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lead me home

pairing: void!gambit/remy lebeau x fem!reader

warnings: 🔞!!!!!, established relationship, post-daw resistance fight, the 3 b’s: blood, bruises, and baths (non-sexual bathing lmao), eventual smut, somnophilia for like .5 seconds, thigh riding, fingering (f!rec), finger sucking, riding, unprotected sex, service oriented boyfie gambit <3

w/c: 5.3k!

a/n: this is literally my first ever non-kpop fic, which is crazy. idk much about gambit or his lore, but i fell in love w him in deadpool & wolverine so here i am :) if this is so totally ooc i’m very sorry, i’m only going off of what i saw in the movie! anyway, as per the end credit scene and mr. tatum, gambit is still in the void after the fight, sooo….. here’s this!

“i can walk,” you grumble, cheek bunched up against the cool leather of his coat. you’re positive you can, but still you make no effort to remove yourself from the safety of his strong arms.

you had been walking fine, up until the residual energy zinging through your body gave way to pure exhaustion. you’d made it halfway back to the resistance hideout in the banged up odyssey before it gave out on the two of you. what’s left of the trek is thankfully walkable, but it’s not easy with your body as sore and aching from the fight as it is.

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

ça c'est bon: that's good