saint saint!! missed you!! haven’t been on tumblr in a while but noticed some xmen activity in that brain of yours... 👀 i’ll take anything with gambit if your interested! hope you’re well 💝
remy lebeau x fem!reader implied. sfw. remy lets you borrow his trenchcoat. translations at the bottom!
your heartbeat’s tender rhythm skips like stones against a lake as remy’s shoulder bumps yours.
the distance between you two grows fuzzy and so does your head as you keep making eye contact with him; red irises meeting your own. even in the dim streetlamps can you see how bright their color is. they cut through the haze of the night, looking right into you.
“y’know,” you say, shoving your hands into your pockets. “if i had known today that i would’ve had to climb six flights of stairs, i would’ve called in sick.”
he lets a small laugh slip, a low sound that buzzes in the deep hollow of his throat. “real funny, chère.”
he eyes you, a sly grin playing on his lips. “you was ‘bout ready to race me to de top.”
“that was before i knew there were six flights,” you whine. you feel a distant prickling against your skin, one that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stick up.
“yeah,” he mumbles. you’re about to quip back until once again, his hip bumps against yours. a light touch — and you know it comes natural, more natural than the effervescent glow of the moon in the sky. you glance up at him, fighting a smile threatening to break through, only to find him already looking at you.
your eyes quickly find their way back down at your shoes, counting the cracks in the pavement as they’re crunched beneath your feet.
you would’ve relished in the boyish feeling of your ears heating up if the wind didn’t kick up.
the night air had teeth. not enough to bite, but enough to nip at exposed skin and leave a lingering sting behind, goosebumps evident in its wake. a quiet shudder left you, hands coming up to lock onto your biceps in hopes of some relief from the cold.
remy eyes the way you thumb at your skin over your clothes. clearly, your uniform isn’t meant for the cold, he thinks as he watches the shiver ripple through you.
he clicks his tongue. “ah, pauvre bête,” he coos. “t’as froid?”
you huff and with the way another breeze floats by and hits you, he half-expected to see your breath turn into a flurry of vapor in the fresh night air. “i’m not cold,” you say.
“c’mere chère, you’re shiverin,” he breathes. “gimme your hands.”
you narrow your eyes at him. but with how you are, shoulders collapsing in and hands shoved into your pockets as deep as they can go, you realize you don’t have much of a choice.
he holds his hands out, akin to the way you’d catch a football. long fingers dusted pink from what you can see past his gloves, he holds them out expectantly for you.
“fine,” you say. a brief look of victory falls on his face as he flashes you a smile. “don’t look so pleased with yourself,” you chide.
“i ain’t pleased with myself,” he says.
“look who’s lying now,” you grin. your body turns to face him entirely, placing both of your hands in his. the warmth is immediate, like the honeyed sun melting against your back; its saccharine eyes petting your spine as all you feel is its heat — or in this case, remy’s.
he notices the way your gaze softens, your cupped hands slithering further into his embrace. “maybe a little,” he hums.
“shiverin’ so hard i can hear your bones rattlin’.”
you scoff, rolling your eyes. “hush yourself, cajun.” the corner of his mouth lifts.
his fingers close around yours instinctively. a soft sigh escapes you at the feeling and you start to wiggle your own fingers in his hold. “there she is,” he says. his thumb rubbed small circles into your skin, working life back into your hands.
the position was a little awkward; the two of you facing each other while your legs still face forward, walking at an off pace. you both are torn between keeping your eyes on each other and the sidewalk.
you watched his gaze follow your hands once more, concentration contouring his features. his brow furrows before he sighs, mumbling a small, “still cold.”
“that’s al—” you start before remy pulls you closer with your hands hovering near his face. wide-eyed, you watch as he brings your fingers to his mouth before warm air washes against your skin, breath controlled in the shape of an ‘o’ (that threatens to break once remy sees your owlish blinks out of his peripheral).
you’re close enough to see the details in his face, even in the darkness. the stubble against the underside of his jaw, the shadow of his lashes brushing against his cheekbones.
it’s light and unhurried but you swear you can feel his lips brush against the angle of your knuckles. your lips twitch, daring to break into a smile. something genuine.
eyes of dim-lit embers graze your face, flickering all along you until he’s sure he could count every pore before he cracks a grin, too.
warmth blooms beneath your cheeks and you fight the urge to turn your head away, to admit defeat. instead, you look ahead and you can see a familiar glow from the end of the block. a cord of disappointment is plucked inside your chest.
much to your dismay, he lowers your hands. the immediate cold hits you once again before you hear a quiet hum and a rustle of fabric.
his steps halt and his hand disconnects from yours, causing you to look behind you where he stands, already shrugging off his coat.
you shake your head. “remy.”
“hold still, chère.” the words are accompanied with the fond lilt of amusement and you can hear the smugness in his voice.
with that, he lifts the coat and settles it around your shoulders. the leather brushes against your neck and you get a whiff of him; you’re doused in a mixture of faint dirt, cedarwood, and although you know he’s kicked the nasty habit of smoking, the slight scent of nicotine seems to forever lay embedded in the seams of the fabric.
his hands remain at your shoulders while you slide your arms through the sleeves, popping the collar. you eye his arms, trailing down his uniform as you wonder how he couldn’t be as cold as you are.
he follows your gaze to where your attention has shifted, his smirk returning. “eyes up here.”
“sorry,” you coyly say, sheepish grin peaking through your voice. “too tempting.” he huffs before he steps back, almost admiring his handiwork. you smooth down your front, savoring the warmth. “aren’t you freezing?” you ask.
“very heroic,” you add, nodding your head as you stuff your hands in these pockets. your feet fall back into a slow rhythm as you begin to walk forward before peering back at remy. “well?”
“you walked me all this way,” you simper. “aren’t you going to finish the job? i got a curfew, y’know.”
he jogs up to you with a small laugh and a quirked brow. “but de coat,” he says. “it’s good, non?”
you hum in thought, looking up at the sky as you pretend to think. in the process, you can feel your pupils dilate at the vastness of the cosmos — speckles of finely crushed up stardust scattered along the sky, like if you flicked a paintbrush against it.
he bumps your shoulder again, waiting expectantly. you glance at him before you end up saying, “it’s not bad,” once brought back to earth.
“not bad?” he parrots. “dis is a quality coat.”
once again, you roll your eyes — (a common habit with him). a low, amused sound rumbles in his chest, the sound settles somewhere deep and warm, carrying easily through the quiet of the night. remy shakes his head, as if you've become a source of endless entertainment. “keep de coat,” he says.
your eyes find his. “what?”
“what if i never give it back?”
he shrugs one shoulder like it’s the most casual thing in the world. like he’s just lending you a pencil. “den i never get it back.”
brows pinched, you note: “you’re awful calm about that.”
his grin widens. “looks better on you anyway, chère.”
you groan, “i was wondering how long it’d be before you started sweet-talking.”
a laugh escapes him, saccharine on his tongue with the way it slithers into your ears like molasses. “sweet-talkin’?”
you make a small noise of agreement. “well, you’re awfully invested on whether or not i like this coat.”
he turns his head towards you. “should i not be?”
“it’s just a coat,” you say.
he quits talking for a moment and you almost feel a little worried. the silence bridges over the two of you like a thin pane of glass with only distant cicada cries filling the quietude.
he calls your name for the first time that night and you both turn your head towards each other fully. a corner of his mouth lifts. “i t’ink you know it ain’t about de coat.”
you feel your mouth go dry at the sincerity of it. before you can think of a clever response, something familiar catches your eye below — the sound of stone you know all too well beneath your feet.
the shape of home taking form around the corner. somehow, the sight makes your chest tighten, because a few minutes ago the walk had felt endless.
now it feels much too short. for the first time all evening, neither of you seem particularly eager to reach the end.
remy follows your gaze, his crooked half-smile softening. “here we are.”
you sigh, turning to look back at him. you’ve gained some distance from each other now. only a couple feet. your smile softens, lingering as you look at him. as though you're trying to hold onto the last few minutes a little longer before they slip away.
“goodnight remy,” you tell him.
you turn on your heel, starting towards the pathway to your door before pausing. you turn around, still seeing remy’s figure waiting for you to get inside.
you tilt your head up, just barely. “i’m keeping the coat.”
“ah, i know,” he says, satisfied.
you shake your head fondly as laughter pools beneath your tongue. “i hate you.”
he hums with a small wave and a shake of his own head as well. “non, chère. you adore me.” he watches as you turn and finally make your way inside, watching the light turn on from your window. only then, does he start walking back.
just like that, you’re gone. and yet, he can still feel his face start to ache from his lingering grin. slowly, his gaze drops down toward the sidewalk.
“mon dieu,” he mumbles, the words escaping his breath. he can still feel the warmth of your palm in his. a laugh slips, free and warm and helpless.
without the coat, the cold finds him immediately; the breeze catches the back of his neck, tugs at the loose strands of hair. he barely notices for once, for his thoughts are elsewhere.
above him, stars litter the sky. he imagines they spell out your name. the city whirs in very distance, drowned out by the thump of his heart. the night stretches on, and remy lebeau walks home wearing the expression of a man who is completely, hopelessly, undeniably in love.
a fool, he thinks. an absolute fool.
FINA FINA!! missed u too!! i rewatched like all the x-men movies the other day and im back into my obsession with them 😵💫 trying to stop being lazy and get motivated to write again …… some gambit for u hun ^3
translation: “pauvre bête” - poor thing “t’as froid?” - are you cold? / you’re cold? chère - darling (f.) “mon dieu” - (oh) my god
