#(and there is not a single choice left to make.) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thirtysomethingloser92 · 1 day

Text

1. Same Old Tired, Lonely Place.

Summary:

Trapped in The Void with Wade Wilson and Logan, you meet Remy LeBeau—the man fate has bound to you as your soulmate. From the moment you lock eyes, the connection is undeniable, but you hate the idea of a soulmate. You’ve spent your life keeping people at arm’s length, fiercely protecting your independence.

Remy’s charm and your growing bond make it hard to maintain those walls, even as chaos unfolds around you.

But when you finally escape The Void, Remy doesn’t come with you. Now you’re back home, haunted by the bond you didn’t ask for. What happens when your soulmate is still out there, and you’re left alone to face the inevitable pull of fate? Warnings: Angst, Hurt, Swearing, Violence, Smut.

The idea of soulmates had always been something you hated. In fact, you thought it was complete and utter bullshit. A fantasy spun by people who romanticized love to the point of obsession—desperate souls clinging to the belief that somewhere out there was a perfect match, just waiting to complete them. You never bought into it. The whole concept felt like a cheap fairytale, something designed to make people feel better about their lonely, mundane lives. The idea that two people were bound by some invisible force, destined to meet and fall into this profound, all-encompassing connection?

Ridiculous.

You’d seen the way people talked about it, the way their eyes lit up when the subject came up, the way they whispered about it like it was some kind of holy grail. As though finding your “other half” was the key to happiness, as though it would suddenly fix everything wrong with your life. And worse, the way people waited for it—wasting their lives in pursuit of some mythical bond, convinced that nothing else could compare. It was maddening.

Love wasn’t some magical force. It wasn’t preordained or written in the stars. Love, real love, was messy. It was hard work. It was built on choices—on compromise, on trust, on effort. Not some cosmic string pulling two people together like puppets on a stage. That was just lazy. A way for people to avoid taking responsibility for their own hearts, their own lives.

And the way people talked about it, like soulmates were the answer to everything wrong with the world. As if finding that one person would suddenly make you whole, as if you weren’t already enough on your own. It was toxic, this obsession with soulmates. It turned love into a crutch, a dependency, a desperate need rather than something you chose to give freely. You’d seen people break themselves over it, waiting for something that might never come, forsaking real connections in favor of some fairytale ending they’d been spoon-fed their entire lives.

You’d vowed a long time ago that you wouldn’t be one of them. You wouldn’t waste your life chasing after something so intangible, so unreliable. The whole idea of it made your skin crawl.

So yeah, the concept of soulmates? Total bullshit.

Or at least, that’s what you thought.

Then you met him.

And everything you thought you knew, everything you thought you believed, shattered in the space of a single breath. “The name's Remy LeBeau. De Diable Blanc. But you can call me The Gambit.” The resistance hideout was a far cry from any notion of comfort or sophistication—barely scraping the edge of what you could call livable. It was carved directly into the rugged stone of The Void, the walls rough and jagged, almost as if the place had been hastily gouged out of the earth itself. The dim, flickering light from an old, industrial lamp hanging from the ceiling cast long, moody shadows across the room, bathing everything in a sickly yellow glow that made the space feel even more claustrophobic.

The air was thick and stale, carrying the scent of dust, old leather, and alcohol. Clearly, Logan had made his mark here, judging by the half-empty bottle of whiskey clutched in his hand and the assortment of liquor bottles haphazardly strewn around a makeshift shelf that looked like it was barely holding itself together. The shelves, if they could even be called that, were cluttered with random supplies—canned goods, rusted tools, and whatever scavenged items the resistance had managed to scrape together from the remnants of pruned timelines.

Everything felt worn. The furniture looked like it had been pulled from a dozen different realities and pieced together with duct tape and desperation. The place had the vibe of a bunker, the kind of space where people only stayed because they had no other choice. It was survival, plain and simple. The walls, carved from rough stone, were dark, cold, and unforgiving. You could see faint cracks running along the surface, like the place was on the verge of collapsing in on itself.

The only window—a narrow, jagged slit in the rock—allowed a sliver of pale light to leak in from the outside, but it was barely enough to cut through the gloom. Dust particles floated lazily in the beam of light, the only real movement in the otherwise still room.

This was the heart of the resistance. A hideout that was more cave than command center, more tomb than refuge. It reeked of desperation, of people clinging to existence on the fringes of time.

You let out a sharp, bitter laugh that echoed off the jagged stone walls around you.

Maybe this was where you belonged. A graveyard for misfits and mistakes. People like you—people who never quite fit in anywhere else.

The whole situation felt like some kind of cosmic joke, and you were the punchline. The universe had played its cards, and they were stacked against you.

Seriously, The Void? The one time you stepped out of your comfort zone—left behind the familiar chaos of Hell’s Kitchen and the vigilante lifestyle you’d clung to—and this is where you ended up. Not just in some time-warped hellhole, but standing here, in the middle of all this chaos, staring at him.

Your soulmate.

The irony was so thick, you could choke on it. You’d spent your entire life spitting in the face of fate, scoffing at the idea of soulmates, of destiny—of any kind of higher power having a say in your future. You didn’t need anyone. You didn’t need to be completed. But now? Now you were standing in front of the man who was supposed to be your other half, and everything you believed about yourself was unraveling.

Remy LeBeau leaned casually against the wall, as if none of this chaos even fazed him. Like he was the king of his own personal wasteland. His red-on-black eyes were locked on you, that damn playing card twirling lazily between his fingers. He looked dangerous, like something out of a nightmare, and yet there was something magnetic about him—something you couldn’t shake, no matter how hard you tried.

The moment you’d realized who he was—what he was to you—a cold dread had settled in your chest, but it was laced with something else. Something darker. Something that made your skin prickle and your heart pound. The bond between you had snapped into place the second your eyes met, and now it felt like the very air between you was charged, humming with a raw, electric energy.

And of course, Wade Wilson couldn’t resist commenting on it.

“Are you serious?” Wade said, throwing up his hands dramatically, like he was personally offended by the entire situation. “Of all the people in the multiverse, you—you—end up with that guy?” He jabbed a finger in Remy’s direction, his voice dripping with exaggerated disbelief. “I mean, come on. You’re all, ‘I don’t need anyone, I’m too cool for feelings,’ and now the universe sticks you with Mister Smooth Criminal over there? This is like some soap opera-level shit.”

You shot Wade a glare that could melt iron. “Wade, I swear to God, if you don’t shut your mouth, I will—”

“Oh, I know, I know. You’ll rip my arms off, jam them somewhere unpleasant, and then probably throw me off a cliff. Heard it all before, sweetheart,” Wade interrupted, waving you off like your threats meant nothing. “But seriously, this is hilarious. You’ve spent years acting like emotions are a waste of time, and now? Now you’re standing there, all ‘oh no, my soulmate’, and it’s just—” Wade let out a laugh that was way too loud, slapping his knee for effect. “It’s like watching a car crash in slow motion, but I can’t look away.”

Logan, leaning against the crumbling wall nearby, grunted. He was holding his bottle of whiskey like it was the only thing keeping him sane. “This is a goddamn mess,” he muttered, taking a long swig. “First we get pruned. Now we’re stuck in The Void. And on top of that, I gotta deal with this soulmate bullshit? Give me a break.”

Beside him, Laura crossed her arms, her eyes darting between you and Remy with a mixture of curiosity and disgust, like she couldn’t decide if this whole thing was fascinating or just plain gross. “Soulmates are stupid,” she muttered, her voice flat. “It’s all just chemicals in the brain.”

“Smart kid,” Logan grunted, nodding in agreement. “Soulmates are a load of crap.”

“Hey, let’s not pretend this isn’t entertaining,” Wade chimed in again, as if he was narrating some kind of reality TV show. “I mean, look at her! She’s practically vibrating with feelings.” He leaned in toward you, dropping his voice to a mock whisper. “You’re dying inside, aren’t you? I can see it. You hate this. You hate him.” Wade wiggled his eyebrows, clearly enjoying your discomfort. “But you’re also kinda into it. Aren’t you?”

You clenched your fists at your sides, trying—failing—to ignore the way your pulse quickened under Remy’s steady, unwavering gaze. “Wade, I swear, I’m going to kill you.”

Wade, of course, was unfazed. He was leaning against a pile of crates, grinning like a kid at a carnival, clearly enjoying the chaos. “Oh, please,” he drawled, waving a hand dismissively. “You’re not gonna kill me. You’re too busy having your little soulmate moment with Tall, Dark, and Cajun over there.”

But you barely heard Wade. The second you realized who Remy LeBeau truly was to you, it was like the entire world around you shifted. No—it wasn’t just the world. It was the very fabric of reality itself. It started small, like the faintest tremor beneath your feet, something you could almost brush off as nothing. But then it grew, swelling into something so massive, so all-consuming, that it felt as if the ground you stood on had been ripped out from under you.

The Void—a wasteland that had always been cold, indifferent, devoid of life or warmth—suddenly felt alive.

You felt it in your chest first—a tremor, subtle but undeniable, like the distant rumble of a coming storm. And that tremor… it spread. It unraveled across your skin, sinking into your bones, weaving itself into the very core of you.

And yet, no matter how much your mind screamed at you to run, to put as much distance between you and him as possible, your body refused to obey. You were rooted to the spot, standing in the center of the hideout, surrounded by the others, but it was as if none of them existed. It was as if there was only him. Remy LeBeau.

Because somehow, deep down, in the marrow of your bones, you already knew the truth.

He was yours.

The realization hit you like a tidal wave, sudden and brutal, knocking the air from your lungs and leaving you breathless. You had heard the stories your whole life—about soulmates, about that unbreakable bond that tied one person to another. But they had always seemed like just that: stories. Something that happened to other people. Not you. Never you. And it wasn’t some gentle tug on your heartstrings. No soft, romantic whisper in your mind. No, this was something primal. Something fierce. It gripped you with the force of a storm, pulling you toward him with an intensity that terrified you. It was as if the universe itself had woven an invisible thread between the two of you—one so strong, so unyielding, that nothing, not even the vast, infinite wasteland of The Void, could sever it.

And that terrified you. Because Remy LeBeau was dangerous. Not just because of his reputation, though that alone should have been enough to send you running. No, it was something more than that. It was the way he looked at you, with those smoldering eyes that seemed to burn with a fire only you could see. It was the way his presence seemed to fill the space between you, making it hard to breathe, hard to think. It was the way he smiled—crooked, sly, and all too knowing—like he already knew exactly what was happening inside of you, like he could feel the same pull, the same bond.

You hated it. You hated him for making you feel like this, for making you vulnerable in a way you had never been before. You had built walls around yourself, high and impenetrable—walls that had kept you safe, that had kept you from ever getting too close to anyone. But Remy… he didn’t just tear those walls down. He shattered them with a single look, a single sentence. And now, there was nowhere to hide.

Your chest tightened with the weight of it all, with the overwhelming realization that your life had just irrevocably changed. You hadn’t asked for this. You hadn’t asked for him. But fate, it seemed, had other plans. And as much as you wanted to fight it, as much as you wanted to push him away and run as far from him as you could, you knew it would be futile.

Because Remy LeBeau wasn’t just some man. He was your soulmate. He was the one person in the universe who was meant for you, the one person who could see you, truly see you, in a way no one else ever could.

But for now, standing just behind Wade, facing down the man who looked like sin and danger incarnate, all you could do was stare at him, your heart pounding in your chest, your breath catching in your throat. You didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to process the whirlwind of emotions crashing through you. Remy’s red-on-black eyes held yours for what felt like an eternity—burning, intense, and all-knowing. There was an unspoken energy between you, something deep and raw that neither of you could deny. It clung to the air, thick and palpable, like the charge before a lightning strike. You could feel the bond settling into place, and for a moment, it was as if the entire world had narrowed to just the two of you.

But then, something shifted in his gaze. His attention flickered, his eyes moving from yours to something—or rather, someone—just behind you. The soft clinking of glass reached your ears, the sound breaking the spell that had wrapped around you like a vice. You blinked, pulling yourself out of the trance just as Remy’s expression shifted from intense to something more amused, more dangerous.

“You know,” Remy began, pausing his casual shuffling of a deck of cards as he tilted his head slightly to the side, his Cajun accent thick and dripping with charm, “we never had a Wolverine up in here.” He let the words hang in the air, a playful grin tugging at the corner of his lips, but there was an edge to it, something sharp beneath the surface. His fingers stilled on the cards, and his gaze narrowed just a fraction. “But I can tell you now, mon ami, it’s just a common courtesy t’ask before y’drink up all of my liquor.”

His voice dropped lower, the playful lilt giving way to something more dangerous—a warning.

You turned on instinct, curiosity pulling you to glance over your shoulder. Sure enough, there stood Logan, the unmistakable figure of Wolverine, holding up a half-empty bottle of whiskey in one hand and wearing that same familiar, dry, unimpressed look on his face. He didn’t seem to care about Remy’s thinly veiled threat, didn’t even flinch at the tension in the air between them.

Logan raised the bottle slightly, his eyes locking with Remy’s, before he took a long, deliberate swig. When he pulled the bottle away from his lips, he gave a small, half-shrug, completely unfazed. “That’s a good thing I don’t give a fuck,” he said gruffly, his voice low and gravelly, as he took another long drink, clearly not in the mood for a pissing contest.

You could almost hear the smirk forming on Remy’s lips behind you.

Remy let out a short chuckle, but there was no humor in it. It was the kind of laugh that sent a shiver down your spine, one that promised trouble. His fingers moved in a blur, and before you could even process what was happening, one of his cards glowed with that unmistakable pinkish energy. Charged with kinetic power, the card was flicked so fast it was a blur of light and motion. The next thing you knew, the bottle in Logan’s hand exploded with a sharp, cracking sound, shards of glass spraying outward.

You jumped back, your heart racing, instinctively throwing up your arms to shield yourself from the debris. The air was thick with the scent of whiskey and ozone from the charged card as you quickly glanced at Logan, who looked more irritated than anything else. Shards of glass littered the floor, and Logan stood there, bottle neck in hand, whiskey dripping from his knuckles, his expression somewhere between annoyed and unimpressed.

“Asshole,” Logan grumbled under his breath, barely sparing Remy a glance as he tossed the broken remnants of the bottle aside. Glass shattered at his feet, but he didn’t care. He was already reaching for another bottle from the bar, twisting the cap off with the kind of casual ease that said this kind of shit happened all the time in his world. And knowing Logan? It probably did. He took a long, slow swig, completely unfazed by the mess of glass and whiskey at his feet.

You stood there, arms crossed, watching this little pissing contest between Remy and Logan with a mixture of irritation and exhaustion. The Void had already drained most of your patience, and this macho shit wasn’t helping. Your head throbbed, and your throat was dry, but the last thing you needed was to get tangled up in whatever testosterone-laced nonsense these two were brewing, “Close up abilities. Now I get it,” You said simply.

Remy didn’t miss a beat, though. He turned to you, his smirk still firmly in place, eyes gleaming with that damnable charm that seemed to ooze from him. “I charge up the cards, make 'em go boom,” he explained as if you hadn’t already figured that out. His voice was smooth, that Cajun drawl curling around the words like smoke.

You rolled your eyes, feeling a headache coming on. You didn’t need this right now. Hell, you didn’t need any of this. The Void, Remy LeBeau, the whole “soulmate” business—it was all one long, exhausting cosmic joke, and you were the punchline. You’d spent your whole life avoiding entanglements, keeping people at arm’s length, and now? Now you were supposedly bound to him?

Yeah, fuck that.

“Great,” you said flatly, your voice dripping with disinterest. “You’re a walking fire hazard. Good for you.”

Remy’s grin didn’t falter, though. If anything, it seemed to widen. “Y’got a sharp tongue, cher,” he mused, his eyes never leaving yours. “But I like that. Keeps things interestin’.”

“You must be a riot at parties,” you shot back, feeling your temper flare. You didn’t like the way he was looking at you, like he could see something in you that you didn’t want anyone seeing. And you definitely didn’t like the way your heart had skipped a beat when he called you cher.

You weren’t some starry-eyed romantic. You weren’t the kind of person who believed in fate or soulmates or any of that bullshit. You were practical. Hard. Worn down by the world in more ways than you could count. And now? Now you were supposed to believe that this cocky, card-throwing, smooth-talking asshole was your other half?

Fuck. That.

Before you could say anything else, Elektra stepped in, her voice sharp and cutting through the tension like a blade. “Enough,” she said, her gaze flicking between you and Remy. “We’re wasting time. You can all lay low here while we figure out how to get out of this…place.”

You took a deep breath, grateful for the distraction. The Void was starting to mess with your head, and the last thing you needed was to be stuck here, in this weird limbo, dealing with Remy and his infuriating charm. Blade and Elektra might not be the warmest hosts, but at least they were practical. You could work with practical.

“Fine,” you muttered, running a hand through your hair. “Let’s just get the hell out of here.”

Blade, who had been silent up until now, gave you a brief nod. He didn’t say much, but then again, he never did. He was a man of action, not words, and right now, that was exactly what you needed.

As the group started to make plans about what was needed to get you all out, Remy sidled up next to you, his presence unmistakable. He moved like a cat—silent, fluid, and way too close for comfort.

“Y’know, cher,” he began, his voice low and smooth, “we ain’t gotta pretend like this soulmate thing don’t mean nothin’.”

You stiffened, your jaw clenching as you kept your eyes firmly ahead, refusing to look at him. “I don’t believe in soulmates,” you said, your voice clipped and cold. “And even if I did, you wouldn’t be it.”

He chuckled softly, the sound like warm honey slipping through the cracks in your armor. “That so?” he asked, his tone teasing, but there was something deeper underneath it, something that made your pulse quicken against your will. “Seems like the universe disagrees wit’ y’, cher.”

“The universe can go fuck itself,” you snapped. “I don’t care what some cosmic bullshit says. I don’t want a soulmate. I don’t need a soulmate.”

Remy’s grin softened, but his eyes—those damn red-on-black eyes—stayed locked on yours, unflinching. “Maybe y’jus’ scared, non?” he suggested, his voice gentle in a way that made your throat tighten. “Maybe y’jus’ don’t wanna admit that someone out there might actually care ‘bout y’.”

Your breath hitched in your throat, and you hated him for it. Hated him for seeing past the walls you’d built, for seeing the cracks underneath. You’d spent years keeping people at bay, pushing them away before they could get too close. You weren’t about to let some smooth-talking thief break down the walls you’d spent a lifetime building.

As Remy stood there, watching you struggle to form the words, he could feel the weight of it all pressing down on him. He wasn’t used to this—this feeling. This raw, undeniable connection that hummed between the two of you like a live wire. It was unsettling, even for him. And that was saying something. He was Gambit, after all—the man who could slip in and out of any situation, any heart, without leaving too much behind. He was the one who played with danger, danced on the edge of chaos, and never got too close.

But this… this was different.

From the moment he locked eyes with you, something shifted inside him. It wasn’t just the pull he felt, that deep, bone-deep knowing that came with the soulmate bond. It was you—the fire in your eyes, the way you carried yourself like you didn’t need anyone, like you were ready to take on the world by yourself. He could see it, clear as day. The walls you’d built around yourself, the way you guarded your heart like a fortress. And he knew—he knew—that you weren’t the type to let anyone in easily.

But still… there was something about you. Something that made him want to try.

He watched as you opened your mouth, clearly ready to tell him off, to push him away just like you’d done from the moment you realized who he was to you. It was almost predictable at this point. But the words didn’t come. And in that silence, in that tiny moment where you faltered, he saw it—the fear. The fear you were trying so hard to hide, the fear that ran deeper than any anger or frustration you threw his way.

You were scared. Not of him. No, this wasn’t about him at all. You were scared of what he represented. Of the bond that tied you together, a bond neither of you had asked for but couldn’t deny. You were scared of letting someone in—scared of what it would mean if you did.

And Remy understood that. Hell, he understood it better than most. He’d spent most of his life running from the same thing. But now, standing here, so close to you that he could feel the heat rolling off your skin, he realized something.

He didn’t want to run anymore.

He sighed, his usual cocky bravado slipping away as he lowered his voice, speaking softly so that no one else could hear. “Look, cher,” he began, his tone uncharacteristically gentle. “I ain’t sayin’ we gotta make this more than it is right now.” He paused, glancing down for a moment before meeting your eyes again. “But if y’want to talk ‘bout it… I’m here. I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

He could see the conflict in your eyes, the way your heart was warring with your head. You were staring at him like he was offering you something dangerous, something you didn’t want to touch. And maybe he was. Maybe everything about him was dangerous. But this? This was as honest as he’d ever been. He wasn’t trying to charm you, wasn’t trying to push you into anything. He just wanted you to know that he was there—really there, in a way he rarely was for anyone else.

Because for the first time in a long time, he wanted to be.

You stood there, your eyes locked on his, and for a brief second, he thought you might take him up on it. That maybe, just maybe, you’d let him in. But then you blinked, the walls sliding back into place, and you shook your head just slightly, as if shaking off the moment entirely.

“Thanks,” you muttered, the word stiff and awkward on your tongue, like it physically hurt to say it. “But I’m good.”

Remy chuckled softly, though this time, there was no teasing in it. No smugness. Just understanding. He knew what it felt like to keep people at arm’s length, to convince yourself that you didn’t need anyone. And he wasn’t going to push you. Not now. Maybe not ever. But he wanted you to know that the door was open.

“Alright, cher,” he said, his voice low, carrying just the faintest hint of warmth. “But the offer’s always open.”

With that, he gave you a small nod and turned away, his boots scuffing softly against the stone floor as he walked back toward the others. Each step he took felt heavier than the last, like he was leaving something behind. But he didn’t look back. He wanted to—hell, he wanted to stay there with you, to push past the walls you’d put up. But he knew better. You weren’t ready. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

And that was okay. He could wait.

He didn’t hate you for it. How could he? He understood your fear because he felt it too. Every part of him wanted to reach out, to close the distance between you, but he knew that wasn’t how this worked. You couldn’t force something like this. It had to be mutual.

Still, he couldn’t ignore the way his heart raced when he thought about you—the way his pulse quickened every time he caught your scent in the air or heard your voice. It scared the hell out of him, but it also thrilled him in a way nothing ever had before. There was something electric between you, something raw and untamed, and no matter how much you both tried to fight it, it was there.

He could only hope that one day, you’d stop fighting it too.

For now, though, he’d give you space. He’d wait. Because no matter how much you hated this—hated him—he knew the truth. He was yours. And deep down, no matter how hard you tried to deny it, you were his too.

It was just a matter of time. <><><<><><><><><><>

Night had fallen—or at least, the closest approximation of night that The Void allowed. The dim, eternal twilight of this place never truly changed, but the group had settled into a rhythm regardless. People took turns keeping watch, sleeping in shifts, always on edge, never fully relaxed. This was a place where vigilance was as crucial as breathing.

You were sitting on the edge of a half-collapsed structure that passed for shelter, absently cleaning your weapons. The air here was thick with tension, the weight of too many lives twisted together by circumstance. You could feel the others moving around you—Logan muttering quietly with Laura, Wade humming some off-key pop song while sharpening his katanas. The scrape of metal on stone was oddly comforting in the silence.

And then there was Remy.

He’d been unusually quiet since the decision was made to stay, his usual smirk replaced by something more thoughtful, more restrained. You’d caught him watching you a few times, his red-on-black eyes lingering on you in that maddening, unreadable way of his. It wasn’t the cocky, playful look he usually gave people—it was something else. Something that made your heart clench uncomfortably in your chest.

He approached you now, his footsteps soft and deliberate. You didn’t look up as he stopped in front of you, but you could feel his presence like a storm on the horizon—electric, dangerous, impossible to ignore.

“Y’alright, cher?” he asked, his voice low, almost gentle.

You nodded, though you weren’t entirely sure the answer was true. “Fine.”

Remy didn’t press, just stood there for a moment, his hands casually tucked into his coat pockets. You could feel his eyes on you again, like he was searching for something in your expression that you weren’t ready to give. You hated how easily he could read you, how he seemed to see past all the walls you’d spent years building.

“Look,” he said after a moment, his voice dropping even lower, more personal. “I’m takin’ first watch tonight.” He gestured toward the makeshift sleeping area behind him. “Y’can take my cot.”

You finally looked up at him, eyebrows raised. “You’re giving me your bed?”

He shrugged, like it was no big deal. “Gotta sleep somewhere, non? ‘Sides, I’ll be up all night anyway. Might as well put it to good use.”

You stared at him for a long moment, trying to figure out his angle. Remy LeBeau was always playing a game, always working some angle, but this felt… different. There wasn’t that usual glint of mischief in his eyes, no smirk tugging at his lips. He seemed sincere, and that made you more uncomfortable than anything else.

“I’m fine,” you said, your voice coming out a little harsher than you intended. “I don’t need your bed.”

Remy’s lips twitched, a faint shadow of his usual grin. “‘Course you don’t. But it’s there if y’want it.”

There was something disarming about the way he said it, like he wasn’t offering out of pity or obligation, but simply because he wanted to. And that unsettled you more than anything. You were used to people wanting things from you—information, strength, loyalty. But this? This felt like something else.

You glanced past him, toward the others. Logan was already stretched out on the floor, eyes closed but not fully asleep. Laura was perched nearby, her gaze sharp as ever. Wade was still humming to himself, completely absorbed in whatever bizarre internal monologue was playing out in his head. No one was watching you and Remy, but you felt exposed all the same.

“Thanks,” you muttered, the word awkward and stiff in your mouth.

Remy nodded, the movement slow and easy, like he hadn’t expected anything more. “No problem, cher.”

He turned to leave, but paused for just a moment before walking away. His eyes flicked back to yours, and for a second, there was something unspoken, something heavy hanging between you. It wasn’t the usual flirtation, the playful banter you’d come to expect from him. It was something deeper. More vulnerable. Like he was offering you more than just a place to sleep.

Later, long after the others had settled into some semblance of sleep, you found yourself sitting on the edge of the cot. The cot smelled faintly of him—of smoke and leather and something else, something warm and familiar. You hated how comforting it was, how it made your chest tighten in a way that had nothing to do with fear or anger.

You glanced toward the entrance of the shelter where Remy was keeping watch, his silhouette barely visible in the half-light. He was leaning against the crumbling wall, his posture relaxed but alert, his eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of danger.

He hadn’t asked for anything in return. He hadn’t pushed or pried or tried to make you talk about the bond that hung between you like a noose. He had simply offered what he could—his cot, his quiet presence—and it was more than you’d expected.

And that scared you more than anything.

Because for the first time in a long time, you weren’t sure if you wanted to push him away. <><><><><><><> The Void was a place that gnawed at you, a wasteland of perpetual twilight where time seemed to stretch and twist. The longer you stayed, the more it got under your skin—like an itch you couldn’t scratch, or a weight that pressed down on your chest, leaving you breathless. The others felt it too, you could tell. Even Logan, with all his gruff resilience, had been more irritable than usual, his temper flaring at the smallest things. Wade, for all his jokes and endless chatter, had moments where his eyes flickered with something darker, something he tried to bury under layers of sarcasm.

But it hit you differently.

At first, you didn’t want to acknowledge it. You were used to keeping your distance, to handling your own problems, pushing everything deep down where it couldn’t hurt you—or anyone else. You had your walls, and they’d served you well. The Void, though, had a way of slipping through the cracks, of amplifying every doubt, every fear you’d buried. The anxiety started creeping in, subtle at first—a knot in your stomach, an edge of paranoia that made the shadows seem too deep, the silence too loud.

And then there was Remy.

It started with something simple: sparring.

You hadn’t wanted to at first—didn’t want to get too close, didn’t want to let him in. But the Void was unpredictable, and everyone needed to stay sharp. Besides, you told yourself, it wasn’t really about him. It was about you staying strong, keeping your skills honed for when the time came to face Cassandra Nova.

That’s what you told yourself, anyway.

Remy had suggested it with his usual casual charm, leaning against the crumbling wall with that cocky grin of his. “C’mon, cher,” he’d said, spinning one of his bo staffs between his fingers as if it weighed nothing. “A little practice never hurt nobody. Better to be ready than rusty, non?”

You’d hesitated, arms crossed over your chest, giving him a look that said don’t push me. But he didn’t push—not really. He just stood there, watching you with those damn red-on-black eyes, waiting. He had a way of making it seem like it was no big deal, like it was your decision all along. And eventually, reluctantly, you agreed.

The first session was tense. You kept your distance, both physically and emotionally, moving through the motions with precision but no real connection. Remy, to his credit, didn’t try to crowd you. He was quick, graceful, his movements smooth and effortless, but he never pressed too hard. He let you come to him on your terms, even when you were holding back.

By the third or fourth sparring session, though, something shifted.

You still tried to keep him at arm’s length, but Remy had a way of sneaking past defenses you didn’t even realize you’d built. At first, it was just in the way he moved—fluid, controlled, almost playful. He made it look easy, and you found yourself grudgingly respecting that. There was something fascinating about the way he fought, like he was dancing more than sparring, always a step ahead, always with some trick up his sleeve. It was infuriating, but also… captivating.

It started out simple enough—just sparring. Something to keep your skills sharp, to stay ready for whatever Cassandra or the Void itself might throw at you. At first, it was strictly business. You needed to stay focused, to keep your edge. Remy was just another set of hands, someone to help you maintain that discipline. Nothing more.

But Remy wasn’t the kind of person you could keep at a distance for long. He had a way of weaving his charm into every moment, slipping through the cracks of your defenses before you even realized it. And then there were the words. The banter.

Remy had a silver tongue, and he used it often, throwing out quips and teases mid-spar, his voice smooth and rich, like honeyed whiskey. That Cajun accent curled around every syllable, wrapping even the most mundane phrases in a kind of warmth you hadn’t expected. At first, you resisted it—tried to stay focused, tried to keep the interaction strictly professional. You needed to stay in control. You needed—wanted—to keep him at arm’s length.

But damn, did he make it hard.

"You’re slippin’, cher,” he’d said one day, dodging a punch with infuriating ease. He moved like smoke—fluid, untouchable, always just out of reach. His grin was lazy, teasing, like he wasn’t even breaking a sweat. “Might have to start callin’ you slowpoke instead of powerhouse.”

You’d glared at him, narrowing your eyes as you pulled back your fist and readied yourself for another strike. But the heat behind the glare wasn’t real, and you both knew it. “Shut up, LeBeau.”

He chuckled, low and soft, his eyes flashing with amusement. “Don’t worry,” he purred, sidestepping your next move with maddening ease. “I’ll go easy on ya.”

At first, you told yourself it didn’t matter. That it was just part of the sparring, part of the game. A way to keep things light, to take the edge off the endless tension that hung over all of you like a dark cloud. The constant threat of the Void weighed heavy on everyone’s shoulders, and if Remy wanted to joke around to keep things from getting too bleak, then fine. You could deal with that.

But then he made you laugh.

It started small—a half-smirk here, a quiet huff of amusement there. But before long, you found yourself smiling more, even when you didn’t want to. Even when you were trying to stay serious, trying to keep your distance. His words had a way of slipping under your skin, taking the edge off your frustration, easing the weight of the Void pressing down on you.

One day, after narrowly dodging one of your kicks, he had the audacity to wink at you. “Gotta do better than that, cher,” he said, his voice dripping with playful arrogance. “You’re makin’ this too easy.”

You rolled your eyes, biting back a smile as you lunged at him again, faster this time. “You talk too much.”

“Maybe,” he replied, easily dodging your punch and spinning behind you in one fluid motion. His voice was low and close to your ear. “But you like it, non?”

You froze for a split second, caught off guard—not by his proximity, but by how right he was. You did like it. More than you wanted to admit. More than you were supposed to.

Remy took advantage of your hesitation, sweeping your legs out from under you in one swift move. You landed on the mat with a soft thud, and before you could even catch your breath, he was crouched next to you, his grin wide and unapologetic.

“Gotta keep focused, cher,” he said, not bothering to hide his amusement. “Can’t let me distract you like that.”

You glared up at him, your pride stinging more than the fall. “I wasn’t distracted.”

“Sure you weren’t.” He winked again, offering you a hand to help you up. You hesitated for a heartbeat before taking it, letting him pull you to your feet with ease.

It was in that moment, standing there with his hand still wrapped around yours, that you realized something had shifted. The banter, the teasing—it wasn’t just a game anymore. Not for him. Not for you.

The days passed in a blur of sparring sessions, supply runs, and restless nights in the Void. And somehow, Remy was always there—always close, always watching with that infuriatingly knowing gaze, like he could see right through you. He never pushed too hard, never pried into the things he knew you weren’t ready to share. But he was there. Always there.

And the more time you spent with him, the harder it became to keep your walls intact.

It wasn’t just the banter anymore. It was the way he looked at you—the way his eyes softened when you let your guard down, even for a moment. The way he seemed to know when you needed space and when you needed him to be close. The way he could make you forget, just for a little while, about the weight of the Void pressing down on your chest.

And then there were the moments in between the sparring, the quiet moments when it was just the two of you, sitting in silence after a long day of searching for supplies. You’d sit there, side by side, watching the strange, shifting horizon of the Void, neither of you saying anything. And somehow, those were the moments that felt the most intimate. The most real.

The anxiety came in waves, subtle at first. You’d be walking through the endless twilight, your eyes scanning the horizon for supplies or landmarks, when the air would feel too thick, too heavy. Your heart would start to race for no reason, your chest tightening like there was something you couldn’t quite reach. It wasn’t long before the paranoia followed—shadows that seemed too long, sounds that didn’t belong, the feeling that someone—something—was watching you.

You tried to push it down, to ignore it. You told yourself it was just stress, just the pressure of the mission, of being stuck in this godforsaken place for too long. But it wasn’t just stress. The Void was getting to you, worming its way into your mind, twisting your thoughts, making everything feel wrong.

You hadn’t noticed how much you’d been slipping until one day, after a particularly long supply run, you found yourself standing still in the middle of a clearing, unable to move, your breath coming in short, ragged bursts. The shadows had started to feel like they were closing in, and for a moment, you weren’t sure if they were real or just in your head. Everything felt too close, too heavy.

Remy had noticed immediately.

He’d been walking a few paces ahead but turned when he realized you’d stopped. His eyes flicked over you, taking in your stiff posture, the way your hands were clenched into fists at your sides, the tremor you couldn’t quite hide.

"Hey,” he said, his voice soft but urgent as he stepped toward you. “Cher, what’s wrong?”

You shook your head, trying to force the panic down, trying to act like you were fine. “It’s nothing,” you muttered, your voice tight. “Let’s just keep moving.”

But Remy didn’t buy it. He stepped closer, his gaze steady, his voice calm. “It’s The Void,” he said quietly. “It does this. Gets in your head. Makes you feel like everything’s closin’ in.”

You looked at him, your heart still racing, your chest still tight. “It’s not me?” The question slipped out before you could stop it, and you hated how vulnerable it sounded, how raw.

Remy shook his head, his eyes soft with understanding. “Non, cher. It ain’t you. This place… it messes with everyone. I’ve seen it before. Makes the strongest people doubt themselves. Makes ‘em feel like they’re losin’ control.”

His words sank into you, slowly easing some of the tension in your chest. You took a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself. “How do you deal with it?”

Remy’s lips twitched into a small, wry smile. “You don’t, really. You just remind yourself it’s not real. Not you. And you stick close to the people who ground you. The ones who keep you from slippin’ too far.”

He was close now, closer than he usually got, but his presence wasn’t overwhelming. It was steady, solid. You could feel the warmth of him, the calm certainty in his voice, and for the first time in days, the anxiety that had been gnawing at you started to ease.

You nodded, swallowing hard. “Thanks.”

Remy’s smile softened, his eyes never leaving yours. “Anytime, cher.”

And in that moment, something shifted. The walls you’d built around yourself—the ones you’d spent so long reinforcing—didn’t feel quite so necessary anymore. Maybe, just maybe, there was someone here worth letting in.

Maybe Remy wasn’t just breaking down your walls.

Maybe you were letting him. It wasn’t long before the two of you were paired off for other tasks. The group had to split up often—The Void was a vast, ever-changing landscape, and supplies were scarce. Remy had started volunteering to go with you on these supply runs, offering to help navigate the twisted terrain. You’d been reluctant at first, not wanting to spend more time with him than necessary, but you couldn’t exactly refuse without drawing questions.

So you went.

The first few trips were quiet. You kept your eyes on the horizon, on the strange, shifting landscape that seemed to pulse and breathe around you, always changing, always disorienting. Remy was more subdued during these runs, his usual cocky banter replaced by a quiet focus. He didn’t push for conversation, didn’t try to pry into your thoughts. He just walked beside you, his presence steady, his eyes always scanning for danger.

But eventually, the silence between you started to feel less like a barrier and more like a space where something else could grow.

You’d catch him watching you sometimes, his gaze soft but thoughtful, like he was trying to figure you out without pushing too hard. And slowly, you found yourself opening up, if only a little. It wasn’t anything dramatic—just small moments, little cracks in the wall. A comment here, a shared look there. You still kept your distance, still tried to hold him at bay, but it was harder and harder to deny that something was shifting between you. <><><><><><><<><> The fire crackled softly between you, casting flickering shadows across the rough terrain. The heat from the flames was comforting, a rare warmth in a world that had been so unforgiving. You and Remy sat side by side, the air around you thick with unspoken tension, the weight of what was to come hanging heavy between you. Tomorrow, you would face Cassandra, and if you succeeded, you would finally have a chance to return home.

But tonight, it was just the two of you, the fire, and the quiet of the night.

Remy leaned back, propping himself on his elbows, his eyes reflecting the orange glow of the fire. He had that familiar, easy smile playing on his lips, but you knew him well enough now to see through it. There was something deeper in his expression tonight. Something he wasn’t saying.

“We really gonna do this, huh?” he asked, his voice low and casual, as if you were talking about some small, inconsequential thing rather than the life-or-death mission you were about to undertake.

You gave a small nod, your gaze fixed on the flames. “Looks like it.”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “I gotta admit, cher, you got more guts than I gave you credit for when we first met.”

You smirked, nudging him lightly with your shoulder. “Took you long enough to figure that out, Cajun.”

His laugh was a little louder this time, full of warmth, and for a moment, it felt normal. Like you weren’t sitting in the middle of a war-torn world, like you weren’t about to walk into a battle that could very well be your last. Like it was just you and Remy, sharing a quiet night by the fire.

“What are y’gonn do when ya get back?” He asked, shifting the conversation to lighter ground, even though there was nothing light about the question. “Y’know, assuming we don’t die tomorrow.” He leaned back, looking up at the sky.

You leaned back, mirroring his pose, staring up at the stars. “Honestly? I haven’t thought that far ahead. Probably sleep for a week. Maybe get a drink that doesn’t taste like dirt.”

He grinned. “Now that’s a plan.”

The banter was light, easy, but it was just a way to fill the silence, “What about you? What’s your grand plan?” You both knew there were bigger things left unsaid. As that thought sank in, the conversation started to lull, and the familiar quiet settled between you.

And then, after a long pause, Remy’s voice cut through the stillness, quieter this time.

“I ain’t goin’ back.”

You blinked, the weight of his words sinking in as you turned to look at him. His gaze was now on the fire, his expression unreadable, but there was something resigned in the way he said it.

“What do you mean?” you asked, though you already had a feeling what he was going to say.

“There’s nothin’ for me out there,” he replied, his voice soft, almost matter-of-fact. “The world you come from? That ain’t my world no more. Ain’t been for a long time.”

You stared at him, the crackling of the fire the only sound between you for a long moment. His words hit harder than you expected, the finality of them settling in your chest like a stone. And for a second, you couldn’t speak. You just let the silence stretch, trying to process what he was saying.

After a moment, you swallowed and looked back at the fire, your voice quieter than before. “You have me.”

Remy’s smile was small, sad, as if he appreciated the sentiment but knew better. He shook his head, his eyes softening as they met yours. “Cher… you got a life waitin’ for you. A real life. People who care ‘bout you. Friends. Family. I don’t got none of that.”

You opened your mouth to argue, to tell him that wasn’t true, that you cared about him, that he wasn’t alone—but he cut you off before you could speak.

“I’ve accepted that I ain’t ever leavin’ here,” he said, his voice steady, resigned. “My job is to get you home.”

It felt like a punch to the gut. The fire flickered, casting shadows across his face, but you could see the truth written in his eyes. He had already made his peace with it. He didn’t see a future for himself beyond this world, beyond this fight.

And the worst part? He wasn’t saying it to be noble. He wasn’t trying to be a martyr. He genuinely believed it. He had spent so long surviving, so long fighting, that he had forgotten what it meant to live. To hope for something better.

“Remy…” Your voice was soft, barely a whisper, but he heard it. His eyes flicked to yours, and you saw a flicker of something there—something vulnerable, something that told you he wasn’t as sure as he pretended to be.

“I’m serious, cher,” he said, his voice gentler now. “You’re gonna get through that portal tomorrow. And when you do, you’re gonna go home. That’s all that matters.”

You shook your head, your chest tight. “And what about you? What happens to you?”

He smiled again, that sad, resigned smile that made your heart ache. “I’ll be right where I belong.”

The silence stretched between you once more, heavy and painful. You wanted to argue, to tell him that he belonged with you, that this damn world didn’t have to be the end for him. But the words wouldn’t come. Maybe because deep down, you knew he had already made up his mind.

But that didn’t stop the knot in your chest from tightening, didn’t stop the pain from settling deep in your bones. You didn’t want to leave him behind. You didn’t want to lose him. Because somewhere along the way, in the middle of all the chaos and the fighting, he had become more than just a teammate. More than just a partner in this war.

He had become a part of you.

You stared at the fire, your heart heavy, and for a moment, you just sat in that silence, letting it wash over you. There were no easy answers. No promises that could be made. But there was one thing you knew for certain.

“I don’t want to go home without you,” you said quietly, your voice barely audible. It wasn’t a plea. It wasn’t even a question. It was just the simple, painful truth.

Remy didn’t say anything for a long time. His gaze softened, and when he finally spoke, his voice was gentle, as if he was trying to ease the ache in your chest. “You’ll be alright, cher. You stronger than you know.”

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat making it difficult to speak. But you nodded, because what else could you do? You couldn’t change his mind. Not now. Not after everything.

The fire crackled softly between you, and for the rest of the night, you sat together in silence, knowing that tomorrow would change everything. <><><><><><><> The car rattled over the uneven road, the worn leather beneath you creaking with every bump. You shifted in your seat, trying to find some semblance of comfort between Remy and Blade, but there was none to be found. The desert stretched endlessly outside the window, the heat of the sun beating down on the roof of the car, casting sharp shadows that flickered across the flat, barren landscape. You could feel the tension in the air like a living thing, thick and oppressive, weighing down on your chest, making it hard to breathe.

The silence wasn’t peaceful. It wasn’t the kind of quiet you could sink into and find some relief. No, this was the kind of silence that felt like a coiled spring, ready to snap at any moment. Everyone was on edge. Laura’s knuckles were white as she gripped the steering wheel, eyes laser-focused on the road ahead, while Blade sat rigid beside you, his hand twitching toward the hilt of his sword every few minutes as if he was expecting an attack. Logan, crammed into the trunk, hadn’t said a word since you’d started driving, though you could practically feel his irritation simmering from behind you.

And then there was Remy.

Ever the charmer, he’d tried to break the tension earlier. That Cajun drawl of his had slipped through the thick air, lazy and teasing as he cracked some half-assed joke about how, if the car got any more crowded, you might as well sit on his lap. He’d said it like it was nothing, like it was just another one of his flirty quips, but you weren’t in the mood. Not today. One sharp glare from you had shut him up for the rest of the ride.

Good. You didn’t have the patience for his bullshit right now.

You closed your eyes, trying to block out the world, trying to shut down the endless churn of thoughts swirling in your head. You couldn’t stop thinking about what was coming. The portal. Cassandra’s lair. The end of this whole disaster, one way or another. You weren’t naive—you knew the odds. Chances were, none of you would make it out of this alive. Maybe Logan and Wade would, with their damn healing factors, but the rest of you? You weren’t optimistic. And honestly? You didn’t care. Whether you walked through that portal or died trying, it didn’t matter. Either way, you wouldn’t be dealing with this soulmate bullshit for much longer.

Wade had dragged you into this mess, and you’d never forgive him for it. You’d liked your life before all this—a life that made sense, a life that was simple. You’d spent your time knocking heads together, punching bad guys, getting a drink afterward. That was your zone. That was where you were comfortable. But this? Traveling through time and universes, being tossed around by multiverse drama like some kind of cosmic joke? This was so far out of your pay grade it was laughable.

And yet, somehow, over these long days in the Void, you hadn’t been able to keep your distance. Not from him.

It had started small, as these things always do. Late nights when the others were asleep or pretending to be. You weren’t sure how it happened, but you and Remy had fallen into a routine—quiet conversations under the endless twilight sky, his voice low and easy, drawing you in even when you tried to keep him at arm’s length.

He was always like that. Persistent. Charming in a way that made it impossible to shut him out completely, no matter how hard you tried. At first, you’d kept your guard up, throwing barbed words his way every time he tried to get close, but Remy had this way of slipping through cracks you didn’t even know were there. He never pushed too hard, never asked for more than you were willing to give. He was just… there. And slowly, without you realizing it, he’d started to slip past your defenses.

The first few nights, you hadn’t said much—just sat in silence, the two of you side by side, staring out at the endless horizon of the Void. But Remy had a way of filling the silence, not with words, but with his presence. He made you feel like you didn’t have to talk, like it was okay to just exist for a while, even in this hellish place. And then, after a few nights of that, the words started to come.

He talked about New Orleans, about the life he’d left behind. You learned about the Thieves’ Guild, about the complicated ties that still pulled at him even though he’d been trying to let go for years. He told you about Rogue, about how she’d been the one thing he thought he could never have, and how, in the end, that was exactly what happened. He lost her, and it wasn’t just her he’d lost—it was everything. His home, his purpose.

And now, sitting in the backseat of this cramped car, the weight of what was coming pressing down on your shoulders, you couldn’t stop thinking about that night. About the way Remy had looked at you, like he’d finally seen through all the layers of armor you used to keep everyone at a distance.

You stole a glance at him now, sitting beside you, his gaze fixed on the horizon. His profile was calm, collected, but you knew him well enough by now to see the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers fidgeted with the cards he always seemed to have on hand. He hadn’t said a word since you’d shut him down earlier, but you could feel him there, the steady presence you hadn’t realized you’d come to rely on.

It wasn’t much, what you’d offered him that night. Just a few words. But for someone like you, it was everything. You didn’t let people in easily. Hell, you didn’t let people in *at all.* But somehow, over the course of these long days in the Void, Remy had managed to break through. He’d wormed his way past your defenses with his charm, his banter, and his quiet understanding, until you’d found yourself trusting him in a way you hadn’t trusted anyone in a long time.

“You alright, cher?”

His voice broke through your thoughts, soft but steady, and you realized he’d been watching you. You blinked, pushing down the knot of anxiety that had been building in your chest.

“Yeah,” you lied, your voice rougher than you’d intended.

Remy didn’t push. He just nodded, lifting an eyebrow like he could see right through you, but he didn’t call you out. Instead, he leaned back in his seat, his arm brushing against yours in the cramped space.

“You got me, too,” he said quietly, so low you almost didn’t catch it over the hum of the engine.

And just like that, the tension in your chest eased, if only slightly. The Void was still there, still pressing in on all sides, but in that moment, with Remy beside you, it didn’t feel quite so overwhelming.

No matter what happened when you reached Cassandra’s lair, no matter what the Void threw at you next, you weren’t alone. You had him.

And maybe—just maybe—that was enough.

The car came to a violent, screeching halt, Laura slamming down hard on the brakes as the tires kicked up a cloud of dust around the familiar, crumbling building that housed Cassandra’s lair. The sudden stop jolted you forward, and you nearly collided with the seat in front of you if not for the quick reflexes of Blade, whose arm shot out to stop your momentum. You grumbled a quick thanks, brushing it off, and reached for the large gun that had been resting in your lap. One of the few perks of this whole shitshow—you didn’t often get to play with the big guns, and if nothing else, it felt like a small consolation.

As everyone climbed out of the car, you handed the weapon off to Blade, who took it without a word, slinging it over his shoulder like it weighed nothing. The man was a walking tank, and right now, you were glad for it. He gave you a quick nod before positioning himself in front of the building’s reinforced doors, aiming the launcher with ease.

The explosion rocked the world around you, the blast of heat and debris tearing through the air as the doors caved inward. Smoke and dust billowed out from the entrance, and you took a deep breath, letting the acrid scent fill your lungs. This was it. Showtime.

As the rest of the group began to prep for the inevitable fight ahead, you checked your own weapons, making sure everything was in place. Your heart was pounding, but it wasn’t fear. It was focus. You weren’t afraid of the fight; you were afraid of what came after. Of what this would mean for all of you—if any of you survived.

Just as you were about to rejoin the others, a hand grabbed your arm, firm and unyielding. You didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. The grip, the warmth, the silent insistence—it was Remy, and the moment you felt his touch, your chest tightened with a mix of irritation and something else you didn’t want to name.

“Now’s really not the time, LeBeau,” you snapped, trying to pull your arm free, but his grip tightened just enough to keep you in place. His usual playful demeanor was gone, replaced with a seriousness you weren’t used to seeing from him.

“We gotta talk,” he said, his voice low but calm, though there was an edge to it. Something urgent.

You glared at him, shooting him a look you hoped would make him back off. “About what? How you’re a pain in my ass?”

He didn’t rise to the bait. He didn’t even crack a smile. Instead, he stepped closer, his other hand reaching into his coat pocket. “Non, cher. ‘Bout what’s happenin’ between us.” His eyes flicked around, making sure none of the others were paying attention. “Whether y’want it or not, somethin’s goin’ on here. You feel it. I feel it.”

You opened your mouth to argue, to dismiss him, to tell him to shove his soulmate nonsense where the sun didn’t shine, but the words wouldn’t come. Because the truth was, he was right. You did feel it. You’d been feeling it from the moment you locked eyes with him in the Void. Some undeniable tug, some irritating pull that made your skin crawl and your heart race all at the same time.

Soulmates. The very idea made you want to scream. You were a loner by nature. You didn’t need anyone, and you sure as hell didn’t want to be tied to someone—especially someone like Remy LeBeau. Smooth-talking, arrogant, dangerous. Everything about him screamed trouble, and you’d spent your whole life avoiding that kind of attachment.

“Look,” Remy said, pulling something from his pocket and pressing it into your hand. “I ain’t makin’ it outta here, cher. You know it. I know it.”

You looked down at the object in your hand—a small, intricately carved token, old and worn by time. It was warm to the touch, like it had been held close for longer than you could imagine. You frowned, confused. “What’s this?”

“Somethin’ t’remember me by,” he said softly, his voice lacking its usual cocky edge. His gaze was intense, serious, like he was laying everything out on the line. “When this is all over.”

You wanted to laugh, to shove the token back at him and tell him to stop with the dramatic bullshit. But the weight of his words hit you harder than you expected. He wasn’t joking. He really thought he wasn’t going to make it out of this alive. And for some reason, that thought twisted something deep inside you.

You clenched your fist around the token, your throat tightening with something you didn’t want to name. “Don’t be so dramatic,” you muttered, trying to keep your voice steady. “You’ll be fine.”

Remy just smiled, but it wasn’t his usual cocky grin. There was something softer behind it, something sad. “Maybe,” he murmured, his fingers brushing against your arm before he pulled away. “But just in case… y’keep that.”

You stared at him, your mind racing, unsure of what the hell to say. Part of you wanted to shove the token back at him, to tell him to stop acting like this was some kind of final goodbye. But another part of you, the part you tried to keep buried deep, wanted to hold onto it. Just in case.

Remy sighed, his eyes meeting yours again, all traces of humor gone. “Look, cher,” he said quietly, his voice low and steady, “I’ll watch your back if y’watch mine. That’s all I’m askin’.”

You swallowed hard, the weight of his words sinking in. As much as you hated to admit it, you needed him. You needed someone in this hellhole. And he needed you. Whatever this thing was between you, it wasn’t something you could ignore anymore. Not now. Not ever.

“Fine,” you muttered, refusing to meet his eyes. “But don’t expect me to get all sentimental if you die.”

Remy chuckled softly, the sound low and rough, but there was warmth in it. A familiar warmth that you’d come to rely on, even if you didn’t want to admit it. “Wouldn’t dream of it, cher,” he said, his smirk returning, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes this time.

You rolled your eyes, shoving past him as you headed back toward the others, ready for the fight ahead. But as you walked away, you couldn’t help but feel the weight of that token in your hand, the smooth surface of it pressing into your palm. It was a constant reminder that, for better or worse, Remy LeBeau had gotten under your skin.

And no matter how much you hated it—no matter how hard you tried to keep him at arm’s length—you couldn’t escape the fact that you didn’t want him to die. You didn’t want to lose him. Not here. Not like this.

The fight was coming, and you weren’t sure who would make it out alive. But one thing was certain: whatever happened, Remy had become more than just a distraction. He had become something you couldn’t shake, something you couldn’t ignore.

And the worst part? You weren’t sure you wanted to. The battlefield stretched out before you, a wasteland of cracked earth and swirling dust, the wind kicking up debris that stung your skin and lodged in your lungs. Across from you, Cassandra’s army of mutants stood like a wall of bodies, their faces twisted with grim determination. Behind them, shimmering like an impossible dream, was the portal—the gateway home. The one thing standing between you and whatever life you had left outside of this nightmare.

You clenched your fists, feeling the tension coil in your shoulders, the weight of the impending fight pressing down on you. You’d been in battles before—plenty of them—but this was different. This wasn’t just a fight for survival. This was the final battle. The endgame. One way or another, everything would be decided today.

The wind howled around you, carrying with it the scent of blood and dust. To your left, Wade stood unnaturally still, his usual frenetic energy dialed back to something cold and sharp. Even Deadpool knew when shit was about to get real. To your right was Remy, and of course, he wasn’t silent. He was never silent.

“You know how long I been waitin’ for this?” Remy’s voice was a low rumble beside you, thick with that familiar Cajun accent that always seemed to carry a hint of mischief, even in the worst situations. You could feel his eyes on you, but you didn’t look at him. Not yet. You weren’t sure if you could, not without wanting to slug that damn smirk off his face.

He was rolling one of his cards between his fingers, the soft glow of kinetic energy pulsing through it in rhythm with your own heartbeat. “Whoo, I’m ‘boutta make a name for myself here,” he added, his voice practically vibrating with excitement.

You hated how calm he was. You hated how you weren’t. This wasn’t a bar fight or some turf war with a few low-level thugs. This was war. The stakes couldn’t be higher, and the way home—if there even was one—stood just beyond a wall of enemies you weren’t sure you could break through.

The truth was, you weren’t sure if any of you would survive this.

You finally glanced at him, casting a sidelong look at the man who somehow always seemed unfazed, even when the world was on fire around him. His smirk was still there, infuriatingly casual, his red-on-black eyes gleaming with a mix of confidence and thrill for the fight ahead.

“You’re about to make a name for yourself?” you muttered, trying to keep the bitterness out of your voice, but failing. “Pretty sure ‘Gambit dies in a blaze of glory’ isn’t the legacy you’re looking for.”

Remy chuckled, low and smooth, flicking the card in his hand, watching it glow brighter before letting the energy fizzle out. “Oh, non, cher,” he said softly, not looking at you. “Gambit don’t go down that easy. Not today.”

There was something in the way he said it that made your chest tighten. On the surface, he was still the same cocky, infuriating man you’d been dealing with since this whole nightmare started. But underneath that confidence was something darker, something colder. He wasn’t telling you the whole truth. You knew it, and he knew you knew it.

You wanted to snap at him, to tell him to stop acting like this was just another job, another day. But before you could say anything, Logan’s gravelly voice cut through the tension, as blunt and unflinching as ever.

“I don’t think you guys walk away from this,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact, like he was talking about the weather. There was no sugarcoating in his words. There never was with Logan. You all knew what this was. Either you fought and won, or you died trying. There was no in-between.

And then there was Remy, standing beside you, so damn calm, so damn sure of himself. His confidence should have been reassuring, but instead, it just pissed you off. Because deep down, you knew. He wasn’t planning on walking out of this.

You stole another glance at him, trying to read the expression on his face. He was still smirking, still playing the part of the charming rogue, but there was something behind his eyes—something resigned. He knew he wasn’t making it out of here. He had accepted it. And that realization hit you like a punch to the gut.

All this time, you’d been so focused on surviving, on getting home, that you hadn’t stopped to think about what it meant for him. Remy didn’t have a life waiting for him outside of this. He didn’t have friends or family wondering where he was. He didn’t have anyone. Not anymore. The Void had taken everything from him—his home, his purpose, his future. And now, he was willing to give up the only thing he had left: his life.

But you? You still had something worth fighting for. You still had people waiting for you, a life waiting for you. And Remy… Remy was going to make sure you got back to it. Even if it meant he wouldn’t.

“You just make sure people remember what happened here today,” Remy said, his voice quieter now, more serious. “When you get out of here, you have a drink for me, yeah?”

When. Not if. You swallowed hard, your throat tight. “You’re not dying here, Remy,” you said, your voice more forceful than you meant it to be. “You’re not pulling some heroic bullshit.”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he turned to you, and for the first time in as long as you could remember, there was no smirk, no bravado. Just Remy. His eyes were dark, serious, and there was something in his gaze that made your heart twist painfully.

“Y’got a whole life waitin’ for you on the other side of that portal,” he said softly, his voice steady but filled with a kind of finality that made your blood run cold. “Friends. Family. People who need you.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but he cut you off before you could get a word out.

“Me? I got nothin’, cher,” he continued, his eyes never leaving yours. “Ain’t nothin’ left for me out there. But you… you got everythin’. And I’m gonna make sure you get back to it.”

The sincerity in his voice, the quiet determination—it shattered something inside you. You wanted to tell him he was wrong, that he did have something left, that he had you, but the words caught in your throat. Because you knew, deep down, that he had already made up his mind.

Remy had accepted that this was the end for him. But his goal, his only goal, was to make sure you made it home. To make sure you survived. Because he believed in you. He believed in your future, even if he didn’t believe in his own.

You clenched your fists, trying to keep the emotion from spilling over, trying to keep your voice steady. “You don’t get to make that decision for me,” you said, your tone sharp, though it was more to keep yourself from breaking than anything else.

Remy smiled then, but it was a sad smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes. “Ain’t no decision to make, cher. I’m just doin’ what I have to.”

The weight of his words settled over you, heavier than the air, heavier than the battlefield stretched out before you. He wasn’t trying to be a hero. He wasn’t asking for praise or recognition. He was just doing what he thought was right. And that scared the hell out of you.

“Remy—” you started, but he shook his head, cutting you off again.

“Don’t worry ‘bout me,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “Just promise me you’ll get home. That’s all I want.”

You stared at him, feeling a knot tighten in your chest. You wanted to scream at him, to tell him to stop talking like this was the end, to tell him that you wouldn’t leave him behind. But you couldn’t. Because the truth was, you weren’t sure you had a choice.

The wind howled around you, and the sounds of battle began to rise in the distance, but for a moment, it was like everything had fallen away. Just you and Remy, standing on the edge of the fight, staring down the impossible.

You nodded, your voice barely more than a whisper. “Fine. But you better not make me drink alone.”

Remy chuckled softly, and for a brief moment, the old smirk returned. “Wouldn’t dream of it, cher.”

And then, without another word, he turned toward the battlefield, his cards flickering to life in his hands, the kinetic energy crackling through the air. The fight was coming, and you both knew what had to be done.

But as you stared at his back, that small, carved token still clenched in your hand, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were losing something far more important than a battle.

You were losing him.

And you weren’t sure you could live with that.

You felt Remy’s hand brush against yours, his fingers lingering for just a moment before he pulled away. It was subtle, barely noticeable, but in that brief contact, something shifted inside you. It grounded you, anchored you to the present, reminding you that despite everything—despite the chaos, the fear, the uncertainty—you weren’t alone in this. Not entirely.

You didn’t want to admit it, but he was right. Something was happening between you. Something that terrified you as much as it pulled you in. It was that unspoken connection, the kind that lingered just beneath the surface, simmering between stolen glances and moments like this.

But now wasn’t the time to dwell on it. You couldn’t afford to think about whatever this was, not with a battlefield stretched out before you and an army of enemies charging forward. Now was the time to fight. To survive.

“I’ll watch your back,” you muttered, your voice low, almost lost to the rumble of the earth beneath your feet. You cast him a quick glance out of the corner of your eye, the words feeling like a promise you weren’t sure you could keep. “But don’t expect me to hold your hand.”

Remy chuckled softly, but this time there was a warmth to it, something softer, something almost grateful. That smirk was still there, but it was tempered by something more genuine.

Your grip tightened around your weapon, knuckles white as adrenaline surged through your veins. The fear was there too, of course. It always was, lurking in the back of your mind. But this time, it felt different. It wasn’t paralyzing. It was… clarifying. You were scared, but there was a strange sense of focus that came with it, a razor-sharp awareness of what you had to do. You were going to fight like hell. You were going to give every last piece of yourself to this battle, because that was the only way any of you were getting out alive.

And maybe—just maybe—you’d make it out after all.

But if you didn’t?

At least you wouldn’t be going down alone.

You stole a glance at Remy again, this time allowing yourself to really look at him. His eyes were fixed ahead, scanning the battlefield, but there was a calmness to him that you envied. He seemed perfectly at ease, even with the odds stacked against you. That cocky grin, the one that usually grated on your nerves, was still there, but now it felt like a lifeline. As if his confidence could somehow carry you both through this.

You didn’t know how he did it—how he managed to stay so calm when everything was on the line. Maybe it was just who he was, or maybe it was because he had already accepted something you were still struggling to grasp.

He didn’t expect to make it out of here.

You could see it in the way he moved, in the way he spoke. He wasn’t fighting to survive. He was fighting for you. To make sure you got out. He had nothing left outside of this, no life to return to once the Void spat you all back into whatever reality waited on the other side. But you? You had a whole world waiting for you. Friends. Family. People who would miss you if you didn’t make it back.

And Remy—damn him—he was preparing to make sure you did, even if it cost him his life.

The thought twisted something inside you, a knot forming in your chest that tightened with every passing second. You didn’t want him to sacrifice himself. You didn’t want to lose him, not after everything you’d been through together. But you could see it in his eyes, in the way his fingers flexed around the cards he held, the way the energy crackled faintly at his fingertips. He had already made his peace with it. He was ready to die here, if that’s what it took.

And you hated him for it.

But you also couldn’t help but feel something else—something raw, something deep that you didn’t have the time or the courage to name. It was fear, yes, but not for yourself. It was the thought of losing him that terrified you more than the thought of your own death. Because for all the walls you’d tried to build around yourself, for all the distance you’d tried to keep, Remy had found a way in. He had gotten under your skin, and now the idea of a world without him in it was suddenly unbearable.

You clenched your jaw, steeling yourself against the emotions threatening to bubble to the surface. Now wasn’t the time for this. Now was the time to fight.

The roar of Cassandra’s forces grew louder, and you could see them now—mutants of all shapes and sizes, some familiar, others grotesque and twisted by whatever dark experiments she had been running in her lair. They moved like a single entity, a wave of destruction hurtling toward you, and the ground shook with the force of their charge.

“Here they come,” Logan growled, his claws extending with a metallic snikt as he moved into a crouch, ready to tear into whatever came his way.

Wade, his usual chatter silenced for once, cracked his neck and flexed his fingers, twin katanas gleaming in the dim light. Even Deadpool, the king of chaos, seemed focused, his usual madness replaced with a deadly precision.

You took a deep breath, your weapon steady in your hands. This was it. The final stand. You weren’t sure if you were ready, but it didn’t matter. The fight was here, and there was no turning back.

Remy shifted beside you, his voice low as he spoke, barely audible over the approaching onslaught. “Whatever happens, cher, y’keep movin’. Don’t stop. Don’t look back.”

You wanted to argue, to tell him that you weren’t leaving him behind. But the words caught in your throat, because deep down, you knew what he meant. You knew what he was asking you to do.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” you muttered, your voice rough with emotion you couldn’t suppress. “I’m not dragging your ass out of here if you get yourself killed.”

He smiled, that damn smile that you had come to rely on more than you wanted to admit. “Wouldn’t ask you to do no such thing.”

The mutants were close now, their snarls and battle cries filling the air as they surged forward. You tightened your grip on your weapon, every muscle in your body tensing in preparation for the fight of your life.

<><><><><><> The battle raged around you, wild and chaotic, but somehow, in the eye of the storm, you and Remy moved like you’d been doing this for years. It didn’t make sense. You’d only met him days ago, thrown into this insane mission with no time to adjust, no time to learn each other’s rhythms. And yet, here you were—fighting side by side like you’d been doing it your whole lives.

There was no hesitation. No second-guessing. Every move you made seemed to align perfectly with his. When he swung his bo staff in a wide arc, you were already ducking beneath it, taking out the legs of a mutant charging toward him. When you threw a punch, he was right there, using the momentum of your attack to spin and deliver a charged card toward another group of enemies. It was an unspoken understanding, an instinct, like your bodies just knew how to work together.

You didn’t need to talk. There was no time for words anyway. But you didn’t need them. Every glance, every shift in stance, communicated everything you needed to know. When Remy saw an opening, you were already moving to cover it. When you took down an enemy, he was already preparing for the next. It was like your instincts were perfectly tuned to complement each other, like two sides of the same coin.

A massive mutant lunged at you, and before you could react, Remy was there. With a quick flick of his wrist, he sent a charged card flying straight at the attacker’s chest. The explosion knocked the mutant back, and without missing a beat, you stepped forward, grabbing another by the throat and slamming him into the ground with your enhanced strength. The impact shook the ground beneath you, and Remy flashed you a quick grin.

The battle wore on, the two of you cutting through Cassandra’s forces as if you were made for this. But then, you started to feel it—fatigue. It was creeping in, despite your strength, despite the adrenaline. And you could see it in Remy too, the way his movements were just a fraction slower, the way his breathing had started to quicken.

Remy noticed it too. He glanced at you, his sharp eyes scanning the battlefield, then darted toward you, grabbing your arm. “It’s time to go,” he said, his voice urgent but steady. He nodded toward the steps leading up to Cassandra’s lair, where Logan and Wade were waiting, keeping the path clear. “You get up those damn steps, cher. Now.”

You hesitated, your heart pounding in your chest. “What about you?”

“I’ll hold ‘em off,” he said, already turning back toward the approaching mutants. His fingers twitched, and a handful of charged cards appeared between them, glowing with purple energy. “Just get home.”

You wanted to protest, to tell him that you weren’t leaving but you couldn’t. Hey,” he said, his voice low but urgent. “I got you covered, cher. You just get yourself home.” He gave you a small, reassuring smile, but there was something heavy behind it—something that made your chest tighten. “Don’t worry ‘bout me. I’ll take care of this.” Your heart clenched in your chest, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe. He was telling you to leave—telling you to go without him. But every instinct in your body was screaming at you to stay. You didn’t want to leave him. You didn’t want to walk away and leave him to fight alone. The thought of it made your stomach twist, a cold dread settling in your bones.

No.

Not after everything. Not after the way things had shifted between you over the last few days, the way this connection had formed—slowly at first, almost imperceptibly, but now so strong that it was impossible to ignore. You couldn’t leave him. Not like this.

“No,” you started, shaking your head, your voice barely audible over the sounds of battle. “I’m not leaving you behind, Remy. We can—”

“Non,” he cut you off, his hand tightening slightly on your arm, grounding you. His voice was gentle, but firm. “You have to go. The portal’s waitin’. You stay here, and none of us make it out, cher. I’ll hold ‘em off. You just make sure you get through dat portal. Get yourself home.”

His words were like a knife twisting in your gut. Every fiber of your being wanted to stay with him, to fight beside him until the end. But you knew, deep down, that he was right. If you didn’t go now, you wouldn’t get another chance. And this whole mission—everything you’d fought for—would be for nothing. But knowing that didn’t make it any easier.

Your body was screaming at you to stay, to be with him. Your heart was pounding in your chest, your mind racing with every possible reason to fight by his side just a little longer. But your feet felt like they were stuck in place, frozen in that horrible moment of indecision. You didn’t want to leave him. You couldn’t leave him.

It hadn’t started like this. It hadn’t started with this painful, gut-wrenching pull to stay by his side at all costs. When you first met him, all you’d seen was the cocky grin, the casual swagger of someone who didn’t take anything seriously. He had been infuriating, reckless, too damn sure of himself for someone thrown into a life-or-death situation. You had tried to keep your distance, tried to focus on the mission, on survival. But Remy had a way of getting under your skin, of making it hard to ignore him, no matter how hard you tried.

You couldn’t pinpoint when the feelings had started to change, when the walls you’d built between the two of you had started to crumble. Maybe it was the night you’d both nearly been taken down by Cassandra’s forces, huddled behind the wreckage of a vehicle, breathing hard and bleeding, but laughing anyway because for a moment, against all odds, you were still alive. Maybe it was the way he’d reached out to steady you, his hand warm and solid against your skin, his eyes holding yours just a second longer than necessary.

Or maybe it was something deeper, something that had been building all along. A connection that went beyond words, beyond glances, beyond the battlefield. Something neither of you had asked for, but that had grown between you anyway, slow and steady, until you couldn’t deny it any longer.

But now, in this moment, that connection felt like it was being torn apart.

Before you could say anything else, Logan’s gruff voice cut through the chaos, sharp and urgent. “It’s now or never!” he shouted from the steps leading up to Cassandra’s lair. “We gotta go, now!” His eyes locked onto yours, and you could see the urgency in them. He wasn’t asking. He was telling you—if you didn’t leave now, you’d never make it home.

Your heart twisted painfully in your chest, torn between the need to survive and the desperate pull to stay with Remy. You hesitated, watching him for a moment longer, your eyes searching his face for something—anything—that would make this easier. But there was no easy answer. There never was.

Remy met your gaze, his eyes softening for just a second, and in that moment, something passed between you. An understanding. He gave you a small nod, a silent acknowledgment that this was it—this was the last time the two of you would see each other. And even if neither of you said it out loud, you both knew what it meant.

It felt like your heart was being torn in two, but there was no time left. You had to go. You had to make it through that portal. And he? He was making sure you had the chance to do it.

“I’ll be right behind you,” Remy said, his voice calm, but there was something in his tone that told you he didn’t believe it. He was saying it for your sake, to make the choice easier. “Don’t worry ‘bout me, cher. Just get home.”

You swallowed hard, your throat tight, every part of you wanting to argue, to stay, to fight beside him. But you nodded, knowing you didn’t have a choice. Logan was right. It was now or never.

Reluctantly, you turned and started toward the steps, where Wade and Logan were waiting. The sounds of battle faded behind you, but your mind was still with Remy, your heart aching with every step you took away from him.

As you reached the top of the stairs, you couldn’t help yourself. You turned back, just for a second, just to see him one last time.

There he was, standing in the middle of the battlefield, his bo staff spinning, his charged cards lighting up the sky with their brilliant purple glow. He fought with the same reckless confidence, the same fluid grace that had drawn you to him in the first place. But now, there was something more—something final in the way he moved. He wasn’t fighting to survive anymore. He was fighting to give you the chance to make it out.

Your heart clenched painfully in your chest as you watched him, your body screaming at you to run back to him, to stay with him. But you couldn’t. You couldn’t.

And then, just before you turned away, he looked up, meeting your eyes across the battlefield. For a moment, everything else faded—the sounds of battle, the weight of the mission, the urgency of your escape. It was just you and him. One last look. One last connection.

He gave you that damn cocky grin, the one that always seemed to say he had everything under control, even when you knew he didn’t. And then he nodded, a silent promise, a final goodbye.

Wade grabbed your arm, pulling you toward the portal, his voice distant in your ears. “Come on. It’s time.”

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak, and turned away from Remy, your heart heavy. You reached the top of the stairs, prepared to face Cassandra. The last battle to fight before you got to go home.

And that was the last time you saw him.

At least… until now.

33 notes · View notes