

“But you can’t know—”

He tuts you, interrupting what you were saying, “—You gotta answer my question now.”

You groan at him, “Well… yeah.”

“‘Yeah’ what?”

He’s such a smug bastard. “Yeah! Yeah, I want you to like kissing me, Suguru.”

You’re huffy but he seems so pleased by your response. A serene and happy look on his face despite the tone you used. You find yourself waiting for him to say something more, something to tease you further but he doesn’t. He simply leans in again, taking you by surprise when his lips are softly pressing to yours. It’s short and sweet, more akin to a peck than anything else. Continuing to plant gentle kisses to your lips until you return them and then he lets them linger.

The feelings that run through you have you all tingly and hot, kissing your best friend for practice probably shouldn’t feel this good… right? You still don’t know what you’re doing though, more just letting him kiss you than anything. When you part again, you murmur, “Suguru, I still don’t know what I’m meant to be doing.”

“Just follow my lead.” His eyes stay on your lips, now shiny from the shared kisses. “That’s all you gotta do.”

“But—”

His eyes roll when you go to argue more. “—Stop thinking so hard about it and let me kiss you.”

You can’t help but squirm slightly at that. “Okay.”

Satisfaction rolls off him in waves but thankfully for you he doesn’t comment any further, choosing to kiss you again. Instinctually, your hand reaches for his chest and grips onto his shirt, you need something to ground you.

Geto is taking this slow, he’s trying his best to be patient to savour this moment with you. He doesn’t want to push you too far too soon and have you stop whatever this is. If he were more sure of himself and where he stands with you, he’d have just asked you out like a sane person but he’s not sure and he didn’t want to pass on this opportunity.

He can feel this becoming something he covets, your soft lips on his, uncertain in your movements but so ready to be kissed by him. His heart pulls with a kind of possessiveness that’s not completely unfamiliar to him regarding you. The desire to not want anyone else to ever have this side of you overwhelming him.

It’s addictive, his kisses, his hold on you… him. You can feel yourself falling into him more, the longer you do this dance. You want more, you want him to kiss you more, but you have no idea how to ask for that. Following his lead is good, it’s helpful but it’s starting to feel like he’s depriving you.

Pulling back, you force yourself to voice, “I want more…”

“Do you know what you’re asking for?” He sounds strained.

“You said you would teach me,” you remind. “So, teach me.”

His thumb presses into your jaw, “Open your mouth more then.”

Doing as he asks; he angles you just slightly before pressing his mouth to yours. The kiss fuller, his tongue licking into your mouth. It has a shiver running down your spine, the sensation new and mind numbing. It’s messier than before and so much more dizzying, you can’t even really keep up with his movements. Just letting him kiss you to his hearts content, feeling yourself getting drunk on his lips in the process.

You can’t even be sure if you’re doing this right, but it doesn’t really feel like it matters, not when you’re this lost in it. Lips gliding against his, a small involuntary sound pulling from your chest at how he grips you tighter. Feeling like he gets impossibly closer, his kisses growing desperate the moment you whine into him.

Geto’s restraint is wearing thin, his desire for you growing tenfold at how you moan for him. He wants to touch you so much more, to put his hands on every part of you. The fear of ruining this moment keeps his hands planted firmly to your hip and cheek though and it’s killing him to not touch you more, more, more.

When you tentatively lick against his tongue he almost all but folds in that single moment, he feels so pathetically weak for you. So unsure of yourself and still trying to kiss him just as deeply as he is you. A guttural groan leaves him, a sound he’d be almost ashamed of if he didn’t notice the way you squirm at it.

You pull back from him, and he can’t help but chase your lips, he doesn’t want to stop. An amused breath leaves you. “Hold on.”

He doesn’t understand what you need a moment for until you’re pulling his hands from you and moving to straddle him.  Your thighs resting beside him, he feels dizzy with need. The need to touch you, to undress you. To have you naked and straddling his lap just like this could make his whole year. His hands are on your hips, tugging you up his lap just slightly further, encouraging.

Going to sit on him, you notice his erection and gasp. Heat rising to your face, suddenly so conscious of how heated this exchange has gotten. “Maybe we should stop…”

It’s almost like it hurts him to hear those words. “Do you want to stop?”

You wish you weren’t so certain, so quick to immediately know that. “… No, I don’t.”

“That’s good…” he smiles, “Cause I’m not done teaching yet.”

And then you’re kissing again, wet and sloppy. He’s holding back less, depraved in how he sucks your tongue into his mouth, bolder now. Revelling in every twitch you make against him, every mumbled whine you let out.

Mindlessly, your hips lightly roll downwards, and his resulting grip holds you so still against him. A debauched moan leaving him at your unexpected movements, parting his mouth from yours with it. Geto’s head tucks into your chest, controlling his breathing, like he might snap at any moment.

You feel a little frantic, like you might’ve hurt him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“—Don’t– fuck– don’t apologise.” He can feel how warm you are through your pants and it’s making him feel feral.

Your fingers run through his hair, to comfort him. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Hurt me?” He huffs an unamused sound. “The only thing hurting me is how badly I wanna stuff you full.”

“Sugu—”

“—I know you can feel just how hard I am.” He pulls his head back to look at you, eyes blown wide and dark. “I’m practically aching for you.”

Your heart stutters in your chest. “Suguru… are you some kind of closeted perv?”

The question makes him laugh. “Wanna find out?”

“You were only supposed to teach me how to kiss…”

“Mhm, and you’re doing great.” His nose traces along your neck, inhaling you. “I still have so much more knowledge to give though.”

“Don’t be so– hah!” He licks at your skin before latching his mouth to the side of your throat, the pressure making you fidget in his lap. You feel so sensitive, so much more than what you thought you would.

When Geto pulls back from the mark he’s made, he blows softly on it, enjoying the way you shudder on top of him. “‘Don’t be so’ what?”

That’s right, you were going to say something. He looks really nice right now though… eyes lidded and cheeks just slightly pink, lips slick. What were you going to say to him? His grin only grows, taking satisfaction in your glazed eyes and struggle to think. Averting your gaze, you try to remember what you wanted to say. The break in eye contact is short lived since he grabs your chin and pulls you back.

“Come on, pretty, what were you gonna say?”

The effect he’s having on you is becoming too much. “I was gonna tell you to not be so depraved!”

“Hmm…” His head quirks at you. “You seem to like it though?”

How presumptuous of him, “You can’t know that!”

“You know… the human body is really interesting, for example…” He looks down to where you’re sitting over his prominent erection. “You’re so incredibly hot against me that I feel like I’m going insane.” Smiling back up at you evilly. “Just how wet are you?”

The possibility of fainting is very real all of a sudden, his question has you hot everywhere. “I jus– I just told you to not be so depraved.”

“Yeah, and I ignored you,” he deadpans, ignoring your indignant sounds. “Do you want me to stop?”

Again, you hate how badly you don’t want to stop. Right now, you think you’d let him do just about whatever he wanted to you. “Promise not to tease me later?”

“You know I can’t promise that.”

You pout back at him, “Then I’m not gonna say what I was thinking.”

His curiosity is sufficiently piqued. “Fine, I promise to try not to tease you later.”

“That’s not good enough.”

He tries again. “I promise.” You both stay looking at one another for a moment before he adds, “That’s as good as you’re getting.” And you know it to be true.

How to say this without embarrassing yourself. “You can… you can touch me… however you want, Suguru…”

He feels like he’s gone into shock. “What?”

“Did you not hear me?”

“No… I heard you.” He can’t help the way his cock jumps in excitement. “I’m just double checking I heard you right.” He leans in to taunt, “You’re gonna let me touch you however I want?”

“You said you had more knowledge to share.” It’s a dangerous game that you’re both playing.

He breathes out, “And if I wanna touch you in a depraved manner?”

So certain in yourself when you reply, “I want to be touched in a depraved manner… by you.”

Ah, so you’re trying to kill him, is the conclusion that Geto has come to. A breathless laugh leaves him, “For practice?”

“Sure,” you give him the answer you think he wants, in reality you just desperately want to be touched by him. You don’t think you’ve ever been this turned on in your life and it’s all his fault.

An entertained sound leaves him, “Hah– Don’t know if I believe your answer there…” His hands are on your hips, slowly dragging you over his dick. Biting his lip at the feeling, cock jumping when your breath stutters.

“Wait– wait,” your hands hold onto his and he stops moving you. Realising now that he might’ve gotten carried away, that he should’ve double checked again.

When you get off his lap and onto shaky legs Geto feels his heart drop, only for it to suddenly pick up speed when you’re shuffling your pants down and off. Crawling back onto him in your panties, he—shamefully—has to put so much focus into keeping calm, so worked up he could cum from this alone.

“Yeah…” you murmur back at him, placing yourself right over his erection again. Gasping at how hard he is, at how much more you can feel even through the layers left on, “I lied just now.”

He wants to ask more; he wants to know what you lied about but if he thought you were hot before then he’s melting now. You’re sitting on his dick in the cutest little panties, already so drenched from making out with him that the affection he feels for you fills up his chest. He’s way too distracted right now to ask what he wants.

“Be honest.” It feels like a chore to rip his gaze away from your pussy. “Are you trying to kill me?”

Geto’s eyes are all glassy and blown, cheeks flushed as he implores you, like he’s worried you’re legitimately trying to kill him. He’s making you feel shy. “It’s your fault I’m acting like this.”

That has him feeling a little prideful. “Is that so?”

“Mhm,” you confirm.

“In that case.” He’s slowly dragging your heated core over his erection again. “Should I fix it?”

You nod your head at him. “…Yeah”

The shivers that run through you make you gasp, the drag over Geto’s dick feeling so much better without your pants on. And yet you can’t help but feel so greedy, a kind of need in your bones that you’ve not experienced before.

He takes his hands away from your hips and you stop moving, whining pathetically at him, “Why—”

“—Keep doing it yourself,” he encourages.

“But—”

“Just do it how it feels good, use me for a bit,” he grins, “I wanna watch you pleasure yourself on me.”

“You really are a perv,” you mutter back at him.

His retort is quick, “Say that to me when your pussy’s not drooling all over my pants.”

Your cunt jumps at his words. “Are you gonna be this crude the whole time?”

“I can be worse if you want?”

“I can’t stand you.”

“We both know that’s not true.” He looks pointedly down to where your cunt is pulsing hot against him. “Now do us both a favour and move,” he hisses out through clenched teeth, apparently nearing his limit.

“You’re so bossy.” You frown. “I’ve never…” You’re at a loss for how to phrase it.

“Dry humped someone before?” He finishes for you. “Though, with how wet you are—”

“Shh!” You cover his mouth with your palm. “Stop… talking about how wet I am.”

He pulls your hand away. “You know, I’m not surprised you’ve never—”

“—You don’t have to say it again,” you cut him off.

He rolls his eyes. “You hadn’t even made out with someone; I’m just saying that I didn’t ask you to use me without knowing.” He holds the side of your face gently, “Stop worrying about it so much, I know already… that you’re a huge virgin.”

His gentle touch greatly contrasts his teasing words. He’s so evil to you. “This is why I say you’re not nice.”

“Do you want me to be nice? To tell you how pretty you are and how good of a job you’re doing?” The reaction you have is almost visceral, skin heating and looking away from him. Even more embarrassed when he chuckles at you. “Got a bit of a praise kink, hmm?”

“You’re making this difficult for me.”

“You should’ve just done what I asked then.” He shrugs easily.

If you thought holding out would punish him more than you, then maybe you’d just get off him and go home to get yourself off, but you want him to make you feel good. So instead, you’ll just give in and hope he shows you mercy. Though, by how this is going, he doesn’t seem to be the type.

Experimentally, you roll your hips down into Geto and he huffs out a breath like he wasn’t expecting it. Your hands move to his shoulders for purchase, using the leverage you have there to grind down into him harder.

He holds onto your waist. Not moving you, just resting his hands there. “Oh fuck– no– hah– no warning?”

You shake your head at him, brows pinched as you focus on seeking your own pleasure. “You– hnn– wanted me to– hah– to do as you asked.”

His head falls back slightly at the pleasure, a lazy smile on his face. “That’s true.”

The longer you do this, the slicker his pants get, you’re so unbelievably wet that it’s coating the material obscenely. Geto is in awe of it, eyes fixed on where you’re rutting down into him. Busy marvelling at the damp spot on his pants, at how drenched your panties are. So soaked that they’re practically a second skin, leaving nothing to the imagination with how it’s sticking to you.

He holds you still suddenly and the whine you let out is endearing. “Wait for a second,” he huffs.

Moving his hands to his belt to undo it, shuffling his pants down his legs. You lean up on your knees for a moment for him to drop them to his feet but before you can sit back down, his hand is holding you there. He runs the fingers of his other hand through your covered folds, a groan coming from the back of Geto’s throat.

“Seriously, you’re so fucking wet,” he reminds you.

“Sorry…”

He almost chokes, “‘Sorry?’” His fingers draw up to your clit, pressing into it. “Don’t be fucking sorry… I’m nearly salivating because of how drenched you are.”

That catches you off guard. “Sugu—”

He doesn’t let you speak. “—This wet because of me? It’s my fault you said?”

You bite your lip, his fingers circling your clit deliciously. “Mhm.”

His eyes brighten. “Perfect. Aren’t you just perfect for me?”

Your legs start shaking and he lets you drop back to his lap, one less layer between the two of you now. He’s so warm and hard and if you weren’t straddling him, you’d be clenching your thighs together for relief.  

“You are doing such a good job for me,” he whispers low against your ear, “Having the most perfect reactions.”

You whine at his praise. “You’re doing this on purpose.”

“Yeah.” He licks against your ear. “But that doesn’t make it any less true.”

His size is honestly daunting, large and thick as you sit on it, throbbing underneath you. “Suguru?”

He noses at your cheekbone. “Mmm?”

“I’m worried…”

“About?”

“What if you don’t fit…” you look down to his lap, “I just mean, you feel…big.”

“I don’t have to put it in you,” he comforts but he can’t help the way he twitches at your genuine concern over taking him.

“But you want to?”

“What sort of a question is that?” He holds you down while he grinds up into you. “Does it feel like I want to?”

“I was jus– ah!– I was just checking,” you sulk back.

Your mind melts, getting away from you. He’s rutting up into you in a way that has you shaking and your breaths stuttering. On edge for so long while sat in his lap, you want to meet his grind. You want to move your hips into him, but his grip is firm and steady.

It’s honestly a little pitiful how quickly he’s building you up, your insides clenching with the pleasure. The drag back and forth on his clothed cock driving you slowly to insanity. His boxers almost as ruined as your panties, your slick coating his covered dick. The glide much smoother than what you’d expect. It’s like you can feel him throbbing for you and it makes you want to fully take him even more.

Your own thoughts riling you up, the idea of him sitting so heavily inside you makes you huff out a whine. A sound that Geto relishes in, in fact, he’s relishing in all of this. You’re so malleable to his will, he thinks in this state, you’d let him do whatever he pleases. The thought alone nearly has his eyes rolling.

He needs you to cum like this, he needs to see it. How you shake and writhe on top of him, the expression you make. He wants to make you cum in so many different ways, just to see how your expressions might differ each time.

It’s relentless, how he humps up into you, how he pulls you down into him. Your clit catching on the tip of his dick making you jump each time, shocks of pleasure running through you. You never thought something like this would feel so damn good.

Fingers grappling at the material of his shirt, pleasure wracking your body as he draws you closer and closer. “Stop– ah!– if you keep going I’ll– hnn—”

“—So soon?” he hums, “I don’t know if– hah– I believe you… you’re gonna have to prove it,” leering back at you.

His eyes on you feel so consuming, calm and watching but so hungry that it’s driving you to the edge. It feels like you’re melting, so warm and unbelievably close. Body twitching on top of him with your impending orgasm. You don’t even get to try and warn him again, sounds you’ve never heard yourself make falling from your mouth before you can think to stop them. Trembling with the force of your orgasm, feeling completely weak as you slump into him, eyes wet and bleary.

Geto feels like he’s vibrating, watching you come undone on top of him making him feel too much all at once. His arms wrap around you and hold you close, hands smoothing up and down your back. Lips close to your ear when he speaks, “You know… you make some really cute noises when you cum.”

Lazily, you look up at him through your lashes. Feeling a stupid kind of pleasure running through your body, still jolting slightly with the come down. “Stop trying to embarrass me.”

“I’m only being honest,” his hands slip under your shirt, groping your waist. “You getting embarrassed is just a bonus.”

“Have you always been this sadistic?”

He leans in and presses a kiss to the side of your mouth. “Who knows?” He smiles.

Turning, you catch his mouth with yours. Kissing him properly, hands tickling the back of his neck as you try to kiss him like he did you earlier. His hands on your waist grip you, lips imploring. So needy in how he returns your kiss, all but whining when you part. A string of saliva connects your mouths, and he wipes your lower lip with his thumb, pressing it to your lips like he might push it inside.

Eyes lost as he dances his digit over your plush lips. “You’re beautiful,” is all he says, gazing at you with so much affection.

Opening your mouth, you gently take his thumb between your teeth. Biting so very lightly before flicking your tongue over the tip of it. Geto looks like he blushes at the action, pulling his hand back.

“Seems as though I’m not the only tease,” he accuses.

You mutter at him, “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

His compliment had made you feel so soft and tingly that you didn’t know what to say or how to react. It’s not like he’s never complimented you before, you just weren’t expecting him to call you beautiful so earnestly. Being given compliments by someone has never made your insides flutter as much as they did just now.

He hums at you, redirecting his attention. Pulling at the hem of your shirt to show what he wants; you lift your arms up so he can remove it from you properly. Feeling so bare on top of him but not really minding, still too blissed out on your orgasm to care.

Geto doesn’t waste any time, groping your tits in his large hands. Rolling your nipples experimentally and grinning wide at how you twitch and bite back moans at it. “My, you’re sensitive.”

Teeth digging into your lower lip to stop the pitiful noises he’s threatening to pull from you. “Try not to sound so pleased about that.” Your blood is still thumping through your ears, pleasure fresh in your bones.

“Would you rather I be upset?”

“I’d rather you not make– ah!—”

His wet mouth wrapping around your nipple has your words cutting off suddenly, back arching into him. Huffing out needy little breaths at how he flicks his tongue over your sensitive skin, dizzy from the heat he’s making you feel. Pulling back with an obscene pop, licking at you a final time while keeping eye contact before swapping to your neglected tit.

He’s playing with you, or he’s waiting for you to say you’re ready for more… no he’s definitely just playing with you. Taking his time leaving marks all over your tits, even biting some places. Neglecting himself in favour of teasing you to insanity, though it can’t be that painful for him considering how he’s enjoying this immensely.

Whining at him, “You– hah!– You’re gonna leave too many marks.” He ignores you in favour of making a new mark to the top of your breast. “Suguru!”

Threading your fingers through his hair, you pull him back with a tug. You’re frowning at him, but your eyes are so wet and dazed and you’re nearly completely naked on top of him. Covered in hickeys and his saliva, despite your pulled brows you look so euphoric.

Feigning ignorance, he simpers, “What’s wrong with that?” A finger trails over the marks he’s left, grazing a sensitive nipple in his journey. “You seemed to like it.”

Swallowing your pride, you tell him directly, “I want more.”

“You want to cum again?” He muses, “Greedy.”

Taking offence at his accurate guess, you add, “I want… you to as well.”

Geto ignores the thumping of his heart. “Take off your panties then.”

“But…”

A brow raises at you, “‘But’ what?”

You don’t really want to tell him about how shaky your legs are, somewhat concerned they’ll give out as soon as you try to stand. He really doesn’t need the ego boost right now. “Nothing.”

Moving off him so so carefully, you keep your hands on his shoulders as you stand between his spread legs. With the way your knees are wobbling and fingers gripping to him so harshly, it doesn’t take him long to figure out that you’ve not really got a great sense of balance right now. A smug smile gracing his lips when he sees you fight to figure out how you’re going to take off your panties with your hands on him.

“Something wrong?”

“No,” You quickly answer.

“Then take them off.” Using a finger to pull at the waistline of your underwear, only to let it snap back to you. At your continued struggle he adds, “Or do you want me to take them off for you?”

You look to him, eyes hopeful for mercy. “Please?”

“Sure,” his tone is polite but you’re not sure you’re that trusting of him.

Thankfully, his hands slide your panties delicately down your legs, brushing against your thighs. Though, he’s an opportunist and he uses this chance to grope lewdly at your thighs, pulling at your skin further and further up your legs. Humming low to himself at the slick coating your inner thighs, unable to help himself when he drags his fingers through your folds, touching your pussy directly.

“Fuck, alright—” He bites out, pulling you to his lap suddenly, “I’ve reached my limit.”

“Wait.” He stops his frantic movements and you pull at his shirt. “Take it off.”

He doesn’t even tease, just immediately does as you asked. Hastily tugging his shirt off, it’s dropped less than gracefully onto the floor. Your fingers dance along his shoulders, down his chest. You want to take it all in a bit more but he’s flopping onto his back and shucking his boxers down enough to pull his cock free.

The size of him almost has your eyes bulging, you wonder how he’s been so patient when he’s this hard and achy looking. Tip flushed deep pink and already smothered in his own leaky precum, your cunt throbs while looking at him. Caught between concern over his size and a desperate need to be full of him.

“You don’t have to take it but please just—” He grabs and moves you until you’re hovering over it, “Sit on it at least.”

Lowering yourself cautiously, you sit on him lightly. He can feel your heat so vividly now, and it makes him shiver, “I don’t need you to be gentle with me,” he snickers, “Split your pussy open on my dick.”

Geto doesn’t even give you the chance to do it yourself, hands tugging you down onto him with more force. A gasp ripping from you when he immediately starts dragging you back and forth on his whole length. Stifled groans leave him from under you, his chest vibrating under your palm.

“Sugu—”

“—Sorry.” His brows are knitted together. “I got– nnh– impatient.”

It’s so wet, slipping over him repeatedly, the head of his cock nudging your clit over every pass. Your teeth dig into your lower lip to fight the whines bubbling inside you but eventually you give up and just let yourself moan. He seems to like it anyways, cock jerking at the soft breaths and whimpers leaving you.

He’s on the brink of stupidity, you’re so soft and unbelievably warm and his tip keeps catching on your hole and it makes him shudder each time. Looking down, he watches the way you’re coating his cock in more of your slick, cock shiny with how wet you are. Lewd sounds of your pussy grinding over him fill the room and now he’s thinking about you creaming around him. He’s never wanted something so bad in his life.

“Sugu,” you call out to him, and he dopily pulls his eyes to yours, “Do you think I could just…” when his cockhead catches on your hole again, you press down. Not even taking him in any real way and yet still stretching slightly for it.

His grip hardens on you, holding you completely still. “There’s no ‘just’ anything.” He struggles to breathe out evenly. “Not with how tight you are.”

“I wanna feel full though.” You try wiggling down into him but he’s truly got you in a vice like hold.

His cock twitches as excitement rushes through him, “You asking me to take your virginity, pretty?”

Shy when you ask, “Would you?”

He’s not passing on the chance to pick on you a little bit. “How bad do you want it?”

He can feel the way your hole flutters when you think about his question, your answer seemingly downplaying how you feel, “Pretty bad.”

“Hmm…” He pretends to think about his answer.

You’re taking issue with his faux deep thought. “Sugu, stop acting like you’re not…”

“Go on,” he encourages, “‘Like I’m not’ what?”

“Like you’re not…” you look away from him, mumbling out, “Aching for it…”

“Oh? You aching for it?” The smile he’s wearing can be heard in his words.

He sounds way too gleeful over this and it’s ticking you off. “Nope,” you pop the ‘p’ as you lift yourself off him.

“Don’t be like that.” He sits up. “I’m not letting you go anywhere… not when I know you’re aching for my cock.”

“I did not say that.”

“That’s what I heard you say.” He shrugs.

Geto’s arms wrap around you only to throw you down onto the bed, gone from you for a second while he shoves his boxers off quickly. And then he’s crawling over you, hands tracing up your body, relishing in your reactions to him.

“You really are so sensitive,” he mutters, trailing a finger up your thigh and watching your skin break out in goosebumps.

He’s being so unbearable, the need you feel is so loud and he’s here taunting you. “You’re so frustrating.”

“You’re just a needy little thing,” he returns. “So desperate to be filled even though you’re not prepared in the slightest.”

“Then prepare me,” you whine back.

He finds this about you cute, your insatiable greed, your back and forth between shy and so horny that you’re getting pissy at him. “I should teach you some manners,” he grumbles.

You spread your legs for him obscenely, growing even more impatient. “Please, touch me,” you pull his hand towards your pussy, “please.”

If he ever gets the chance to touch you like this again, he’s going to torture you, because right now you’re playing so completely unfairly that he can’t even think to deny you. His brows pull up as he flushes, finding himself doing exactly what you wanted, fingers gliding through your folds.

The way you keen at his touch almost makes it worth it. “You don’t play fair,” he complains.

“Someone lead by– hah!– po– poor example, I guess,” you shudder when he slips a single finger inside you.

Geto groans at the snug heat of your cunt, closing his eyes to take a quick breath at just how you feel wrapped around his digit. The fear or cumming the minute he gets inside you is real; he’s going to have to develop an insane amount of self-restraint between then and now.

“You’re hilarious,” he leans down to whisper in your ear, “Now shhh…” He draws his finger back before fucking it back in, lewd wet sounds of your pussy filling the silence. “Hear that?” He keeps repeating his movements, taking immense joy in how you writhe under him. “I think… pretty things that are this wet and begging to get fucked… don’t get to mock me.”

Your fingers dig into his shoulders, eyes glassy when you look up at him. “Don’t– nnh– be sooo mean.”

“You haven’t seen me be mean.” He pulls his finger back just to stuff another inside you, grinning when you arch your back at it. “I’ve only been nice to you today.”

“Be nicer,” you sulk.

“Don’t wanna be,” he smiles graciously back at you.

The fingers he has in you scissor to spread you open, pleased hums leaving him at your responses. Your mouth drops open and legs shake, fighting to close but unable to with how he’s in-between them. He’s hitting all the perfect spots inside you, crooking his digits to rub against your inner walls in a way you’re never able to reach.

He’s getting you so close to cumming that you want to hide from him, somehow feeling so much more vulnerable like this than when you were sitting in his lap earlier. Slowly, he works you to the point of taking another of his fingers, fucked open on three of them now. Your toes curl and your thighs hoist themselves on either side of his waist. Hips grinding into his hand, meeting his movements.

Geto finds the frenzied and desperate grinds into his hand adorable, satisfied with just how much more greedy you get when you’re this turned on. He already knows you must be close, your sudden drive to fuck down onto his fingers a dead giveaway to him.

He adds his thumb, rubbing circles into your clit. You jerk at it, tits bouncing in a way that has him drooling. To be honest, if you weren’t practically begging to get dicked down earlier, he would’ve put his mouth on you. Maybe if he weren’t also desperate to put his cock in you, he’d do it anyways but for now, he’ll settle for fingerfucking you to insanity and then shoving you full of his dick.

Your voice comes out smaller than you want, “Sugu, I think—”

“—I know.” His eyes are excited, fully aware of how close you are.

He can feel the way you twitch and clench down on him, back arching off the bed. Speeding up his movements just to get you there that much quicker and when you’re about to cum all over his fingers… he pulls them from you. Leaving you without your orgasm but so high that he could blow on your clit and you might cum.

You whine at him, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. Expression dopey and angry, sexually frustrated from the cruel and unexpected edging he just put you through. “What the hell, Suguru?!”

His grin is wolfish, merciless expression painted over with faux pity. “I’m so sorry, pretty. Were you close?” A hand cradles your face, soothing you for something that is completely his fault.

“Why would you do that?” All he’s succeeded in is making you needier than before, squirming under him with no way to find relief.

His answer is simple, “Just to see how you’d react.”

“I shouldn’t have hung out with you today.”

“Don’t be like that.” He guides his dick to your cunt. “I’m ‘bout to treat you so good.”

“If you don’t let me cum, we’re not friends anymore,” you warn.

He snickers at how genuine you’re being. “Alright.”

“I mean it, Suguru.”

“I know you do.” He presses a kiss to your temple. “That’s why it’s a little tempting.”

You whine at him, “Can you stop being so cruel for a moment?”

He blinks at you, “What do I get if I do?”

“What do you want?”

“I want to be the first person you go on a date with.”

His request stumps you. “What? Why?”

He doesn’t answer you. “Those are my terms,” he says matter-of-factly.

“Okay! Fine, yes, whatever you want,” you nod at him.

He smiles and starts pushing into you, the stretch is a lot, and it aches more than his fingers. You’re trying to breathe through it, but it seems like he is too. His thumb is on your clit, trying to get you to relax for him. “St– stop– hah– fuck!– stop clenching so tight,” he hisses through his teeth.

“I can’t– nnh– help it.” Your nails dig into his skin.

His lashes flutter when he gets his tip inside you, groan leaving him. “Wh– when I s–say date I mean– hnnn– a real date. A ‘I take you out and then try kissing you at the end of it’ date.”

For some reason, that makes your insides twist and you squirm. “Wh– whatever you– nnh– want, Sugu.”

“Yeah? You’re gonna– hah– dress up and let me take you out for your first ever date?” His fingers grip at his blanket below.

Your eyes roll as he slips further inside you, babbling out, “If you– hnn– let me cum? I’ll date only you.”

Geto sputters at that, hips driving forwards on their own making you both moan. His upper body drops down to you, lips ghosting over your neck and cheek before taking yours in a sweet kiss. He knows you’re out of your mind horny and probably not even sure of what you just said but he’s going to live in this moment while he fucks you.

He’s kissing your breath away while he slowly fills you to the hilt, trying so hard to be careful with you. His lips successfully distract you from the ache you were feeling, melting into him as he licks at your tongue.

Parting from you only when he’s balls deep inside, head flopping to your shoulder as he moans. Struggling to keep it together, you’re wrapped so snug and hot around him, pulsing so tightly around his aching cock that he feels like he might cum at any second.

“Sugu?” When he hums, you continue, “Move please?”

You wiggle your hips into him but he’s quick to stop you with a firm hand. “If you don’t want this ending right now then you need to give me a moment.”

“Hmm, that’s awfully cute of you, Suguru,” you tease him.

“That’s bold.” He licks at the shell of your ear. “I’m going to ruin you.”

“More than you already have?”

He agrees, “So much more.”

It feels like an eternity before he’s finally dragging his hips back, that alone has your breath stuttering. He wants to set a punishing pace so bad; he wants to fuck you until you’re mad, but he starts slow. Thrusting back into you at a languid pace, still carefully opening you up on his fat dick. It’s your first time and as much as he loves torturing you, he also loves pleasing you.

You’re scrabbling for purchase at his leisurely pace anyways, not expecting the heavy drag of his cock to feel this mind numbing. He chuckles lowly at the way you’re already weak for him, though it’s completely his fault considering all he’s put you through up until now.

“I think you may be the awfully cute one,” he smirks at you.

Your insides tug at his tone, “You can– hnn– be quiet.”

Leaning up, he rests on his knees, pushing your leg back and up. He has a great view of you taking him like this, able to see all your reactions. “I can but your pussy really likes when I talk.”

He’s so smug and he gets to be too because he’s right, his lightly mocking tone and that polite smile he wears is a deadly combo that has your cunt seizing around him. “I like it– hah– better when you’re nice to me.”

“You’re taking me all so well, pretty,” he praises, “Pussy sucking me right back in, so greedily.”

Your eyes roll back at how he thrusts into you, new angle hitting deeper than before. “That’s not– hnn– being nice!”

“Really?” He watches the way your hole clenches and feels how much wetter you get around him. “‘Cause you seemed to like it a lot.”

You bite your lip as you look up at him, silently asking for him to fuck you.

He looks down his nose at you, “What are you asking for?”

Sulking, “I want you to– hah– move more.”

“You should’ve just said that then.” He crooks his head to the side at you.

The slow drag out is the same as always until he’s fucking himself back into you sharply, a gasped moan stumbling from you as your hands seek stability in the mattress below. Your whine is dragged out when he repeats it over and over, brows knitted together in your pleasure.

“That’s a nice reaction,” he comments smugly.

You only hum at him, too consumed by the feeling of him shoving his dick in and out over and over in such a relentless pace that you’re seeing stars. Either you’ve closed your eyes or they’ve rolled to the back of your head because you’re not seeing much of anything right now.

Your eyes are welling with tears, chest heaving with your breaths. The stretch in your leg increasing when Geto pushes down into you further, pushing back on your leg with it. He’s basically folded it over his shoulder; you had no idea you were capable of bending this much. You’re so dazed and fucked stupid when you look to him lazily, he looks so pretty like this. Hunched over you and driving his cock in and out of your tight heat, his hair hanging messily over his shoulders and face as his expression twists in bliss.

Reaching a hand up, you tuck a strand of his hair behind his ear. “You’re pretty.”

You say it so dopily that he wonders if you know what you’ve just said. “I’m fucking you to the point you’re cock drunk and you think I’m pretty?”

A shudder runs through you at his voice. “Mhm, and– ah!– you have– hnn– have a pretty voice.”

God help him, he’s about to cum from you calling him pretty. “St– hnn– stop talking.”

“Sugu, you feel so—”

He cuts you off with a hand over your mouth, he has a feeling that whatever you were about to say would have him cumming inside you. “You’re so cute but I need you to shut up before I cum.”

From behind his hand, you look ruined. Tears slipping from your eyes, he can feel the way you’re drooling against his skin. The only sounds in the room his grunts, your muffled moans and the slick squelching of you swallowing his cock.

You want to keep telling him how pretty he is and how good he’s making you feel but even without him hindering you, you feel as though you may be beyond words now. Brain not able to form very cohesive thoughts as of this moment let alone speak them. He has you feeling so full, his cock throbbing against your walls in a way that has your skin thrumming.

Geto’s eyes lock down on where he’s stuffing himself into your little cunt, he feels himself short circuiting at the sight. Pussy bulging around him, struggling to take him all, dick so shiny with your slick. White creamy ring at the base of himself, it’s messy and lewd and it has him feeling so unbelievably obsessed with your cunt.

Thinking distantly that he’s going to do his best to impress you on your date so he can have you again, next time he’s definitely licking your pussy. Debauched groans vibrate in his chest at the thought, he’s going to make this so unforgettable for you, he needs you to be as obsessed with him as he is you. He’s going to be so much worse after this, and he was already down pretty bad.

Your hand grabs at his wrist, trying to tug it away so you can speak. He pulls back out of curiosity. “I– hnn– I’m– ah!—” Giving up trying to warn him after a particular thrust has you crying out, there’s no real point in warning him anyways.

He grins at your inability to say anything meaningful. “I’ve gotcha, go ahead and cum for me.”

Of course he knew exactly what you were trying to say, how does he already know your body so perfectly. He leans down to you, impossibly close, just to kiss your cheek and say, “Come on, pretty, I wanna feel you squeeze me tight before I cum in you.”

Crude and obscene and effective because his words make you shudder as you suddenly cum around him. A little frantic in how you squirm under him, eyes rolling as your hips fight to fuck yourself onto his thrusts. Pitiful whimpers of his name leaving you repeatedly, the only really comprehensive thing you’re able to utter out.

Geto’s orgasm is immediately triggered by yours; he was hoping he’d get to play with you a little more but as soon as he felt the sinful way you gripped him while you came, he was done for. Your cunt pulsating around him milking him for all he’s worth, he’s cumming so much so deeply. His hips flush to yours as he only grinds into you to ride out both your highs.

He doesn’t think he’s ever cum that much in his life and he’s unsure if it’s because it’s you or because he held back for so long. His weight drops to you as he catches his breath, feeling spent and so drunk on your pussy that if he thought too hard about you, he’d get hard again.

Your hand taps lightly at his shoulder, words all garbled when you speak, “Sugu, too heavy.”

Shoving his arms under you, he rolls until you’re on top of him. Cock slipping from you in the process and it has you letting out a cute whine.

“It’s leaking out of me,” you warn him.

He groans, “Don’t say that.”

You rest your check to his collarbone. “Why not?”

“I’ll get turned on again.”

Rolling your eyes at him. “You’re an insatiable pervert.”

“You’re not much better.”

His hands tickle up your sides, repeating the motion over, it’s making you feel sleepy. “You’re still worse.”

He just hums at you, apparently not caring to argue back. “You gonna be okay to shower?”

“In a bit… and only if you carry me the whole time.”

He laughs at that, “Sure.”

You draw mindless patterns on his chest with your finger, “So… where are you taking me on my first date?”

α.⁠η. THIS IS A REPOST .. a repost from my old account @/lovelivision, if you feel like you've read it before, maybe you have !

thank you for reading !! fun fact : this was originally someone's drabble request on my old blog and i got carried away and it turned into this. if that anon see this.. i still think about you <3