Love is a Writer

∘•···ʚ ♡ ɞ ···•∘

I write reader insert fics only for marvel, superman (2025), and stranger things. You can request any character from either fandom, though I write some better than others!

I write any genre, but will not write r@pe, incest, beastality, or any topic I state I'm uncomfortable with. I adore receiving your ideas and requests, but please do note that I will not write something that I feel I won't do justice/don't feel confident with, and may not always get to every request. Please respect those boundaries. <3

you can find my masterlist here!

This is a side blog, so I cant follow people back :( but know I appreciate all support and love you all soo much. you can follow my main @saturnst4rs if you so wish <3

I get all of my dividers from https://cuteinternet.com/cute-borders

The first time you had disclosed your fear of heights to Clark was far from enthusiastic.

He had simply been happy to see you, a long day at the daily planet fueling his eagerness to have you back in his arms. And so, the moment he entered your apartment and saw you, your unreasonably sweet boyfriend swept you up, strong arms enveloping you in a tight hug. You reciprocated, arms looping around his neck as you smiled into his shoulder.

"Long day?" you asked, pulling back just enough to catch a glimpse of his face. Clark simply shrugged, gaze filled with love as it met yours.

"Just missed you," he murmured, head tilting as he littered kisses down your neck. You sighed contentedly, giggling a bit as his lips brushed the curve of your shoulder.

Though, in the midst of his showered affection, you hardly registered the slow lift off of the hardwood - a result of Clark's absentminded joy - only noticing as your toes skimmed the floor. The realization tore a raw gasp from your throat, heart leaping in your chest as your fingers clutched Clark's shirt, gripping the fabric like a lifeline. You were only three feet off the floor, but the startle was enough to bring that jittery fear to the surface.

"Woah, hey, you okay honey?" Clark's voice cut through your panic, soft concern lacing his tone, strong arms still holding you steady. Still, you were far too shaken to respond kindly in turn, your own words coming out sharp as you stammered them out.

"Put me down, put me down, put me down!"

"Okay, okay," he responded, timbre remaining calm as he lowered the two of you to the floor once more, studying the fear in your eyes with gentle curiosity. "We're down now," he murmured, arms loosening around your waist, unsure whether you still wanted to be held, "I've got you."

You breathed deeply, feeling the cool floorboards under your feet to ground yourself, guilt pooling in your chest at how you snapped at Clark. "Im sorry," you mumbled, fingers still bunched up in his shirt.

"You don't need to be sorry, baby," he assured, "I'm just worried about you. Is the superman thing too much? Gosh, I didn't even think-" You shook your head, cutting him off with a gentle finger to his lips. The last thing you wanted was Clark feeling guilty for your own silly fear.

"No, it wasn't you, promise," you sighed, averting your eyes, "I'm scared of heights. I know its stupid, I just get panicky, and-"

It was Clark's turn to cut you off, pressing a gentle kiss to your pouted lips before murmuring against them. "It's not stupid, sweetheart, there's nothing wrong with being afraid of something."

"But I want these moments with you," you countered quietly, soft eyes meeting his gentle blues.

"Then we'll work on it, we'll take it slow," he mused, voice soft and decisive. "Think exposure therapy," he added with a teasing lilt, pressing another gentle kiss to your cheek.

And suddenly, the thought of facing your fear felt the slightest bit less nerve wracking.

•··········•··········•

"Are you sure about this, sweetheart?"

Clark's voice cut through the soft breeze outside of your apartment, a reminder of what was to be your first real experience in the air with your lover. The slight chill in the air mixed with your anticipation sent a small shiver down your spine, but nevertheless, you nodded, straightening your posture as you met Clark's gaze.

His eyes were softened in that careful way that always seemed to make you melt, curls just slightly windblown, glasses temporarily discarded. The area you'd chosen was secluded enough for him to be non-suited up, no risk of any bystanders watching journalist Clark Kent defy gravity. You adored every aspect of him, superman included, but the additive comfort of simply Clark being the one holding you through this felt calmer. More personal.

"I'm sure," you responded, attempting to focus your attention on your boyfriend in front of you so as to not back out. Clark offered a reassuring smile, arms encircling your waist as he pressed a kiss to your hairline.

"You've got this," he murmured, "let me know if it's too much."

You nodded once again, looping your arms around Clark's neck and holding tight, to which he gave your hips a soft squeeze in response.

"Alright, here we go."

Slowly, you felt as you were lifted off of the ground, the familiar swooping feeling returning to your stomach. Your biceps tensed around Clark's shoulders as you pressed your face into the crook of his neck, eyes squeezed shut.

"Are you still okay, honey?" Clark murmured into your hair, voice gentle, arms steady around your waist. You nodded against his neck, much preferring to stay safe in the unknown rather than facing the wave of terror that would come with looking down.

"We aren't too high, baby, think you can take a look?" Clark coaxed, thumb swiping gently over where it rested above your ribcage. You mulled over his words, fingers trembling where they grasped the hem of his collar. Choosing to be brave, you lifted your head from where it was resting, peering over Clark's shoulder to take in the view. True on his words, you weren't exceptionally high off the ground, 10, maybe 11 feet at most. Still, it made your heart race to know that the only thing stopping you from plummeting downward were Clark's arms around you, even as you trusted him with all your heart.

"C-can we go back down now?" you stammered out, voice trembling slightly as you tore your gaze away from the pavement below.

"Of course we can," Clark responded, lowering the two of you back down with ease, until you could steady yourself on solid ground once more. You let out a sigh of relief, arms still loosely draped over Clark's shoulders as you calmed your heart rate.

"You did so well, sweetheart, I'm proud of you," Clark spoke softly, words sincere as the adoring look in his eyes.

"That was hardly progress," you mumbled, lingering nerves dulling any sense of pride you may have felt.

"Progress takes time," he responded, one hand coming up to cup your cheek. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, then cheek, before tilting your head to meet his gentle gaze. "We can do this as often as you want to, and you're already doing great, baby. I believe in you."

•··········•··········•

In the weeks following, the two of you fell into a sort of routine; Evenings just after sunset around your apartment's corner, you in his arms, distance from the ground increasing gradually each time. Clark never let one of these "sessions" pass without praising your bravery, telling you how proud he was and encouraging your efforts. The facing of your fear that had felt daunting at first had slowly transformed into something easier. Your heart had never failed to race, nor had the butterflies in your stomach vanished, but you felt safest in Clark's arms, and somehow being with him made you feel infinitely more capable of overcoming your fear.

You hadn't planned on this evening being any different. You were in the kitchen, preparing a new pasta recipe you'd found for when Clark returned from work, but five o'clock came to pass. Then five-fifteen. Then five-thirty. You were beginning to grow worried, until your phone lit up with a notification from your news app - there had been an armed robbery downtown, superman spotted at the scene. You chewed the inside of your cheek, stomach flipping in that anxious way whenever you knew Clark was putting himself in danger. Not truly, you knew, bullets were practically a flick to your kryptonian lover, yet your care for him tended to override common sense in these moments, and you worried nonetheless.

You tried to relax, serving yourself a bowl of the pasta you'd made, scrolling on your phone for some sort of distraction. Forty minutes passed like this, with you torn between mindlessness and ceaseless worry, until you received another notification, this time from Clark himself.

So sorry I'm late, meet me outside, I'll make it up to you. ❤️

Your heart skipped in relief as you typed a quick response of confirmation. You discarded your bowl on the table as you rushed toward your front door, slipping on a hoodie - one of Clark's - and turning the lock to make your way outside.

The evening air held a soft breeze, only a frail orange glow left of the sunset. You looked left, then right, for any semblance of your lover, only to be met with his presence from above.

"Hey, sweetheart, I'm sorry I'm late, things got chaotic downtown, I couldn't let you know until it was practically over," Clark's voice came rushed in its explanation, broad frame finally coming into view and steadying in front of you. The blue of his suit was smudged with faint traces of dirt, curls mussed from what you assumed to be the action of a fight, and still, he never looked lovelier.

"It's okay, Clark, you're here now, thats all I care about," you reassured, one hand raising to brush away a speck of dust from his cheek. He held your hand to his cheek gently, pressing a kiss to your palm as his eyes met yours.

"Speaking of," he murmured, voice taking a on a softer note, "I did say I'd make it up to you."

"Mm, yeah you did," your lips quirked up as you closed the distance between the two of you, nose barely brushing the tip of his. "What did you have in mind, superman?"

"Do you trust me?" he murmured quietly against your lips, breath mingling with your own.

"Of course," you responded, head tilting in slight curiosity. His arms slid around your waist then, steady and safe in their grip as you instinctively relaxed into him.

"Hold on then," he whispered, a soft spark of mischief in those baby blues of his as he lifted the two of you from the ground, ascending with ease unlike any of your previous experiences in the air.

"Clark!" you shrieked, arms wrapping around his neck as your legs bracketed his hips. He simply smiled down at you, the fondness in his gaze enough to melt your exclamation into a soft laugh.

"You're doing great, honey," Clark assured, admiration painted across his features as he watched your eyes, once filled with terror, fill with joy. Joy that he caused. "Now, look."

You let your gaze break away from your lover for a moment, peering over your shoulder and marveling at the sight. The city of Metropolis was aglow, dusk's shadows illuminating each building, car, and street lamp. You could see stars littered throughout the sky in the horizon, each tiny speck shimmering in the early night.

"It's beautiful," you murmured in awe, eyes wide as they took in the sights before you.

"Not nearly as beautiful as you," Clark responded softly, eyes only focused you, the sight he found far more gorgeous than any twinkling light in the city. You turned your attention back to him, a bashful smile playing at your lips, mirroring his dimpled one.

"Thank you," you met his eyes, void of all but love and devotion, "for helping me, for this. I'm really grateful for these moments."

"You don't have to thank me," he responded, forehead resting gently against yours, "you're the one who put in the work, all I had to do was believe in you. I'm so proud of you, sweetheart."

With that Remy was satisfied, laying back once more and turning on his side to face you. He wrapped his arms around you, his nose tucked against your hair as he pulled you close, hoping he could still your movement and sleepy peacefully the rest of the night.

That hope was short lived.

Remy was nearly lost in slumber once more, muscles melting into relaxation, before your knee slammed, sudden and roughly, into his gut. It was hard enough to pull a strangled groan from his throat, torso shifting to roll himself over, hand clutching his stomach.

"Merde, chér- gah!" his complaint was cut short by a sharp gasp of pain, your elbow colliding hard with the back of his head, a soft huff of annoyance escaping your lips, as if he was the bother. "You tryn' to kill Gambit?" he muttered under his breath, more to himself than anything.

With a huff of defeat, he slowly removed himself from your tangled limbs - an arm and leg of yours now wrapped around him as if you weren't the epitome of violence moments before. Leaving the bed pained him, but Remy wasn't one to intentionally endure beatings, at least not in this context, regardless of how much he adored you. So, he gathered up his pillow and padded out of the bedroom with a final glance over his shoulder at your still sleep lulled state.

He found refuge on the couch in the living room of your cozy apartment, settling into the cushions that wouldn't attack him, and soon drifting into the realm of dreams himself.

Remy was awoken in the morning by the soft clinking of mugs in the kitchen, a sign you were awake and seeking coffee. He rubbed his eyes, blinking away the lingering drowsiness as he sat up. Stretching, he felt the back of his head and winced a little, a bruise surely forming. He quickly, however, schooled his expression as you shuffled into the living room, a steaming mug in each hand.

You looked heavenly, he couldn't deny. Hair mussed, features still laced with sleep's softness, glowing with a lovely night's rest as if you hadn't bruised him all night long.

"Mornin' chérie," he murmured, voice still holding a bit of rasp. He held a hand out for you to place the corresponding mug in, to which you did, lips turned in the smallest little pout.

"Morning, Rem," you mumbled, watching as he took a sip, "why're you out here?"

The twinge of sadness in your voice tugged at Remy's heart; he knew you didn't mean to injure him in your sleep, and he didn't want you thinking he'd abandoned you for selfish reasons.

"Ain't nothin' in your control bébé, you dangerous in your sleep, that's all." he responded, accent drawled groggily as he reassured you.

A nearly bashful smile played at your lips, brows knit in concern. "Was I kicking again?"

"Chér, is there ever a time when you not?"

You let out a small huff of laughter, head dropping in subtle embarrassment, "I'm sorry, really, I wish I could help it," you apologized, the tiniest flicker of guilt coloring your expression. "I want to sleep with you, like, normally," you added at the suggestive raise of Remy's brow, "I don't wanna hurt you."

To your surprise, he simply shrugged, all annoyance set aside for the sake that consciously, he did love you to no end. "C'est bon, mon amour, a lil pain never scared Remy away," he winked, coaxing a soft blush from you. "besides, I'd take a beating any day if it was from you ma belle."

To that, you rolled your eyes, Remy taking your hand and gently tugging you down next to him. He kissed you then, lips tasting like coffee and drowsy adoration as he set his mug aside to be able to cup your face. He pulled away, kissing the tip of your nose, ruby eyes gleaming at the star-struck sparkle in yours.

"Golly, baby, you were...you did so good," Clark panted against your thigh, warm breath fanning across your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. "Think you got one more in you?"

His words didn't spark excitement, nor that fluttery feeling of eagerness in your chest, only the burn in the back of your throat that told you tears were well on their way. You tensed, eyes squeezed shut as you tried to even your breathing and act normal for Clark's sake, but your boyfriend was observant, and there was no hiding from him.

"Honey?" he called gently, gaze raising at your lack of response. The look of utter defeat on your face was enough to draw him up from his knees, puppy eyes filled with absolute concern. "Hey, sweetheart, look at me, what's wrong?"

You swallowed, lower lip trembling as you turned your head to the side in an attempt to avoid his gaze. "Nothing's wrong, I'm fine."

Clarks brows knit in worry, one hand coming up to brush your hair aside, thumb stroking over your jaw in a means of comfort.

"Hey, don't do that," he murmured, voice painfully gentle, low and lulling beside you. "Please, baby, I can't help if I don't know what's wrong."

You shook your head, tears wetting your lashes and blurring your vision. Clark's presence didn't waver, his gaze remained gentle, patient as your lips turned downward in a heartbreaking little pout.

"It's not 'what's wrong,' Clark, I'm wrong," you stammered out, voice thick and teary, Clark's heart plummeting at the sound. "I-I get this feeling, like, after, and I just feel so guilty. I don't know why I'm like this, I-"

Your breath staggered in a shaky sob, and Clark didn't hesitate to pull you into his arms; you were too distraught to pull back. His hold was delicate, cherishing, soft hushes falling from his lips as he let you cry, littering kisses to the top of your head as you did.

"Think you can look at me?" he asked gently once your tears had nearly run dry, hand cupping your cheek in a gentle coax. He offered you the sweetest smile as your glassy eyes finally met his, thumb brushing away a salty tear that lingered.

"There is nothing wrong with you," he murmured, sincerity lacing his tone, eyes solemn, gaze steady. "You let yourself feel good, honey, I love making you feel good, you know that. And if you feel like this after, then that's alright too, doesn't mean you're wrong. I'm still gonna be right here. I love you, baby, nothing like this is gonna change that."

Your eyes felt glossy now for an entirely new reason; never had you been with someone as patient and loving as Clark, as willing to reassure you and truly stay with you. Clark's eyes widened briefly at the new tears, darting over your features as if trying to read what he'd done wrong.

"Hey, what happened? Gosh, did I say the wrong thing?"

"No, no you didn't," You cut him off gently, shaking your head, the smallest smile turning your lips upward. Clark's expression softened all over again, head tilting in that adoring, curious way. "I just love you so much."

"I love you too," he murmured breathily, dimpled smile gracing his own lips as he leaned down to press the softest kiss to your forehead, reassuring and reverent all the same.

That would be why he had the urge to be sure his own first impression with you was different than the others'. He told himself it was an interest based whim, that you drawing his attention was only part of your newness. And yet, there was something undeniable about you that made him want to know you, something Remy wasn't used to in the slightest. So, out of such interest, he sought you out on your second day in the mansion, hoping that your brief acclimation may aid him in drawing your attention just as much as you did his. He found you in the kitchen, pouring yourself a glass of water; your eyes were trained out the window as you took a drink, not focused on much in particular, lost in thought.

"Ain't every day we get a new addition to the team, 'specially not one as pretty as you, chér," Remy drawled from behind you, voice smooth and laced with flirtation, not unusual from the cajun, but entirely new to you. He caught the slight jump in your shoulders before you turned on your heels, your gaze meeting his own for the first time.

"I don't think I even know your name yet, and you're flirting with me?" you mused, head tilted slightly, though your tone was warm, and the faint challenge in your voice made Remy's heart stutter.

"Desolé," he shrugged, hip leaned against the counter casually, amusement outweighing any apology in his tone. "The name's Gambit, mon ami," something almost cheeky glinted in those crimson eyes, "but you jus' call me Remy."

"Remy," you echoed, as if tasting the name on your tongue, something almost satisfactory to your tone, something Remy found he liked. He hummed when you introduced yourself in turn; your name suited you, he thought, not bothering to dwell on how that thought lingered.

"You settlin' in good, den?" he asked, feeling a twinge of regret at the blatant small talk. You, however, didn't seem to mind; something about the way you took your lip between your teeth seemed as though you genuinely appreciated the question, if not a bit lost in contemplation.

"I suppose," you answered, fingers circling the rim of your glass. "It's nice here, really nice, just...new."

"Dat make sense," Remy nodded in understanding - he of all people knew the struggle of acclimating to this kind of life, one for betterment, not survival. He thought briefly about how to respond, settling on simplicity for the small sake of comfort. "But Remy got a feelin' you gonna fit right in chér."

· • —– ᢉ𐭩 —– • ·

It's only natural for interest to evolve.

Weeks went by after your initial introductions, and you soon became a constant in the mansion, in missions, in every day life, just like the others. And yet, something about you still drew Remy in; He had met you, he knew you, but he didn't know you, and somehow that gnawed at him in a way he couldn't quite comprehend.

Today he had run into you by accident, surprisingly, as if he had unintentionally manifested his repetitive thoughts into reality. You were in the danger room, the first time Remy had seen you there apart from being shown around the mansion, and a singular group training session. He remained outside, not wanting to alert you within your focus, crimson gaze glued to your silhouette as you dodged, sprinted, twisted - all moves that clearly weren't taught, but a mechanism of survival, something he was certain had been utilized by you before.

At long last, the simulation ended, your shoulders rising and falling steadily as you raised yourself into a somewhat regular stance, regaining your senses after the rather reality altering experience. Remy couldn't see your face from his current stance, making him all the more curious as to how you felt; he felt that a lot, actually.

"You look like you fightin' for your life in here, chér," he called from the doorway, watching your head whip around in surprise.

"Have you been watching the whole time?" you asked, brows knit, as if you were worried about what he may think of you, something Remy dare not comment on.

"Non," he shook his head reassuringly, "only a few minutes." he watched your shoulders fall with an exhale, unable to help but attempt to relieve the embarrassment in your demeanor.

"You know training's what dis room for, no? You ain't got nothin' to feel nervous about."

Your eyes darted down a moment, arms folding across your middle, lip between your teeth as if you'd been called out spot on.

"I know, I just...I'm not really used to fighting like this, like...properly. I doubt anything you saw was impressive."

"Nothin' wrong with that, chér, you gonna learn, everyone does," Remy responded, voice warm, nonjudgmental, noting the way your eyes met his again, something brightening ever so slightly at the reassurance. "An' in the mean time, you ain't gotta stick to ducking an' dodging, you can use your powers all you want in here, dat also what this room's for."

An almost shy smile crept its way onto your lips at his words, shoulders raising in a small shrug. "I don't know how effective they'd be against a simulation."

Remy's head tilted at your words, a soft, prompting smile gracing his features. "Now Gambit gonna need some elaboration on dat," he mused, brow raised in subtle expectation.

The corners of your lips raised, your smile making itself known now, and Remy swore it brightened your entire demeanor. You held your hand out in front of you, palm up, fingers twitching as you focused. Remy watched, attention rapt, as three butterflies materialized seemingly out of nothing. Blue, speckled wings fluttered as they circled the air between you - not different from the ones fluttering about his stomach. Remy was captivated, not only by the dainty creatures, but by you, how you seemed to glow in your element.

"They're not real," you explained, a gentle flick of your wrist letting the butterflies fade into nothingness once more.

"But they sure look it," Remy finished, soft smile still plastered to his face, "ain't that somethin'."

It wasn't as if Remy hadn't been exposed to other mutants abilities, he was every day, after all. But something about the way you brightened at the admiration in his tone, the way you'd chosen to depict something beautiful with your powers, the way his heart skipped as your smile was a result of his doing, his words...it all told Remy that interest had evolved, and that your allure was far more than introductory.

· • —– ᢉ𐭩 —– • ·

Evolution takes many forms.

For Remy, that seemed like an understatement. There were the early mornings, soft sunlight and sips of coffee where the two of you would share sleepy good mornings. There were quiet evenings, the ones where you would share quiet smiles, easy quips, or just each others' presence; the trust to relax together, even when chaos could be expected at any moment. There was said chaos during missions, where Remy found himself looking over his shoulder twice as much as normal, seeking reassurance that you were still fighting, still here, and he'd be damned if he said he wasn't impressed every time he glanced over to see you in action, if he wasn't growing to admire your every move.

Remy wasn't quite sure how to label this feeling yet; when he wasn't fully honest with himself, he would think he didn't need to. But he never denied it, how could he when it felt so pleasant, the lightness in his chest when you entered a room, the smile he hardly noticed creep onto his face until someone pointed it out; it wasn't causing him trouble, so he found no true need to consider it, found it not to be something he concerned himself with.

He was terribly, incredibly wrong.

Today's earlier mission had been burdening, to say the least. It was the type of mission that no one seemed to want to discuss after arriving back at the mansion, one of loss, bloodshed, guilt. Remy knew everyone on the team dealt with those feelings in different ways, everyone but you, that is. It was something that made his nerves jump, being in the unknown when it came to how you coped, he was no stranger to the less than healthy options. And yet, it felt somewhat intrusive to ask, as though he'd imply you were weak by doing so, knowing you were anything but. So, he kept quiet the remainder of the day, hoping that you knew not to blame yourself, that you knew these types of missions were inevitable, and deep down, that you knew you could come to him if you wished.

It was typical for him to be restless nights after mission, even more so given his thoughts that for some reason kept circling you. Sometimes he chose to toss and turn, sometimes fidget with a deck as he remained lost in thought, but he was craving movement tonight, and soon enough, he found himself padding through the halls of the mansion. His mind felt clustered - replayed moments from earlier, familiar feelings of shame that he'd learned to swallow, and you, always you.

He had no particular destination in mind, simply wandering aimlessly, until he heard the softest sniffle from one of the common rooms as he passed it. Remy wasn't typically one to intrude on others' vulnerable moments, but it seemed curiosity had been guiding him more than anything as of late.

So, he peeked his head just barely into the room, silent so as to not be invasive. Your outline was just barely visible in the darkness, only soft slivers of moonlight illuminating the tear trails on your cheeks. Your lips were downturned in the smallest frown, eyes watery, shoulders hunched inward, as if you were trying to disappear like one of your own illusions. To his surprise, Remy's heart felt as though it plummeted at the sight, a gnawing tug in his chest coaxing him to make himself known, say something, anything. So, against his better judgement possibly, he did.

"T'es encore réveillé, pretty late to be up, non?" Your head whipped up at the sound of his voice, hands raising to wipe away your tears, clearly not expecting an audience.

"Remy, sorry, just...just not tired's all," something about your words sounded far too much like an explanation to avoid judgement, Remy wished they didn't.

"You don't gotta explain nothin', I ain't here to interrogate," he murmured, cajun drawl softening in a way entirely new to even himself. "But...Gambit ain't a half-bad listener if you wanna talk."

The space between you felt quiet for a long moment, still, your eyes trained on your hands in your lap.

"I just...wasn't prepared for today, I think," you began, voice tentative, but not reluctant, something that made Remy glad he'd spoken up at all. "All of those people who ended up hurt, or worse, and I couldn't help them, I couldn't do anything, I-" your voice cracked briefly, and Remy couldn't bear to hear the blame he knew was coming next.

"There ain't nothin' you could've done, chér." he cut you off gently, cajun drawl smooth and soft, "You can't blame yourself for the things that went wrong, mon ami, all you gonna get with dat is tears, non?" he paused, his own gaze averting as he noticed how attentive you were listening, holding tight to every word. "Nothin' the xmen do is always gonna be perfect, you an' Gambit both know dat. But the way you were movin' today? Dat show you care, dat's the kinda thing we gonna need when we fightin' the good fight. You a good one chér, none of dis your fault."

You were looking at him now, all glossy eyes and pouty lips, listening to his words like they were a lifeline. It stole the breath from his lungs a moment.

"Thank you, Remy," you murmured in response, not empty, but not quite as if you believed him.

"Don't gotta thank me chér," he spoke. It was his turn to study you now, and, as if on instinct, desperate to get you out of your own head, he took a seat next to you. "How 'bout Gambit keep you company for a while?"

And for the first time that night, you smiled.

"I'd like that."

· • —– ᢉ𐭩 —– • ·

Remy was no longer unsure of this feeling.

It took him a moment to truly come to terms with it, more than a moment, really. But he was no longer refusing to label it, no, how could he possibly anyway? He was obsessed.

Maybe it was that night when you were truly vulnerable with him, or maybe it was something in all the moments in between. Maybe it was when he noticed the smalls specks of color in your eyes that he didn't before. Maybe it was when he grew to notice the difference in the pitch of your laughter when you truly found something funny. Maybe it was when he started yearning for more moments where you trusted him. Let him in. All Remy truly knew was that he wanted more than he had. He really wanted that.

The only problem was that he was entirely uncertain of if you felt the same. Remy was no stranger to flirtation; sinful glances, honey laced words, thickened accent that would invite anyone into his bed. And yet when it came to you, he felt lost. You returned little quips, threw a few flirty lines back when he'd initiate, your touch would occasionally linger. Which could mean nothing. Or everything. To hell if Remy knew which it was.

"You outta be careful walkin' around like that, chér, je ne peux pas m'empêcher de te regarder,"

Remy drawled, striding into the kitchen where you were perched at the counter, stirring up a drink for yourself. You were in a simple tank paired with cotton shorts, comfy to lounge in, nothing particularly scandalous, but lord if the innocent bits of skin showing didn't make Remy want to quite literally pounce on you right then.

You turned, corners of your lips upturned in the cheekiest little smile, gaze raking down, then up, trailing over his abs on display. The scanty magenta crop-top was an intentional choice on Remy's part, even so, his heart leapt at how intently your gaze lingered.

"Speak for yourself, cajun, I'd say you're the skimpy one here," you teased, head turned back around coaxingly, daring him to continue this little cat and mouse.

"touché, petit," he mused, turning the counter and propping himself on his elbows. "Too bad you ain't doin' nothin' about it."

Your head tilted, and Remy swore he saw the faintest dust of color on your cheeks. Your tongue darted out to wet your lips briefly before your composure was back in place, a grin thrown his way as you picked up your mug.

"You're gonna have to be more direct if you want me 'doing something about it,' LeBeau."

With that, you strolled out of the kitchen, sparing a glance over your shoulder at the cajun's, for once, flustered expression.

He tried to tell himself this was enough. The flirting, brushing the edge of what was professional, friendly, and more. This was his specially, anyone who knew Remy could tell you that. But this felt...empty. Like there was so much more he was barely at the cusp of. He couldn't stand it.

· • —– ᢉ𐭩 —– • ·

The confession was messy.

There had been another mission that day. Another mission that was far more overwhelming than the team had anticipated. Sentinels, more than ever before, dividing and conquering at an alarming pace. The team was strong, capable, it wasn't as if the fight was demolishing. But it wasn't an easy win, far from that.

Remy had been keeping an eye on you, as he always did, as much as possible without taking a hit hard enough to render him. Not enough, not at all enough. You had been cornered by two sentinels, dodging, fighting as hard as he knew you always did. Not enough. Your illusions were beautiful, convincing, and yet, not convincing enough for the machines. By the time Remy's eyes were on you again, you had taken a blow mid air. Hard. Harder than any blow he'd seen you take. You fell to the ground roughly, limbs thudding, unconscious. Remy called your name with a ferocity that rarely laced his tone, kinetic charge blasting through any object in his range that could harm those beings. His feet carried him to your side quicker than he could register, vision blurred as he skidded to his knees next to you.

"Don't you dare go quittin' on me, chér, Gambit gonna take care of you."

And he did. He didn't leave your side a single moment; not while carrying you bridal style back to the mansion, not when he received little quips or gentle recommendations from the team to go clean himself up. He couldn't bear to be away when you opened your eyes again, couldn't bear to think about what could've happened if you had been hit any fraction harder than you were.

Lost in his thoughts, eyes glued to the bedsheets, he didn't register the way your eyes fluttered open, the way your lips parted at seeing him, hunched and dazed, until your voice muttered faintly.

"Remy?"

His eyes snapped up, deep rubies meeting your gaze with relief that nearly brought the cajun to tears.

"Chér," he choked out, hands raising, hesitant and trembling a bit before touching you, before slowly, desperately, pulling you into his arms. He was gentle, not wanting to rattle you, but he embraced you as if he was starved; face pressed against your hair, alleviated sigh fanning over the top of your head. "Dieu merci, thought you were gone back there." He pulled away, hands on your shoulders, taking in the subtly surprised yet equally touched expression on your face.

"I'm...I'm okay now, Remy, it's okay, is everyone else? What happened?"

"Everyone's fine chérie, fight was rough but we made it," Remy assured, averting his gaze; how could you say it was okay? "Gambit just glad you're okay, never would'a forgave myself if somethin' happened to you."

"What do you mean? None of it was your fault, I accepted the risk joining this team-"

"Non," he cut you off, tone shifting to something far more genuine than he ever could have planned, "you gotta understand me here. I couldn't'a lived with myself if you were gone, I ain't ever cared for someone like I do you."

Your gaze softened, eyes glassy, fingers fidgeting with the blanket over your lap. "What do you mean?"

"I mean..." he took a breath, "I want you doin' something about de things I say when we're in the kitchen, I want you trustin' me the way you do when you upset," he swallowed, crimson eyes locked onto yours. "Gambit...Gambit loves you, chér."

Remy's heart was racing, the words he had just confessed catching up to him. He searched your expression, looking for any sign of discomfort, but all he saw was the smile that grew on your lips, the single tear that escaped and rolled down your cheek, the impossibly gentle way you were looking at him.

"I love you too, Remy."

The words stole the breath from his lungs, and god, he wanted to kiss you, kiss your tears away and pour every ounce of longing into the act, and yet, he felt entirely frozen.

"Yeah...?" he breathed out, lips parted, almost not daring to believe it.

"Yeah," you whispered back, a shaky hand reaching up to cup his cheek, an act of bravery coaxing your face close to his, and capturing his lips in the tenderest way.

It felt as though a dam had broken. Remy's arms wrapped around your waist on instinct, lips moving against yours in a gentle dance of longing. It was sweet, slow, and carried the underlying passion that he had been yearning to prove to you. Remy was used to heated makeouts, kisses that led to steamy sex and weightless endeavors. This was new. And Remy was entirely in love with it.

He was entirely in love with you.

· • —– ᢉ𐭩 —– • ·

Remy never thought he would earn this.

Proving himself to the thieves guild was already half his life, the xmen even more so. To think he would have something as blissful as being in love with you felt like a distant dream, something he'd never reach.

But with you, he did.

Loving you was warm, gentle, something he had never truly experienced much. Something neither of you had. Even within the sometimes chaotic life of being a part of the xmen, knowing that at the end of the day he'd be in your loving arms made everything seem worth it.

You kissed him like he was something worth cherishing, soft lips, tender makeouts that evolved into heavy petting and sweet loving. Remy adored that, he loved kissing you, littering your skin with his lips until you were successfully covered in his affection, gentle loving that made his heart flutter.

Then there was intimacy with you. Remy loved that. Sometimes it was slow paced, all barely-there touches and love making. Sometimes the two of you experimented more, always safe, yet thrilling all the same. Remy was obsessed with the moans he could draw from your lips, enthralled by the whimpers you could draw from his own. He was content to worship you so long as you'd have him.

He was in love.

· • —– ᢉ𐭩 —– • ·

Tonight Remy was sprawled out on the sheets of his four poster, arms wrapped around you, caressing bare skin as your head rested on his chest. He held reverence for the way you looked in the afterglow, all soft breaths and half lidded eyes.

"T'es trop belle, bébé," he murmured against your hair, "Remy loves you so much, you know dat?"

"Mm, I know," you tilted your head just enough to press a kiss to his jaw. "I love you too."

He sighed contentedly, leaning back against the pillows as his eyes stayed trained on the ceiling. There was never much Remy could be certain of. Things changed, life continued moving, stability was never certain. You, though, were a constant. You reminded him of that every time your eyes met, every time he held you close, every time your lips met his.