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ilovemilestellersmoustache · 1 month ago

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Drunk Words, Sober Thoughts

Bob Reynolds x Thunderbolts!reader

Summary: When a tipsy Y/N stumbles into his arms, full of affection and slurred confessions, Bob steps in to take care of her. What she doesn’t realize is that he’s been falling for her all along and her sudden mission assignment has just about crushed bob

WC: 2.8K

⸻

It was supposed to be a classy rooftop event promotion party, influencers, signature cocktails, a string quartet playing edgy remixes of classic rock.

Everyone was in sleek suits or silky dresses, posing for the press with polite smiles and champagne in hand. The interviews had gone well. Nobody spilled secrets, nobody swore on live TV (Alexei came very close), and no one walked out.

But five cocktails in, “classy” had been abandoned.

The entire Thunderbolts team was gathered around a long marble bar near the rooftop edge, city lights flickering like a galaxy below. But no one, no one, was as drunk as you and Alexei.

“Listen- listen to me,” you slurred, gripping John’s forearm like it anchored you to Earth. “We’re the heart of the team. Me, you, and Alexei. The heart and the- uh- liver.”

“I was Captain America” John reminded you, sipping his beer. “I am the liver. I filter the bullshit.”

You draped your arm back dramatically across a velvet stool grabbing another champagne flute in hand, head thrown back in laughter now while John refocused his attention to Alexei who drunkenly suggested arm wrestling.

Yelena was tipsy, sipping some martini concoction and live commentating everyone’s every play.

Bucky watched the chaos unfold with the patience of a babysitter, nursing his drink with a small smirk, leaning close to Ava, who was only pretending not to be amused by the disaster unfolding.

And Bob?

Bob was sober.

Completely, annoyingly sober in the corner, curls neatly combed and a soda water in hand.

He stood just behind the group, quiet in a button down and sleeves rolled up to his forearms. His hair glinted under the string lights. His eyes? Fixed on you.

You didn’t notice at first. Too busy rolling your eyes at John while he flexed his arm. “You know,” you muttered, “I’d say your ego’s almost as big as your biceps Walker, but they aren’t big at all”

“Almost?” he scoffed, tossing back a tequila shot, only hearing the first part.

Back to Alexei, slipping off his barstool and knocked into a waiter. Three glasses of prosecco went flying.

You howled with laughter.

Bob sighed.

He’d been watching your steady slide into drunk mischief all night, fighting the urge to step in. But when you finally tripped slightly on your heel and clung to the bar to steady yourself. laughing the whole time before finally getting up, he took initiative to wander towards you.

“Okay,” he said gently, appearing at your side like a guardian angel. “I think that’s enough champagne for you.”

You blinked up at him slowly, pupils wide, cheeks flushed.

“Oh no,” you said, smiling coyly. “It’s the Boy Scout.”

Bob raised an eyebrow. “Is that what you call me when you think I’m not listening?”

“I call you worse when I know you’re listening.”

That made him chuckle. A warm sound. And something in your chest fluttered.

“Come on,” he murmured. “Let’s get you some water.”

He helped you walk straight but you managed to stumbled into him still. Your arms wrapped around his torso as you giggled into his shirt. Bob didn’t move at first. He just looked down at you, stunned, his hands hovering like he didn’t know what to do with them.

“You smell really good,” you mumbled against his chest. “Like sunshine. Or… woodsy soap. And something expensive.”

“That’s very specific,” he said carefully, trying not to melt as your fingers clutched his shirtfront.

“Mmm. Your arms are so big, Bob.” Your palms smoothed down over the muscles of his biceps, then circled his waist. “How do you hide these under those sweaters?”

Bob’s face was turning the same shade as the pink lighting overhead. You leaned your head against his chest with a soft hum, fingers curling into the soft fabric of his jacket.

“Y/N.” His voice was strangled. “Maybe we should sit down.”

You looked up at him, eyes glassy but bright. “You’re so nice to me. You always open the door and hold my chair and tell me to drink water and you always remember if I’m cold or tired and—”

He was smiling now, soft and a little exasperated. “I just care about you.”

Your heart thumped.

You hiccupped. “I like when you care about me. I like you.”

“Yeah?” he asked, his voice low.

You nodded, your face suddenly serious. “You have perfect hair. And perfect hands. And your eyes do that glowy thing sometimes when you get mad but I think it’s hot- I think you’re secretly in love with me.” you whispered against his collar.

Bob stilled.

You looked up again with drunken sincerity. “It’s okay. I’m in love with you too. Don’t worry- I won’t tell the team. It can be our little secret.”

Bob let out a slow, stunned breath, brushing your hair back with more care than you could process in your current state. “You’re gonna hate me for this in the morning.”

You grinned sleepily. “Not possible. You’re my favorite.”

“I thought Alexei was your favorite,” Bob teased softly, trying to keep your balance as you leaned more into him.

You glanced over at the Russian man in question now sprawled on a velvet chaise lounge, snoring softly with one boot in a flower arrangement.

“Alexei’s funny.” you said with the grave tone of someone making a very serious declaration. “But he doesn’t make me feel the way you do.”

Before you could say more that Bob thinks you’ll regret in the morning he was steering you gently to another nearby lounge.

You practically flopped into it, arms still tangled around his neck, and he followed with a quiet laugh, kneeling in front of you.

“Water,” he said, grabbing a glass from a passing waiter. “Sip it. Slowly.”

“Will you kiss me if I do?”

Bob turned red to the roots of his hair.

“I think you’re too drunk for that right now.”

“Ugh,” you groaned dramatically, flopping back onto the cushions. “Why are you so honorable?”

“Because someone in this group has to be.”

You tugged Bob’s sleeve, pulling him closer again. “Hey. You wanna know a secret?”

“Sure,” he said, voice hushed like he was indulging a child. But his smile was aching.

“I’m not that drunk.” you whispered… A complete lie. “I just wanted an excuse to put my hands on you.” Not a lie…

He stared at you, jaw slack. Drunk words, sober thoughts or something.

Then you pressed your palm to his chest, right over his heart.

“I think I like you more than I should,” you admitted softly again already forgetting your prior confession.

His hand found yours, warm and steady.

“And I think I’ve been waiting for you to feel that way for a long time.”

You blinked, actually sobering just a little as his words sunk in. A blush crept up your neck.

Then Alexei who’s now wide awake on round 7, shouted something unintelligible about vodka and fell into a hedge.

Bob sighed again, this time fondly.

“Come on, handsy,” he whispered, helping you up. “Let’s get you out of here before Alexei find you.”

You leaned into him as the lights of the city glittered below, your heels clicking softly on the marble. And as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders and tucked you gently into his side, you let your hand slide across his chest again.

Bob helped you into a waiting car a little later, after you’d danced with his tie around your head and tried to convince Bucky and Ava who had caught a ride with you guys, that you could beat both of them in arm wrestling. Bob sat beside you the whole ride back, one hand gently holding yours as you leaned on his shoulder, humming off-key.

By the time he walked you to your room, you were barely awake.

He helped you sit, brought you more water, wiped the glitter from your cheeks with a warm towel. You watched him through bleary eyes, heart thudding too fast for how exhausted you were.

“Don’t go,” you mumbled, grabbing his wrist before he could pull away.

His brow furrowed. “I should. You need to sleep.”

“I sleep better when I know you’re close.”

Bob hesitated. Then sat on the edge of the bed, still fully dressed, hands neatly folded.

You scooted toward him clumsily, curling into his side.

“You’re a good man,” you murmured. “Even if you don’t believe it.”

Bob swallowed hard. “You’re drunk.”

He looked down at you lashes low, curls golden in the dim light and for a second, it felt like the world was still.

“I’m gonna tell you all this again,” you whispered,. “When I’m sober. So you believe me.”

Bob smiled softly, brushing a hand through your hair.

⸻

One week later.

Valentina didn’t waste time not when she had agents to deploy and secrets to keep. She stood at the head of the briefing room with her arms crossed, voice clipped and commanding.

“You’ll be embedded deep. Minimal communications. Four weeks, maybe five. You know the drill.”

No explanation. No context. Just coordinates, code words, and a vague nod toward danger.

You nodded once, steady and composed. “When do I leave?”

“Tomorrow.”

That was it. No sugar coating. No safety nets. No goodbyes.

Just logistics… and the dull ache in Bob’s chest as he stood by the door, silent and still, watching you take the news like a soldier.

It wasn’t your first mission. Wouldn’t be your last. You were good at this hell, you were better than good. But that didn’t make it easier to watch you go.

Especially now.

Not after last week.

⸻

That night, Yelena hosted.

It was her version of a send off. The living room of the Thunderbolts’ tower had been transformed into a mess of mismatched blankets, greasy pizza boxes, and horror movies from the ’80s that were more comedic than scary.

Ava was curled up in an armchair, a rare smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Bucky and John were in a ridiculous standoff over whose popcorn seasoning was the superior blend, Bucky’s Cajun mix versus John’s “proprietary” cinnamon-butter recipe. Alexei had, inexplicably, brought an entire suitcase of vodka “for emergencies.”

And you?

You were radiant.

You always were before a mission. That pre mission energy pulsed off you in waves of confidence sharpened into a kind of glow, like lightning trapped in a bottle. You cracked jokes too fast, leaned into the mood like it grounded you. Your laugh echoed louder, your eyes sparkled with mischief.

Bob hated it.

He hated it because it reminded him that soon, you’d be gone.

He sat on the edge of the couch, trying to act normal while you dropped onto the beanbag next to him, giggling at something Yelena had said about a haunted vending machine. You bumped his knee lightly with yours. He barely looked at you.

He was stretched thin, like a rubber band one pull away from snapping. Because all week, he’d replayed your drunk confession on a loop, your breath warm against his neck, the way your hand had pressed flat over his chest, how you’d slurred out that you liked him more than you should.

And then, the next day, you’d forgotten.

“I got so drunk,” you’d said with a sleepy laugh, sipping your coffee like it was a lifeline. “Sorry if I said anything weird.”

He’d smiled.

Lied.

Said, “Nothing weird.”

He’d swallowed it like poison.

⸻

So that night, for the first time in a hot minute, Bob accepted a shot of tequila.

Then another.

Then three more.

⸻

Half an hour later, he was drunk.

Not tipsy. Not warm and relaxed.

Sloshed.

He was flushed pink, laughing too loud, talking too fast, and struggling to open a bag of chips like it was a bomb he had to defuse. He kept tearing the corner wrong and then getting confused why chips were flying everywhere.

Yelena squinted suspiciously. “Did you spike his water?”

Ava shook her head slowly, sipping her beer. “Nope. That’s all him.”

Alexei bellowed a laugh. “I love drunk Bob. He is like crazy man you see on street!”

John leaned over, trying to keep a straight face. “Hey, buddy. You good?”

Bob blinked slowly, eyes glassy, then raised a shaky finger across the room and pointed… directly at you.

“She’s leaving,” he announced, mournful as a funeral bell. “Tomorrow. Or… or the day after. Or the… second tomorrow.”

Everyone froze.

The movie kept playing. But nobody was watching anymore.

Bucky let out a long, low breath. “Ah. There it is.”

Yelena covered her mouth with her hand, shoulders shaking from a suppressed laugh.

You looked stunned. Concern flickered across your features as you stood and crossed the room, kneeling in front of Bob.

“Hey,” you said gently. “Bob, are you okay?”

He looked at you like you’d just asked him if the sun existed. Like you couldn’t possibly understand the storm unraveling inside him.

“I miss you already,” he said, his voice cracking. “And you’re not even gone yet.”

You blinked.

Your expression softened instantly. “Bob…”

“I don’t want to miss you,” he said, almost childlike. “I want to stay in the room. When you’re in the room. Always.”

Something splintered in your chest.

He wasn’t done.

“You don’t remember,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “That night at the promo thing. You said you liked me.”

Your brows furrowed. “What—?”

“You were drunk,” he continued, eyes wide and wounded. “Said I smelled good. Said my arms were big. Said you liked me more than you should. Said you loved me.”

You froze.

“I’ve been holding onto that,” Bob said, his voice breaking like glass. “Like a f*cking idiot. Thinking maybe it meant something. But you didn’t even remember.”

The room was dead silent.

No one laughed.

Not even Alexei.

You stared at Bob, at his bloodshot eyes, the way he sat hunched over like his confession physically hurt him. He looked like a man unmasked. No bravado. No power. Just raw, trembling truth.

“I’m in love with you.” he said softly.

And then?

He groaned, flopped face down on the couch, and mumbled into the cushions passing out

⸻

An hour passed.

Yelena switched the movie. Jenga towers collapsed. Alexei tried to start a drinking song that Ava promptly shut down.

But you didn’t move.

You sat beside Bob’s sleeping form, his body curled in a loose crescent against your side. He looked younger like this, soft and peaceful. His messy hair fell into his eyes. He smelled like warm laundry.

Without thinking, you reached over and gently brushed the hair from his forehead.

And something in you ached.

You hadn’t remembered that night.

But now you did.

And it meant everything.

⸻

The Next Morning

Bob woke up with a thunderstorm behind his eyes.

His skull felt like it had been jackhammered. His throat was dry. And the taste in his mouth could only be described as salty

He sat up slowly, wincing at the daylight.

And then he saw it.

A glass of water. A packet of painkillers. And a note in your handwriting, folded clean and left on the coffee table.

He blinked, opened it with trembling fingers.

You were a total mess.

I took at least three videos for blackmail.

Also, you were right. I did say those things at the party.

I meant them. Even if I don’t remember every word.

Talk before I leave?

—Y/N

His heart tripped over itself.

And then the door creaked open.

You stepped inside, ready to go. Hoodie zipped, backpack over one shoulder, hair tied in a high knot. Your eyes flicked to him, uncertain, hopeful, vulnerable in a way you rarely let yourself be.

“So,” you said softly, stepping closer, “about that talk?”

Bob stood slowly. He ran a hand over his face, unsure if this was a dream or just a hangover hallucination.

“I’m really sorry if I—”

“I meant it,” you cut in, voice firm. “Everything I said that night. I didn’t remember at first, but… even if I had, I was scared. Scared it would ruin what we have. Scared it would make things complicated.”

You took a shaky breath.

“But I think not saying anything? That’s worse.”

Bob stared at you, eyes wide and clear for the first time in days.

“You don’t have to say anything,” you added quickly, nerves bleeding through. “I just couldn’t leave without—”

“I love you,” he blurted.

You blinked.

A slow, stunned smile curved your lips.

“Even hungover?” you teased, voice lighter.

Bob laughed, quiet, sheepish. “Especially hungover.”

You stepped into him, closing the space. Your forehead pressed against his, breath shared between parted lips.

“I love you too, I promise I’ll come back soon.” you whispered.

“You better,” he murmured, cupping your cheek and pressing the gentlest kiss on your lips like a promise.

“I’m not drinking again till you do.”

“Deal.”

⸻

A/N: Guys was this boring I can’t tell I need ideas on what to write, please give me prompts in my in box!

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misswynters · 7 months ago

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Ekko being protective while you are expecting

– short drabble

featuring. ekko x pregnant! reader

this was a late night thing so if there’s any mistakes let me know

Bright, golden sunlight filtered through the cracked glass of Zaun’s upper levels, casting a warm glow over the patchwork city. Rustic smell lingered throughout the entire city even in the places were you would think it would be. It was a sharp contrast to the pristine towers and polished streets of Piltover, but you’d come to love the chaotic beauty of Zaun. Its grit and resilience mirrored the spirit of its people, and despite everything, it had become home.

You adjusted the basket on your hip as you weaved through the narrow alleys, a small smile on your lips despite the slight strain in your back. The sounds of the city surrounded you: children laughing as they ran between stalls, the hiss of steam escaping from overhead pipes, and the occasional distant hum of machinery. Though Zaun was far from perfect, it had a heart. A fierce and determined spirit that had drawn you to it.

A boy darted out from a corner, his face smudged with dirt and his eyes wide with curiosity. “Miss!” he called out, holding up a small metal trinket he’d likely scavenged. “For good luck!”

Your heart melted at his gesture, and you crouched carefully to meet him at eye level. “Thank you, sweetheart,” you said warmly, taking the trinket and ruffling his hair. “Here, this is for you.” You handed him a piece of fruit from your basket, earning a toothy grin before he bolted off, his laughter echoing through the alley.

“Shouldn’t be out here on your own,” came a low, familiar voice from above.

You straightened, glancing up to find one of Ekko’s scouts perched on a rusted ledge, his sharp eyes scanning the area. He nodded at you before disappearing into the shadows, leaving behind only the faint sound of his boots against metal. You sighed, shaking your head with a mix of amusement and exasperation. Ekko.

Ever since you’d told him you were expecting, his protectiveness had gone into overdrive. If he wasn’t by your side, he made sure someone else was. and it wasn’t just for appearances. You knew how much he cared, how deeply he felt the responsibility to keep you safe. But it didn’t stop you from feeling a bit smothered at times.

You resumed your walk, stopping occasionally to hand out bread or share a kind word with someone in need. It was who you were, helping others brought you joy, even if it meant ignoring the occasional twinge of discomfort in your back. But as you reached out to give an elderly woman a loaf of bread, you felt a familiar presence behind you, the air around you shifting.

“Thought I told you to rest,” Ekko’s voice came, soft but firm.

You turned, your heart skipping at the sight of him. He leaned casually against the corner of a building, his staff slung over his shoulder, his sharp gaze fixed on you. His white hair gleamed in the sunlight, and there was a mixture of exasperation and fondness in his expression as he approached.

“I’m fine, Ekko,” you said, offering him a small smile. “I was just—”

“Helping people,” he interrupted, his lips quirking slightly. He stepped closer, his presence grounding, and his eyes softened as they drifted to the curve of your stomach. “I know, you’re always helping people.”

“It’s important to me,” you replied, your hands resting over his as he reached out to touch your bump. His palm was warm and steady, and for a moment, the world around you faded away.

“I know,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s why I love you. But you’ve got to let me take care of you now. Both of you.”

The sincerity in his tone made your chest tighten with emotion. You leaned into him, letting his strength envelop you. “You already do,” you whispered, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. “I’ve never felt safer.”

Ekko chuckled softly, wrapping his arms around you. “Good. Because I’ve got eyes everywhere, just so you know. You can’t take two steps without someone reporting back to me.”

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t suppress a laugh. “I figured as much. You’re like a hawk.”

“Damn right,” he said, his lips brushing against your forehead. “You’re my whole world now. You think I’m just gonna let you wander off into danger?”

“Danger?” you teased, raising an eyebrow. “I was handing out bread, not fighting Chem-Barons.”

He laughed, the sound low and rich, as he pulled you closer. “Doesn’t matter. This place has its risks, and I’m not taking any chances. You’re extremely important to me.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you reached up to cup his face, your fingers brushing along his jawline. “I’ll be careful,” you promised, your voice soft. “For you, the boy who worries.”

“For me,” he echoed, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your lips. “And for them.” His hand rested protectively over your stomach, his touch radiating warmth and love.

Ekko’s arms lingered around you for a moment longer before he sighed, resigned. “Fine,” he muttered, his tone light but firm. “But I’m coming with you. Not taking my eyes off you.”

You couldn’t help but smile at his protectiveness, even if it sometimes felt overbearing. “I don’t need a bodyguard, you know.”

He raised a skeptical brow. “You’re carrying our kid in Zaun. You need a whole army.”

Despite the exasperation in his words, there was no mistaking the affection in his voice. He took your basket from you, his staff resting casually on his shoulder as he fell into step beside you. “Lead the way, sweetheart,” he said, a playful edge to his tone, though you could see how his eyes darted to every shadow and figure as you moved through the streets.

You stopped occasionally to talk to people—an older man with a limp, a mother trying to soothe her crying baby, a group of kids selling hand-crafted trinkets. Each time, Ekko hung back slightly, letting you do what you did best but staying close enough that he could intervene if needed.

At one point, you crouched to hand a young girl a piece of fruit, smiling as she thanked you with wide, grateful eyes. Ekko’s gaze softened as he watched, a quiet admiration blooming on his face. This was why he fell for you. Not just your kindness but the way you carried it so effortlessly, even in a place as harsh as Zaun.

But as the day wore on, the basket grew lighter, and your steps began to slow. You passed by a rickety stall that had toppled over, its contents—a pile of salvaged wood and fabric—spilling onto the ground. Without thinking, you bent down to help the vendor gather the scattered pieces.

“Careful,” Ekko warned, his voice sharp with concern as he moved closer.

“I’m fine,” you said lightly, reaching for a particularly large plank. But as you tried to lift it, a sharp twinge shot through your back, and you let out a soft gasp, immediately straightening up.

Ekko was at your side in an instant, his hands on your shoulders. “What happened?” he asked, his voice steady, though his eyes betrayed his worry.

“Just… a twinge,” you admitted, wincing slightly. “Nothing serious.”

He didn’t look convinced. “Let me see.” Without waiting for a protest, he gently guided you to lean against a nearby wall, his hands running lightly over your back. “Does it hurt here?” he asked, pressing gently along your spine.

You winced again, and his jaw tightened. “That’s it. You’re done for the day.”

“Ekko—”

“No,” he said firmly, his hands resting on your hips as he looked you in the eye. “You’re done. You’re already doing too much. What if something worse happens? What if—”

He stopped himself, taking a deep breath to steady his voice. The panic was there, just beneath the surface, but he refused to let it show. Instead, he leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours. “I don’t like seeing you get hurt,” he said softly.

Your heart ached at the vulnerability in his words. Reaching up, you cupped his cheek, your thumb brushing against his skin. “I’m okay,” you whispered, meeting his gaze. “I promise.”

But Ekko wasn’t having it. He pulled back, taking the basket and slinging it over his shoulder. “We’re going home,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “And you’re not carrying anything heavier than a pillow until this baby’s here.”

Despite the sternness of his words, his hand was impossibly gentle as it found yours, intertwining your fingers as he led you back through the streets. Along the way, he shot sharp glares at anyone who so much as looked at you the wrong way, his protective instincts kicking into overdrive.

When you finally reached the hideout you shared, he helped you settle onto the bed, fussing over every detail. He would bring you water, adjusting the pillows, even insisting on propping up your feet.

“You’re ridiculous,” you teased, though your smile betrayed how much you appreciated his care.

“Yeah, well, you love it,” he shot back, his grin softening as he sat beside you. His hand found your stomach, his thumb brushing in gentle circles. “I just want to keep you comfortable.”

“You already do,” you said, leaning into him. “More than you know.”

Ekko leaned down to kiss your forehead, his lips lingering there. “Still,” he murmured. “I’ll always do more.”

As the two of you sat there, the weight of the day finally beginning to fade, you realized just how lucky you were. To have someone like ekko be the father of your child.

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southernimpala · 24 days ago

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big distraction

sam winchester x fem!reader

summary ↬ sam needs to distract you long enough for dean to decorate for your birthday, and he chooses the best way possible

notice ↬ birthday smutttt (mdni !) whoop whoop !!, promised some bday smut so here ya'll go, can't believe im 19 now eeeee, oral (f!recieving), unprotected p!v, sam is pussy drunk btw, birthday fluff !, no use of y/n, lowercase intended !

wordcount ↬ 2.5k

birthdays were never your thing. and they weren’t a hunter’s thing, either. always being on the road, never knowing if you’d even live another trip around the sun. it all seemed superficial and unnecessary to celebrate.

so when sam and dean find out your birthday is today, you beg them to keep quiet about it.

“no candles and cake?” dean jokes, nudging your shoulder in the booth of an old diner you were getting breakfast at, “or special birthday pancakes?” you see him point to the birthday special written in cursive letters on the sticky menu.

“no,” you solidify, taking a warm sip of coffee, “being alive and with you idiots is enough.”

your boyfriend, sam, who's sitting across from you forking his eggs, shakes his head but stays quiet, like he’s planning a surprise attack behind your back.

you don’t notice him catch dean’s eye as you read over the check, or see them scouting potential places to buy party decorations while you drive to the motel—yes, you insisted to drive baby—and you certainly don’t hear them whispering to each other as you lose yourself in a book on the weirdly comfortable mattress that is probably twice your age.

when dean comes back from an outing later that night—“just talking to potential witnesses,”—he said, totally suspiciously, you’re eyes run down his arm to him carrying inside the large duffle bag he keeps in the trunk, full of salt guns and holy water.

you sit up straighter in your seat against the bed frame, suddenly alert, but sam makes no moves, “what’s wrong, why are you—”

“just would rather have these closer to us,” he rushes quickly, a lopsided smile on his face, dropping the duffle like it doesn’t weigh a ton on the gross motel carpet, giving sam a ‘am i doing okay?’ look that has your brows furrowing.

“dean, can i see you in private?” sam says through gritted teeth, nodding to the bathroom.

dean sends him an awkward grin, nodding before they both disappear behind the off white door. in an instant, you’re pressed up against it, ear turned on the highest setting you can, trying to hear through the loud AC unit and buzz of cars outside the open window.

although, you don’t have to listen too hard. the two of them are so loud, you wonder whether you could’ve stayed sat on the bed.

“alright, here’s the plan, you stay here and set up—i’ll distract her.” sam’s voice.

“why do i have to decorate? the cake’s probably smushed in the damn duffle—”

“just let me handle it, okay?”

“i’m gonna need twenty minutes.”

“it takes you that long to frost a cake and put up a sign—”

“thin ice, sammy.”

you imagine sam’s face and try to swallow a laugh, but the revelation that they’re planning a surprise for you is enough to knock your world off its axis. even though you told them not to fuss, there’s something pure about them doing this for you. something the three of you could use in the midst of the chaos of your lives.

“how are you distracting her? gonna take her into town or something?” dean’s voice.

“i don’t know, maybe, i—”

“no,”

“dean—”

“you’re not having sex in my car.”

your face burns.

“dean, i didn’t—”

“i saw that look!”

your palm comes to cover your mouth, stifling another burst of amusement.

“let me take care of it alright? you just focus on hanging the sign up the right way.”

you hear shoes shuffling against the bathroom tile, and you spring up quick to settle yourself back comfortably on the bed.

the door opens and sam meets your eye, “dean thinks he left something in the car,” he says, as if you’re stupid. the inside of your cheek is shredded so you don’t smile.

“alright,” you throw the book down onto the floral duvet beneath you, swinging your legs over the edge of the bed, “shall we?”

both boys’ faces crease in confusion at your compliance. but nonetheless, you follow sam outside as he sweeps the impala’s keys off the table.

once outside, you find it hard to keep your hands off him, rubbing your palms up his arms as he walks you to the parking lot, anxious to surprise him.

when sam shuts the car door, you’re on him in a second, pouncing like a cat onto his lips. he melts instantly into your taste, like every plan and course of action he thought to distract you vanishes from his mind. his large hand comes to cup your cheek, soft under his calloused touch, and you’re moaning at the sensation of his fingers tangling in your hair.

sam pulls from you just slightly to murmur, “you beat me to it.”

his voice, husky with desire, has you squirming in the rough leather seats, aching for his touch to cover you everywhere, and you feel giddy knowing it will, “how else am i supposed to celebrate my birthday?”

a warm chuckle breathes past his lips, swollen and pink, “i thought you didn’t wanna celebrate it?”

you smirk, moving to place chaste kisses along his jaw and down the veins of his neck, eliciting a sultry laugh from him that makes you never want to stop, “i think i can allow this.”

“think or know?” he teases, savoring the pleasure building in his body, fueling a fire only you know how to control, how to burn hotter.

sam’s hands grip your waist at the sensation of your mouth trailing across his skin. with your nose buried in the crook between his shoulder, you smell the fresh soap, old lore books, and something spicy like aftershave as it fills your brain like fog. he rests his cheek on the crown of your head, reveling in your lips for another moment before he’s gently laying you down in the backseat, your legs spreading like muscle memory as he nestles between them.

his fingers slowly hike the white sundress you’re wearing up your legs, making sure to just barely graze your thighs. wetness starts to pool in your center as he recaptures your mouth on his, heavy breaths and gasping moans as his hands trail higher up your body beginning to fill the impala.

“will dean be mad?” you mumble against him, eyes closed in bliss as he palms one of your breasts, “—that we’re doing it in his baby?”

sam laughs mischievously, knowing damn right what the answer is but at this point, you’re both too far gone to stop, and the bulge pressed against your inner thigh, just missing where it needs to be, confirms that for you.

“he won’t mind,” he says, sighing as you start to fumble with the buttons on his shirt, revealing his taut abs and broad chest, adorned with the anti possession tattoo that has your mouth watering.

“oh, he won’t, will he?” you help him shrug the rest of his shirt off while he un-patiently starts to tug your panties down, “pretty, right?”

“so pretty,” he smiles, but tosses them to the side like they’re nothing but a useless barrier between him and the paradise between your legs that’s his, catching them on the steering wheel,“and no, he won’t mind.”

before you can protest again, he’s delving into your pussy, slick and warm with your primal need for him. his tongue moves in agonizing circles up and down your folds, making you writhe and grip his soft locks in your hands to keep you grounded to earth.

but when he sucks your clit past his lips, you’re sure you see heaven.

“sam!” you shriek, bucking your hips into his face as his chin dampens. you feel his smirk against you, he can taste the way you fall apart, but the pressure doesn’t let up.

“mmm, taste’s so good,” he mumbles drunkenly, fingers pressing imprints into your thighs as he holds them down beside his head.

you throw your head back against the back window, trying to ignore the little voice in your head yelling, “you’re in a motel parking lot and anyone can see you if they just—” but the white hot pleasure that explodes from your body as he flicks his tongue right there removes any thoughts other than your need to have him inside you, to give you something to clench around as you jolt and ache.

his name falls from you like a prayer, one he answers faster than god as his pants are off and boxers pulled down before you can even open your eyes.

you manage to get a glimpse of him as he pumps himself a few times, the length you’ve taken oh so many times now a gift that seems too perfect for such a meaningless birthday. but when he pushes into you, hot, sweaty, skin against yours, it’s hard to see how you can’t celebrate the day after this.

“god, yes,” you moan into his ear when he leans down, chest against yours to be as low under the window as possible.

his eyes clench shut in pleasure, “fuck, you f-feel so good,” he sputters, because all he can focus on is the way you’re squeezing him.

sam moves like he was made to fit in you, hitting that spot inside you everytime that has you see stars. even now, as he struggles against the urge to drive into you so hard your legs will need days to recover, he’s gentle, soft, as he stretches and kisses and worships.

the impala shakes and rocks underneath you, and you’re sure if it wasn’t 9:00pm on a tuesday, you’d probably be caught by now; windows fogging and the occasional pop up of sam’s hair through the glass when he lifts up to watch himself disappear in you because he just can’t help it. he throbs at the sight and you feel it deep in your core, pressing your climax faster.

“‘mmm, best b-birthday ever—” you mumble, your words harshly cut with a whiny moan when sam’s idle fingers come to toy with your clit, “jesus christ!”

“not quite,” he gasps a laugh, “oh, fuck,”

your vision blanks. the coil snaps. pussy squeezes so tight sam can barely move.

and the impala seats? soaked.

sam follows close behind, hips stuttering, soft lips parted all the way as your name slips off his tongue, dripping with the taste of you. you swallow his moan, his whine, as he fills you, still pumping through both your highs.

your pussy leaks his warmth. you catch him staring.

“make sure it doesn’t get on the seat!” you worry, starting to sober up.

you can tell he isn’t all the way back to earth, so he drunkenly smiles, “i think we’re past that point, baby.”

as you fix the straps of your dress, sam reaches behind the seat for a rag to wipe the leather, probably the cloth dean keeps in the car in case of oil spills or, well, this.

your legs shake as you step out of the impala, suddenly feeling overexposed and like everyone in the motel was watching somehow. sam’s throws his clothes on, his princess hair barely fixed with puffed lips that match yours.

you try to catch your breath as the wind whispers against your sticky skin, “think dean’s done decorating the room?”

sam’s eyebrows furrow for a moment before lifting them in realization, mind blanking, “u-um, how did you—”

“kinda hard to keep a secret when you both talk so loud,” you nudge his shoulder playfully, unusual butterflies spreading through your stomach as you anticipate the surprise waiting for you inside, “it was a good effort, though.”

“and that’s why you—” jumped my bones, he wants to say, but he knows you know already, “i’m gonna get you,” he promises, grinning crooked at the way you outplayed them, “your next birthday, the surprise is mine.”

“sure, sammy,” you wink, fishing the key out of his back pocket before unlocking the door.

as if on cue, dean, who is by the bedside lamp, flicks it on to expel the darkness and reveal an unevenly hung HAPPY BIRTHDAY sign in holographic letters strung up on the wall above the beds, stuck messily with duct tape. there’s a mixtape on the duvet with birthday girl’s birthday mix written on the top, paired with a dollar store bow dean’s slapped on, and a few books stacked together that you can only assume is sam’s gift.

the cake on the end table, with messy chocolate icing that’s also all over dean’s fingers, is what sends tears teasing your waterline.

“surprise!” he shouts, waving his hands in the air.

sam shakes his hand against his throat, mouthing, ‘she knows’ behind you.

dean narrows his eyes at his brother, rolling them and throwing his arms up, “really, sam? you couldn’t even keep the surprise?”

that forces a watery laugh out of you, cheeks flushed and heart warm, “it’s fine, it’s fine, dean, this is—”

“awesome, right?” he finishes, that shit eating grin right back where it belongs on his scruffy face.

“yeah,” you agree, instinctively leaning against sam’s chest, “it’s awesome.”

sam’s hands come tight on your forearms, rubbing gently to soothe the emotions he knows you’re trying to bite back. your lip wobbles between your teeth as dean reaches for the cake.

“maybe i could get behind none of that gross birthday special pancake crap,” he hands you the cake, which is resting on a flimsy paper plate while he fishes for the lighter in his pocket, “but no candles and cake? sweetheart, that’s just unacceptable.”

dean reaches to switch the lamp back off, the room consumed in pitch black again, save for the moonlight emitting little light through the dingy curtains. the small, orange flame stemming from his lighter illuminates all three of your faces as he burns the tip of the pink candle, mumbling a ‘there we go’ as he flicks the lighter back off.

“make a wish,” sam says softly as he stands behind you.

you shut your eyes, make your wish, and blow.

dean starts to clap. sam’s touch is grounding.

“happy birthday, baby,” he murmurs in your ear, just for you.

when the lights come back on, and dean uses a machete to cut the cake, he notices sam trying to fix the lopsided buttons on his shirt, that was very hastily thrown back on.

what you didn’t realize he’s also looking at, is the medium sized hickey on sam’s neck.

“soooo,” dean starts, trying not to make his starting obvious, “i thought she was the only one supposed to get presents today.”

sam’s forehead creases. you look up from the cake you're actively stuffing in your face.

“what do you—” sam follows dean’s finger to the mirror, where the purple bruise you gifted him rests tenderly on his soft skin, “oh.”

dean chuckles, shaking his head in contempt, “what kinda distraction did you give her?”

sam’s too flustered to speak, so you swallow the smooth chocolatey goodness down your throat and answer for him.

“a big distraction.”

let’s just say you and sam weren’t allowed near the impala by yourselves for a long time.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ tags ↬ @h8aaz , @sacr1ficialang3l <33

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ sam winchester masterlist !

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thepencilnerd · 9 months ago

Text

take a slice

Summary: No one could imagine a more cunning or manipulative player than Shuntaro Chishiya—until he meets you. complete fic on my ao3 here <3 Word Count: 3.8k Contains: Depictions of violence, unresolved sexual tension, emotional constipation

A/N: because I binge-watched Alice In Borderland in the span of two days and I am very late to the party (but never too late for self-indulgent fan service)

Chishiya spots you across the same floor, your black silhouette nearly lost in the shadows of the night. It’s only your movement that catches his attention, the dark outerwear a sharp contrast to his bright white jacket. You and he are the only players scouting from this vantage point, watching from above while the chaos brews below.

The night is eerily quiet—the calm before the storm, as they say. Your gaze locks onto his, and for a moment, time seems to freeze. Chishiya feels his heartbeat falter, a fleeting hitch he quickly tamps down.

Before he can fully process it, you’ve already vanished around a corner, just as a rain of bullets peppers the area behind you.

A boy’s voice echoes from below, frantic. "The only way to clear this game is to work together!"

Bullshit , you think.

There must be a reason behind the attacker's anchoring position, Chishiya muses.

Of course.

When you finally make your way to the safe room, you’re welcomed by four unfamiliar figures: the spree-killing horse, the brunette boy from earlier, a girl with a bob, and the blonde.

Chishiya strikes swiftly, the crackle of his taser breaking the stillness. The masked attacker crumples to the floor, their face hitting the ground with a muffled thud. You waste no time, stomping down hard on their wrist, sending the gun skittering from their hand. Before they can recover, you grab the weapon and fire a single round into the crown of their skull.

When you glance up, you catch the faintest trace of a smirk ghosting across the blonde’s face, but it’s gone just as quickly.

In the seconds that follow, the two other players in the room hastily slam their hands on the red buttons lining the walls.

GAME COMPLETE. CONGRATULATIONS WINNERS.

Turning around, a pair of wide eyes greets you.

“Thank you,” the boy finally speaks, addressing you and the blonde in a shaky voice.

You respond with a nod, glancing over at the girl and seeing her return the acknowledgement.

“Don’t mention it.” The blonde’s condescending tone from behind you is paralleled only by his burning gaze, locking onto you immediately. He almost misses seeing you slip something from the dead body into your pocket.

You feel his focus linger on you as you leave the room.

The night air is thick with tension, the distant cries from nearby arenas only amplifying the silence with each footstep behind you. You don’t bother turning around; you already know who it is.

Chishiya steps into your peripheral vision, his pace unhurried, like a cat stalking in the shadows. The forest buzzes with the threat of unseen dangers, but all his attention is locked on you.

"You didn’t have to kill him," he says, his voice casual, almost amused, as though discussing the weather.

You don’t stop walking. "You didn’t stop me."

A quiet chuckle escapes him, barely more than a breath. "True." His tone remains light, but there’s an edge beneath it, like he’s testing you, challenging you. "Still, you’ve got a certain efficiency. Impressive."

Your expression stays neutral. And yet, Chishiya’s presence beside you stirs something strange—a shared awareness, as if you’re both circling an invisible boundary neither of you are quite ready to cross—yet.

"You took something," he says, breaking the silence again, his voice calm but probing. His gaze stays forward, unreadable. "From the body."

You glance at him briefly, just enough to meet his eyes, which glint with curiosity under the moonlight. He’s trying to figure you out.

"And what if I did?" There’s a challenge in your voice now.

Chishiya’s smirk returns, faint but unmistakable. "Nothing. For now."

The tension between you tightens, pulling you closer in the silence. The game isn’t over. Not between the two of you.

As you continue walking, he trails behind, but soon loses sight of you in the dense trees. Shadows shift, swallowing you whole. He barely has time to catch his breath before a sudden force slams him to the ground, knocking the wind from his lungs. The disturbed soil and decaying leaves soften his fall, but his back still hits the earth with a solid thud.

Your knee digs sharply into his sternum, pinning him down. One hand tightens around his throat, not enough to choke him but enough to strain his breath. The cold, unforgiving edge of a blade presses against his cheek—a silent threat.

Chishiya’s indifferent expression makes your skin crawl, yet his stoic, unflinching gaze cuts through the moment like a dagger—piercing both hot and cold at once. Neither of you speak. It’s a game of cat and cat, both of you testing the other's resolve in this tense, silent standoff.

For a fleeting moment, he wonders if you can read each other’s thoughts.

You feel him gulp beneath your hand, his pulse quickening under your fingers. Both of his hands remain raised in surrender by his ears, calm, unwavering, and empty of any weapon or defense. His eyes flicker to the deep scar on your neck, lingering there for just a moment.

The air between you thickens. What feels like minutes pass in the span of heartbeats.

Without warning, you spring up and disappear into the night.

Chishiya stays on the ground for a moment, catching his breath. He sits up slowly, eyes tracing the path you took into the darkness. His chest rises and falls unevenly, the phantom cold of the blade still lingering on his skin. Silence wraps around him like a fog, but his pulse betrays him—racing, driven by more than just adrenaline.

For the first time in longer than he can remember, he feels something—a strange tug deep in his core, like something vital slipped away the moment you left. A curiosity stirs, mingling with the remnants of tension, a silent acknowledgment that this game isn’t over.

It’s only just begun.

Chishiya’s lips twitch into a faint smirk. Your piercing gaze and the scar on your neck are seared into his mind. He knows he’ll see you again. And next time, he won’t be caught off guard.

“You look like you have something on your mind.”

Kuina sits down across from Chishiya, her curiosity piqued as she watches him stare off into the distance. The evening air is still, a rare calmness settling over the Beach after a chaotic night.

Chishiya leans back, crossing his arms, a faint hum escaping his lips. “Just an interesting game tonight,” he replies casually, but there’s a lingering spark in his gaze that betrays more.

Kuina raises an eyebrow. “Must’ve been some game, then.”

“Perhaps,” Chishiya says, his voice smooth and unhurried. The rush of endorphins from the near-death experience still thrums faintly through his veins.

The cause? A player whose actions were as cunning and unpredictable as his own. The thrill of narrowing down their motivations felt like a puzzle finally worth solving.

His mind drifts back to the game, replaying each moment like scenes in a movie. The chaos, the desperate shouts, and the blaring alarms all felt distant—mere background noise compared to the razor-sharp focus he'd found himself drawn to. That focus was centered on one person.

You had been an anomaly from the start. There was a precision in the way you moved, calculated and unfazed by the panic unraveling around you. It was as if you thrived on the chaos, embraced it even, letting it fuel each step you took. While the other players were scrambling to find shelter or allies, you seemed to anticipate every move, predicting the patterns before they even unfolded.

And then, the moment that had truly hooked him: the kill. Cold, efficient, and executed without a trace of hesitation. You weren’t just surviving; you were playing the game in its purest form—adapting, evolving, always a step ahead. There was no hesitation in your actions, no unnecessary flourish—just the unyielding will to end a threat. It wasn’t just about self-preservation; it was about winning. And that’s what made you different.

Chishiya’s curiosity flared the instant your eyes met his in the aftermath. For the briefest moment, he’d seen a flicker of something—recognition, maybe even a hint of challenge. Like you were silently asking him if he had what it took to keep up.

It was absurd, really, to feel anything in the Borderlands beyond the mechanical urge to survive. But something had shifted tonight. For the first time in what felt like forever, the game had become more than a series of calculated risks and rewards: it had become interesting.

Chishiya’s gaze shifts back to the window where lights scatter the sky. His fingers tap idly on the armrest of his chair, a rhythm betraying the restlessness he tries to mask. He’s always prided himself on being detached, keeping emotions and sentiment far from his calculations. Yet here he is, preoccupied with thoughts that don't have a place in his carefully constructed logic.

"You're quiet," Kuina observes, her tone carrying a hint of amusement. "More than usual, I mean."

Chishiya’s smirk is faint, barely there. “Am I?”

She shrugs, leaning back in her seat. “You’ve been lost in your own head since you got back.”

Chishiya’s expression doesn’t falter, but there’s a slight shift in his demeanor—a barely perceptible sign of vulnerability, quickly smoothed over. “Maybe I’m just considering... possibilities,” he replies, the words coming slower than usual, as if he’s testing how they sound.

Kuina’s eyes narrow thoughtfully. “Possibilities, huh?” She tilts her head, studying him. “That’s one way of putting it. Or maybe… a person?”

Chishiya’s silence is uncharacteristic. He feels the pull to dismiss the notion immediately, to scoff at the idea of being distracted by a person, much less affected by them. But instead, he pauses. It’s enough for Kuina to catch on, her curiosity piqued.

“Interesting,” she murmurs, a teasing smile curling on her lips. “You’re actually thinking about someone, aren’t you?” When he doesn’t respond, she presses further. “It’s a girl, right? Did she do something to catch your eye?”

Chishiya finally meets her gaze, his own guarded but not entirely dismissive. “She’s... unusual,” he admits, the words coming out almost reluctantly. “Not like the others.”

Kuina arches an eyebrow. “Unusual how? Smart? Dangerous?”

“Both,” he replies without hesitation. “Efficient, focused. But there’s something else.” He uncrosses his arms, feeling oddly exposed, as though admitting to these thoughts makes them more real, more tangible. “It’s like she’s not playing the same game as the rest of them.”

Kuina studies him for a moment, then lets out a soft laugh. “You’ve got it bad,” she says, shaking her head. “I never thought I’d see the day you’d be drawn to someone for more than their utility.”

He scoffs, a ghost of his usual arrogance returning. “Don’t get carried away. I’m only interested because she might be useful.”

“Sure,” Kuina says with a knowing grin. “Keep telling yourself that.”

Chishiya falls silent again, but the truth gnaws at him. He knows it’s more than just her utility in the grand scheme of escaping this hellhole. It’s the way she challenges him—forces him to reevaluate his strategies and makes him wonder if there’s more to this game than just surviving.

He hates how that thought clings to him, even as he tries to push it away.

Chishiya shifts in his chair, feeling a dull ache radiate from his chest. He’s been operating on a different level since encountering you, and the physical reminder feels almost like an anchor to what he’s been trying to navigate.

He glances at Kuina, who’s still watching him with an amused expression, still probing. “You look like you’re plotting something.”

“Just considering my next move,” he replies, a hint of a smirk returning to his lips. “The game is full of variables, and I need to prepare for them.”

“Variables, huh? Is that what you call her now?” Kuina teases, leaning forward, her elbows resting on the table.

“Focus,” he snaps lightly, but there’s no real heat in his voice. Instead, his mind races ahead to the next game, and how he can draw you in, maybe even observe you more closely. He’s already picturing the scenarios—the players, the setting, the stakes.

What he really wants is a way to see you again. To understand the force that pulls him toward you, the complexity that makes you more than just another player. The anticipation churns within him, exciting yet unnerving.

“What if I made a move to recruit her?” he muses aloud, considering the prospect. “She could be an asset. If she operates outside the norm, that could change the dynamics of our strategies.”

“Or it could blow up in your face,” Kuina counters, her tone light but her gaze serious. “You’re not exactly known for your emotionality, Chishiya. What if she doesn’t want to play?”

“Doesn’t matter,” he replies, brushing off her concern. “I’ll figure it out. I always do.”

But the truth is, he knows that this isn’t merely about the game anymore. It’s about the way you make him feel—like a player in a game he thought he understood, now suddenly complex and exhilarating. Chishiya can’t shake the thought that if he wants to unlock the potential you represent, he’ll have to make a move soon.

He allows himself a moment of vulnerability, resting his chin on his hand as he reflects. “What if I want to see her again, Kuina? What if it’s not just about strategy anymore?”

Kuina’s eyes widen, clearly surprised by his admission. “Wow. You’re actually admitting you care.”

Chishiya rolls his eyes but can’t help the smirk tugging at his lips. “Don’t get carried away.”

“Sure,” she says, leaning back with a satisfied grin. “Just remember, sometimes the best strategies are the ones that come from the heart.”

With that, Chishiya’s mind drifts again, calculating and assessing. He’ll be ready for the next game. He’ll be prepared to take any risk to find you again, to unravel the mystery of what you truly are: a partner, a rival, or perhaps something more. As the night draws to a close, the shadows deepen, but a flicker of determination ignites within him.

He will see you again.

A few days have passed since the last game, but the adrenaline still courses through your veins, lingering like a ghost. You survived, but the victory feels hollow, overshadowed by the memory of the indifferent blonde boy who’s drawn you in more than you care to admit.

Your thoughts drift back to that game—its intensity still vivid in your mind. It was like no other you’d experienced, where survival felt more like a dance with death than a struggle against it. And he was at the center of it, moving through the chaos with a calculated grace that caught your attention long before you understood why.

It wasn’t just that he was calm under pressure. Plenty of players had nerves of steel. It was his indifference, the way he seemed detached from the dangers around him, as though nothing could touch him. Where others flinched or panicked, he merely observed, as if the unfolding chaos was a puzzle to solve rather than a life-or-death situation. That kind of control was rare in the Borderlands, and in some strange way, it felt like a dare, an unspoken challenge that made you want to test him, to see if there was anything that could shatter that composure.

You remember the moment you locked eyes across the chaos, the way the world seemed to fade into the background. It was brief, but in that instant, it felt like a silent conversation—an understanding that went beyond words. There was something sharp in his gaze, a spark of curiosity that mirrored your own. It was as if he was evaluating you, sizing you up just as you were doing to him. For a fleeting moment, you wondered if you were seeing a part of yourself reflected back in those cold, calculating eyes.

But it wasn’t just his composure or his gaze that drew you in. It was the way he acted in those crucial seconds when lives hung in the balance. While others scrambled to save themselves, he made moves that seemed almost playful, like he was toying with the danger rather than simply evading it. There was a thrill in watching him maneuver through the madness with an ease that bordered on arrogance, as though he was always three steps ahead of everyone else—including you.

And then there was the moment when the game ended. You had both survived, of course, but there was something in the way he looked at you afterward, something that lingered, a faint smirk that hinted he had seen more than you’d intended to reveal. It wasn’t pity; it was as if he recognized a kindred spirit, someone who understood the game on a different level. For the first time in what felt like ages, you felt truly seen.

That feeling unsettles you even now, as you sit by the fire, staring into the flames. It’s not that you seek validation in the Borderlands; you’ve learned long ago that the only approval that matters is your own. But there’s something about his quiet confidence, the way he seemed to acknowledge you without saying a word, that’s hard to shake. It makes you wonder if he was as unaffected as he appeared or if there was more beneath the surface, something hidden behind that cool exterior.

You clench your jaw, frustrated with yourself for even thinking about him this much. He was just another player—albeit a skilled one—and you’ve dealt with plenty of them before. But there’s a part of you that can’t ignore the way his presence lingers, like a splinter in your mind, a question that refuses to be answered.

Why did he make such an impression on you? Was it his composure, his intelligence, or the quiet thrill of crossing paths with someone who didn’t play by the same rules as everyone else? Or was it the way he seemed to see you in return, as if you were more than just a piece on the board?

You realize that you don’t know the answers—and perhaps that’s what’s most intriguing of all. There’s an unfinished quality to your last encounter, a feeling that your story with him isn’t over yet. It’s as if the game itself has drawn a line between you, daring you to cross it again.

You shake your head, trying to dismiss the thoughts that have become stubborn visitors in your mind. Why does he occupy your thoughts so much? Is it his calm indifference, the way he moved with calculated grace? Or is it something more that stirs a curiosity you can’t quite define?

Pushing the thoughts aside, you focus on your routine, an independent existence in the Borderlands, where survival means mastering skills few have the patience to learn. You've carved out a small camp nestled within the trees, camouflaged by foliage, a sanctuary of sorts amidst the chaos.

Every morning, you rise before dawn, the cool air biting at your skin as you check your traps. The gentle sounds of the forest waking around you are a familiar symphony, one you find solace in. You harvest small game—rabbits, birds, whatever you can catch—and meticulously prepare them, savoring the simple act of cooking over a small fire.

Hunting and foraging have become second nature. You collect wild herbs and edible plants, storing them in makeshift pouches crafted from scavenged materials. Each successful hunt reminds you of your resilience and strength.

But even as you focus on these tasks, your mind drifts back to him—the blonde boy from the game. The way his piercing gaze seemed to see right through you, as if he was calculating your every move. It’s unsettling yet exhilarating, a contradiction you can’t wrap your head around.

The sun climbs higher, and you take a break from your chores to wash your hands in a nearby stream, the water refreshing against your skin. As you splash your face, you catch your reflection in the rippling surface, a mix of determination and uncertainty staring back at you.

You spend the afternoon working on camp, reinforcing the makeshift walls and clearing away debris that threatens your space. But even as you work to distract yourself, you can almost feel his presence lurking at the edge of your thoughts, his smirk dancing on your mind like a memory that refuses to fade.

Eventually, you settle on a log outside your camp, a piece of driftwood you dragged from the riverbank. Pulling out your small notebook, you begin to sketch the maps of the Borderlands, noting down resources and potential hideouts. It’s practical, a way to keep your mind sharp, but each mark on the page feels like a tether to the games, to the players who dance around you like shadows.

You reach into your pocket and pull out the small, crumpled piece of paper you took from the body during the game. You’ve looked at it countless times since then, trying to make sense of the chaotic scribbles. It’s a series of numbers and symbols—coordinates, perhaps, or some kind of code. Whatever it is, it’s not immediately clear, and that only deepens your curiosity.

You flatten the paper against the rough surface of the log, comparing it with your sketches. Could it be a location in the Borderlands? A clue to something hidden or an upcoming game? The patterns don’t align with any familiar maps, but something about the markings feels deliberate, as though there’s a message buried within them. You trace the lines with your finger, committing them to memory, trying to see what the original owner had seen. What was so important that they’d die with it?

Your mind drifts back to the moment you took it. The blonde boy’s eyes had flickered towards you—just for a heartbeat—when you pocketed the paper. Did he know what it meant, or had he noticed the same curiosity in you that you now feel?

As you draw, memories of the game resurface: his calculated moves, his indifferent demeanor, and the strange thrill of standing against him. There’s something magnetic about his presence, something that both fascinates and frustrates you.

In the fading light of dusk, you close your eyes for a moment, letting the sounds of the forest wash over you. The call of distant birds, the rustle of branches—each note a reminder that you’re alive, that you’re here, navigating a world filled with peril and unpredictability. But still, the thought lingers. Will your paths cross in the next game, or will you remain a ghost in his memory?

With a sigh, you shake your head and return to your sketches, determination settling in your chest. It doesn’t matter. Yet, in the depths of your mind, a part of you yearns for that inevitable meeting, that chance to unravel the enigma that is the blonde boy.

As darkness settles over the forest, you tuck your notebook away, the images of your maps a promise of the journey ahead. Tomorrow will bring new challenges, new games to navigate. And if fate has its way, perhaps it will also bring him back into your orbit once more.

#alice in borderland #chishiya shuntaro #chishiya x reader #chishiya alice in borderland #chishiya x you #chishiya imagine #alice in borderland x reader #im alive #aib chishiya #aib x reader #aib imagine #nijiro murakami #chishiya smut #alice in borderland imagine #alice in borderland smut

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wolvietxt · 8 months ago

Text

𝓐 LITTLE 𝓣ROUBLE !

pairing : logan howlett x reader warnings : playfighting, shy!reader, fluff, suggestive wc : 1k

logan was in the middle of his morning workout, arms flexing as he lifted weights with ease, focused but casual. you leaned against the doorway, watching him, too amused by his intensity to interrupt.

he was totally absorbed, until he finally looked up and caught sight of you. a grin spread across his face as he set the weights down, wiping his hands on his shirt, and gave you a playful nod.

“you just here to stare, or are you gonna jump in?” he teased, voice warm and edged with a hint of challenge.

you felt your cheeks warm, caught in the act. “ i like watching.”

logan’s brow lifted, eyes glinting with amusement as he folded his arms and stepped closer, towering over you. “oh yeah?” he asked, the corner of his mouth tugging up. “think you could take me in a fight, too?”

you gave a shy laugh, shaking your head quickly. “not a chance,” you mumbled.

he tilted his head, looking at you like you’d just said something that couldn’t be true. “c’mon, what kinda attitude is that? all this time together, and you don’t think you could even throw me off a little?” he gave your shoulder a playful nudge, his smirk growing. “think you’re stronger than you know, sweetheart.”

“well, that’s not sayin’ much,” you shot back with a grin, “when you’re, y’know, you.”

he chuckled lowly, taking a step back and lifting his hands, palms up in mock surrender. “alright, then,” he said, voice warm and daring. “here’s your shot - go on, i’ll even give you the first swing. no claws, scout’s honor.”

you let out a shy laugh, ducking your head. “i don’t think i could reach even if i tried,” you murmured, feeling a little bolder but not quite enough to make a move.

logan’s grin widened. “that sounds like a challenge.”

before you could react, he lunged toward you, arms reaching, and you yelped in surprise, darting to the side with a laugh. but he was fast, one arm curling around your waist and pulling you to him with an ease that made your stomach flip.

“not bad,” he murmured, a rumble of laughter vibrating in his chest as he held you close. “but i think i gotcha.”

you laughed, cheeks warm as you looked up at him. “that wasn’t fair,” you protested softly, breathless as you met his eyes.

“fair?” he raised a brow, pulling you just a little closer. “this is a fight, darlin’. fair’s got nothin’ to do with it.” there was a spark of challenge in his eyes, but something softer, too. “still think you can take me?”

your breath hitched, but you kept up the banter, reaching up to give him a light shove against his chest. “maybe,” you said, trying not to smile too much as his hand stayed steady on your waist.

logan laughed, loosening his grip just enough for you to wiggle free. you took the opportunity to dart out of his reach, but he was right on you in seconds, his hand catching yours as he pulled you back into him, closer than before.

“oh, you’re not goin’ anywhere now,” he said, his voice lower, a grin tugging at his lips as he tilted his head, his nose brushing against yours. “got yourself into this.”

you swallowed, pulse racing at the intensity of his gaze. “maybe i did,” you murmured, feeling his hand press firmly at your waist.

logan’s grin softened as he looked at you, his eyes dipping to your lips. “you’re enjoyin’ this a lot more than you’re lettin’ on,” he murmured, voice teasing, but the warmth in his gaze gave him away. “admit it - you like a little trouble.”

you felt a shy smile creep onto your face. “depends on the kind of trouble,” you whispered, the playfulness in your tone giving way to something more as he leaned in.

logan’s smirk faded, replaced by a slow, deliberate look. “think we both know exactly what kind,” he said, his voice a low murmur as he lowered his head, lips barely brushing yours. the touch was just enough to leave you breathless, and when he finally closed the distance, the kiss was slow, filled with the playful tension that had been building between you.

his hands found your waist again, steady but firm as he pulled you closer, deepening the kiss until you melted against him, fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt. his warmth surrounded you, and for a moment, everything else disappeared.

when he finally pulled back, he kept you close, his forehead resting against yours as he looked at you, a mischievous gleam still in his eyes. “still think you can take me?”

you gave a soft, breathless laugh, shaking your head. “maybe not today.”

“thought so,” he murmured, his hands sliding to your lower back as he pressed another lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth. “but if you’re still feelin’ up to it…” his voice dropped, the look he gave you sending a thrill through you, “i’m not goin’ anywhere.”

you laughed, feeling bolder now, and reached up to brush a hand over his jaw. “careful. might end up givin’ you more trouble than you bargained for.”

“trust me,” he murmured, lips grazing your jaw, voice low and rough against your skin, “that’s the plan.”

logan howlett : @notacleangirl, @v3lv3tf0x, @dugiioh, @whxtewolf, @rooroen

@lemoanaid, @correnz, @coocoocachewgotscrewed, @ohmystvrk, @y08h

@lovely-liliacs, @california-boys-and-sun

taglist form linked in pinned post!

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rafedarling · 3 months ago

Text

𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐜𝐞

pairing: dad!drew starkey x mom!reader

summary: drew returns home from dropping rustyn off, finding you nursing lola. he expresses curiosity about the taste of your milk and asks to try some straight from your breast.

warning(s): english is not my native language. contains a breastfeeding scene with a romantic undertone, it has mild intimacy, minor dni.

au: like, reblog and feedback are much appreciated. discussion can be send through my ask box, please feel free to send in anything. ⭐️ taglist | tagging: @rubixgsworld @rafeyslamb @bisexualcvnt @tracymbcm @maybankslover @anamiad00msday @stuffyownswrld @httpsdrewstarkey @mileyraes @enjoymyloves @akobx @noobmazter69 @victwrvale @xoxohoneymoongirl @xoxosblogsblog @wearemadeofstardust0 @saviorcomplexrry @percysley @littlelamy @winniemoe @emberaurora @issabellec7 @alexxavicry @rafestoothbrush

Curled up in the rocking chair by the window, sweatshirt pulled halfway up, baby Lola nestled against you with one hand balled on your chest, suckling peacefully.

It was one of those rare, quiet mornings. No cereal spilled on the floor. No race to find Rustyn’s missing left shoe. Just you, your baby girl, and a moment of calm.

Then the front door creaked open.

“Babe?”

Drew’s voice echoed gently through the hallway.

“Rusty says he forgot to brush his teeth, but I told him it builds character.”

You laughed softly, careful not to jostle Lola.

“My god, Drew you’re the worst.”

He stepped into the room and paused mid-stride.

You could feel it the moment his eyes landed on you. The warmth in his gaze.

“You know,” he said slowly, hands in his hoodie pockets, “you look so damn good like that.”

You raised a brow.

“Leaking milk and all?”

“Especially leaking milk,”

He grinned, walking over and crouching next to the rocking chair.

“There’s something seriously sexy about you like this.”

“You’re so weird.”

“Am I though?” His tone dropped a bit, teasing.

“I was thinking… maybe I could have a taste.”

Your jaw dropped in mock offense.

“Drew Starkey.”

He raised his hands in defense, eyes twinkling.

“What? I’ve done it before.”

You gave him a look. “You gagged.”

“Okay, I gagged once. But my palate’s matured. I’m a changed man.”

“Oh really?” you smirked.

“A milk connoisseur now?”

“Exactly. Think of it like a wine tasting. ‘Hints of honey, slight almond finish…’” he pretended to swirl a glass and sniff it dramatically.

You laughed, shaking your head.

“You’re out of your mind.”

“But you love it,” he whispered, leaning closer.

You bit your lip, eyeing him playfully.

“Fine. But you’re not getting it directly from the tap.”

“I could use a cup,” he offered, but his grin said otherwise.

“Thought so,”

You teased, reaching for the pump and prepping a small portion into one of Lola’s bottles. You handed it to him, raising an eyebrow.

“Behold, vintage 2025.”

He took the bottle, looked at it… and immediately handed it back.

“Nope. Doesn’t feel right.”

You rolled your eyes.

“What now?”

He shifted closer, voice low and eyes mischievous.

“It just feels… sterile. If I’m gonna do this, I want the real experience, I mean straight from the source.”

“You mean you want to nurse.”

“Not nurse! Just… taste. In a very manly, experimental way.”

You tried to keep a straight face.

“You want a little sip from Mommy?”

Drew groaned.

“Don’t say it like that, now I’m nervous.”

You giggled, setting the bottle aside.

“You sure? You flinch and I swear-”

“Scout’s honor.”

Lola had finished by then, little lips pursed in sleep, her body warm and limp in your arms. You adjusted your sweatshirt, gently laid her down in the bassinet, and turned back to Drew who was already halfway in your lap.

“You’re really committing to this, huh?”

You murmured, brushing your fingers through his hair.

“Anything for love. And science,” he whispered.

You offered yourself to him, half amused, half endeared. He leaned in, kissed your skin first, slow, soft, reverent then took a small sip.

A beat.

Another.

Then he pulled back with wide eyes.

“…Okay,” he whispered.

“That’s actually kind of amazing?”

You blinked. “Really?”

He nodded. “Sweeter than I remembered. Like warm vanilla oat milk.”

You laughed. “Now you’re just flattering me.”

“Maybe,”

He said, climbing onto the chair and pulling you into his lap instead.

“But you’re kinda magic, you know that?”

You nestled into his chest, your head tucked beneath his chin, both of you watching Lola’s tiny chest rise and fall in the bassinet.

“You know,” you whispered,

“If you start crying during a Starbucks order because they’re out of oat milk, I’m cutting you off.”

He chuckled, kissing the top of your head.

“Deal.”

#drew starkey #drew starkey imagine #drew starkey imagines #drew starkey x y/n #drew starkey x you #drew starkey fluff #drew starkey fanfiction #drew starkey fanfic #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey smut #with drew #drew x reader #drew starkey one shot #dad!drew starkey x mom!you #dad!drew starkey x fem!reader #dad!drew starkey x mom!reader #dad!drew starkey x reader #dad!drew starkey

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riddlesrizzler · 2 months ago

Text

Charlotte's Web

summary: You have been my friend, replied Charlotte. That in itself is a tremendous thing. characters: mattheo riddle. shy! ravenclaw! reader. mentions of slytherin boys. warnings: mentions of a previous hookup word count: 2.8k

Mattheo Riddle was not a reader.

At least, not until you.

Now, he found himself lingering in the library far more than he ever had before-haunting its aisles like a restless ghost, drawn again and again to the one place he used to avoid. He wasn’t sure when the shift had happened. It had started with The Great Gatsby, sure. But somewhere between flipping its final page and catching your startled smile in the courtyard, something else had taken root.

A curiosity. A pull. A want.

And then came the question-the one he hadn’t even meant to ask until it was already tumbling from his lips.

“What else should I read?”

You had blinked at him, wide-eyed, as though he’d asked you to recite ancient runes backward in Latin. For a second, he thought you might just bolt again.

“You… want a recommendation?” you said slowly, like you weren’t entirely convinced you’d heard him right.

Mattheo smirked, amused by your hesitation. “Yeah. Or do you just hoard all the good books for yourself?”

Your frown was faint, more confusion than offense, but you narrowed your eyes like you were trying to figure out if he was serious. And then, without a word, you turned, pulled a book from the stack beside you, and shoved it into his hands.

To Kill a Mockingbird.

He blinked at the cover, lips twitching. “Are you serious?”

You didn’t flinch. You just shrugged, your voice calm, almost daring. “You liked Gatsby. I think you’ll like this.”

And with that, you walked away-leaving him standing there in the middle of the library, staring down at a Muggle book about morality, racism, and childhood.

He almost laughed.

But then… he read it.

—

Three days later, he dropped the book onto the table in front of you with a solid thunk, startling you mid-sentence of your book. A triumphant gleam danced in his eyes as he slid into the seat across from you.

“Atticus Finch is a legend,” he declared, like it was the most obvious truth in the world.

Your head lifted slowly, brows raised. “You finished it?”

Mattheo shrugged, playing it cool. “Didn’t have much else to do.”

A lie, of course. He had essays to write, spells to practice, Slytherin meetings to attend. But none of them held his attention the way those pages had.

The way you did.

You eyed him carefully, like you were still trying to decide if he was being serious. Then your gaze dipped to the book and back up again. “And?”

He grinned. “Scout’s hilarious. But that town? Merlin. I wanted to hex every adult in it.”

That made you laugh-soft and surprised, like it had slipped out before you could stop it. You tilted your head, that familiar spark lighting behind your eyes. “Oh, really? And why is that?”

He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. “Because they were all so deep in their own delusions, they couldn’t see what was right in front of them. Acting like justice was some unreachable dream instead of just… doing the right thing.”

You gave a slow, thoughtful nod, your smile fading into something more sincere. “That’s the point, Mattheo.”

He lifted a brow. “That people are blind idiots?”

You grinned. “Exactly.”

And for a moment-just a moment-there was a stillness between you. Not the awkward kind, but something warmer. Something unspoken. It hung in the air like the scent of old pages and ink, delicate and full of possibility.

He watched you, really watched you, and realized something else entirely.

When you weren’t shrinking from his gaze, when you weren’t buried behind the fortress of your books and quiet deflections-you were brilliant. Witty. Sharp in the way a blade is sharp when you least expect it. Your observations were quick, your insights subtle. You laughed at things no one else noticed.

And Mattheo… he wanted to know what else made you laugh.

—

So, the next day, he found you again.

And the day after that.

Each time, he returned a book. Each time, he asked for another. At first, you’d looked at him like he was playing some elaborate joke. But the more he showed up-sometimes with dog-eared pages and underlined quotes—the more your suspicion began to soften.

You started recommending books with less hesitation.

You started talking more.

Not just about the stories, but about everything-your thoughts, your frustrations, the things that made you ache and dream and wonder. And when you laughed, really laughed, it cracked something open inside him he didn’t even know was locked.

You were a storm disguised as silence.

And Mattheo-who never used to care for pages or plotlines or protagonists-found himself craving your words like spells. Like oxygen.

He wasn’t reading to impress you anymore.

He was reading because through those stories, he was finally getting to know you.

And he liked what he found.

Mattheo had claimed he had never been inside a Ravenclaw dorm before.

But in fact, he had only ever stepped into the tower once-during a hazy, alcohol-fueled night that had ended with him sneaking up the spiral staircase for a quick hookup with someone from a previous party. He’d barely remembered the details of that night, only that the dorm had smelled like freshly brewed tea and ink, and that the dim glow of candles flickered against the towering shelves filled with what seemed like endless books. It had all felt so… soft, so detached from the sharpness and precision of his own house.

But now, as he stepped over the threshold into your dorm, it was different. This time, there was no rushing, no need to keep his guard up. This time, it was just him and you. And as his eyes adjusted to the soft lighting and the comforting scent of parchment and ink, he realized it was exactly how he should have imagined it.

Books. Everywhere.

They were stacked in every corner, lining the walls in neat rows of shelves that reached up toward the vaulted ceiling. Some books were pristine, their covers unmarred by time, while others were worn, the edges of the pages dog-eared and the spines cracked from being read over and over again. You had even left a few books open, as if you were reading multiple at once-a habit Mattheo instantly recognized as uniquely you. He smirked at the sight. Of course you were.

His gaze followed you as you flitted about, completely at ease in your space. It was clear you had found your sanctuary here, among the pages of all these stories, in a place where the rest of the world seemed to fade away.

You turned to him, your eyes shining with excitement, and gestured toward the shelves. “Alright, now you get to see all of them.”

Before he could say anything, you were already moving, pulling a book from its place with the ease of someone who knew exactly where everything belonged. You flipped through the pages, your fingers tracing the edges with such a quiet reverence that Mattheo found himself watching you more intently than the books you were pulling from the shelves.

“This one,” you said, holding up a novel with a deep blue cover. “I read it when I was eleven, and it made me want to read everything.”

He chuckled softly, a teasing glint in his eye. "Let me guess-you read it in one night, didn’t you?"

You shot him a look, but there was no annoyance in it. “Of course I did.”

He laughed, and his chest tightened at the sight of you smiling at the small, shared moment. There was something so undeniably you about it-the way you gave yourself completely to your passions, the way you lit up when you talked about what you loved.

Without missing a beat, you reached for another book, your fingers grazing its spine with a tenderness that made Mattheo’s heart beat just a little faster. “This one,” you said, your voice softer now, “I found in a second-hand shop in Diagon Alley. It had someone else’s notes in the margins, and it made me feel like I was having a conversation with a stranger.”

The way you said it-like the book had touched something deep inside you-left him quiet, his eyes lingering on your face as you drifted from shelf to shelf, pulling out one novel after another and sharing the stories behind each. He didn’t interrupt. He didn’t even move much, letting the sound of your voice fill the space between them, the low murmur of your words wrapping around him like a warm blanket.

This was you, he thought, watching you in your element. Not the girl who ran away every time he tried to talk to her, but the one who was open, honest, and alive with something far more vibrant than he’d ever given you credit for. And just like that, he realized something-he wasn’t just fascinated by you anymore. He was in awe of you.

You finished a story about a book he hadn’t even heard of, and Mattheo found himself standing there, completely still, caught in the quiet magic of the moment.

He wanted to kiss you. Wanted to pull you close and feel the warmth of your smile pressed against his lips.

But instead, he cleared his throat, forcing himself to focus on the present. “Alright,” he said, the smirk returning to his lips, but it was softer now. “What’s the favorite?”

You hesitated for half a second before walking toward a shelf higher up. With a smooth, practiced motion, you slid a well-loved copy of Pride and Prejudice from its place, holding it in front of you like a treasure. The spine was creased, the cover faded in places, and there was a distinct line of wear along the corners.

Mattheo arched a brow, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. “Really?”

You glared at him, but there was affection in it. “It’s perfect,” you said, hugging the book to your chest like a secret you couldn’t wait to share. “It’s about wit and misunderstandings and expectations-and realizing you were completely wrong about someone.”

His smirk softened, the playful teasing giving way to something more thoughtful. “Huh. Never would’ve guessed.”

He made a mental note right then and there-he’d be reading that next.

But before he could say anything more, you were already pulling another book off the shelf. You handed it to him with an almost secretive smile.

“This one’s for you,” you said, her voice gentle but firm.

Mattheo glanced down at the cover, raising an eyebrow at the title. Charlotte’s Web. His frown deepened. “This looks like a children’s book.”

You simply smiled, a knowing look in your eyes. “Just read it.”

Something in the way you said it made Mattheo pause. There was no humor, no teasing in your voice. You genuinely believed he needed to read it-and suddenly, he found himself wanting to, for reasons he couldn’t quite explain.

So, without a word, he tucked the book under his arm.

And in that moment, he knew something was changing between them. This wasn’t just about impressing you anymore, or about reading books to bridge the gap between who he was and who you were. No, now he wanted to know what made you tick. What made you laugh, what made you think, what made you open up the way you had in this room full of stories.

And that, he realized, was far more important than any book could ever be.

Usually, Mattheo Riddle did not read books for fun.

He rarely read anything that wasn’t strictly necessary. He skimmed his required textbooks with barely any interest, memorizing just enough to scrape through his exams. Books were a means to an end-nothing more. They weren’t a part of his world, not in the way they were a part of yours. They didn’t offer him any kind of escape, or warmth, or comfort. That was, until you came along. Until you gave him a glimpse into your world and, without realizing it, let him in.

Now, as he sat in the Slytherin common room, Charlotte’s Web rested in his lap, its pages fragile beneath his fingers. The warm, flickering candlelight cast dancing shadows across the words, giving the book an almost magical glow. He had every intention of reading it in peace, the silence of the room settling around him like a soft blanket.

He was determined to get through a few chapters before bed-just enough so he could return it to you tomorrow and maybe-just maybe-casually bring it up in conversation. Not that he wanted an excuse to talk to you. That would be absurd.

But before he could get lost in the pages, the familiar voices of Theo and Enzo broke the stillness.

“You’re actually doing it,” Theo said, his voice dripping with mock disbelief as he dropped into the armchair across from Mattheo. His arms were crossed, an amused smirk tugging at his lips. “You’re reading a children’s book.”

Enzo, sprawling lazily beside him, chuckled lowly. “No, no, he’s reading a children’s book for a girl.”

Mattheo groaned, sinking deeper into the couch as if trying to escape the inevitable teasing. “Would you two shut up?”

Theo snorted, clearly enjoying himself. “Come on, mate. This is you we’re talking about. Mattheo Riddle. The same guy who doesn’t even bring a quill to class, and now you’re voluntarily reading?” His voice was incredulous, as if the idea was utterly preposterous.

“It’s not voluntary,” Mattheo muttered, flipping to the next page with more force than necessary. His fingers were too tense, the paper creasing under his touch. “It’s just a book.”

Enzo raised an eyebrow, nudging Theo with a knowing grin. “Sure it is. We all know it’s love.”

Mattheo couldn’t help the scowl that twisted across his face as he grabbed a pillow from the couch and hurled it toward them. Enzo dodged it easily, his laughter ringing through the room.

“I’m not in love,” Mattheo muttered, though the words felt hollow even as they left his mouth. He couldn’t shake the heat rising to his face.

Theo smirked, unfazed. “Sure, you’re not. And I’m the bloody Minister of Magic.”

Mattheo ignored them, letting their laughter drift into the background as he focused on the book in his lap. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t read before, of course-he just never wanted to. But reading this book, now, with the dim light flickering against the pages, it felt… different. Like something more was at stake than simply turning pages.

As he tried to sink back into the narrative, a small detail caught his eye. It wasn’t the words on the page that made him pause-it was the ink that marked them. A section of text had been lightly highlighted, the ink barely visible against the thin, yellowed paper. And then, in the margins, were two simple words in your neat, slanted handwriting:

For Mattheo.

His heart stuttered in his chest, a sudden tightness gripping his throat. His fingers, almost by instinct, tightened around the book, pulling it closer to his face. Slowly, carefully, he reread the passage you had marked:

“Why did you do all this for me?” he asked. “I don’t deserve it. I’ve never done anything for you.”

"You have been my friend," replied Charlotte. "That in itself is a tremendous thing.”

The words felt heavier than they should have, resonating in a way Mattheo didn’t entirely understand. His stomach flipped, unease and something else-something warm-stirring within him.

You had left this for him.

You had thought of him, enough to mark this passage for him, to make sure he saw it.

And suddenly, it hit him with the force of a bludger: You weren’t scared of him anymore.

You weren’t running anymore. You weren’t turning away when he got too close. Somewhere between library conversations and book recommendations, somewhere in the quiet moments they had shared, you had let him in.

And Merlin help him, he had no idea what to do with that.

He read the passage again. And again. His thumb gently brushed the ink on the page as if he could somehow make sense of it, of you.

Theo and Enzo were still laughing, still throwing jabs at him, but Mattheo wasn’t listening anymore. Their voices faded into a dull hum, the only sound in the room now the steady rhythm of his own heartbeat. His thoughts were consumed with the weight of the words in front of him, the careful precision of your handwriting, the feeling that was slowly unfolding in his chest like something too beautiful, too delicate to touch.

He closed the book, the weight of it in his hands suddenly heavy with meaning. He brushed his thumb over the ink once more, feeling the curve of your letters under his skin.

For the first time in his life, Mattheo Riddle wanted to be someone worthy of the way you saw him.

And as he sat there, heart pounding, the room spinning just slightly around him, he realized something else:

Maybe, just maybe, he already was.

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mcrdvcks · 5 months ago

Text

i love you, always and forever ࿐‧₊ science, baby!

chapter summary: You and Logan begin to try for a baby.

word count: 7.9k+

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

notes: hope y'all enjoy this one, it's a mostly cute fluffy chapter :)

also, didn't mean to post so late, i was up late last night writing the peter lyman fanfic😭(it'll hopefully be out tomorrow, but be warned, it's a long one)

warnings/tags: reader wears glasses, trying for a baby, talks of pregnancy and fertility, fluff, smut, unprotected piv, creampie, slight angst, not proofread

series masterlist - chapter 3 → chapter 5

You walked into the kitchen, thermos in hand, sipping the herbal tea you’d begrudgingly swapped for your usual coffee. Logan stood by the counter, reaching for the coffee pot, and you immediately sprang into action. Without thinking, you grabbed the empty mug from his hand, holding it out of his reach.

“No coffee,” you said firmly, narrowing your eyes at him.

Logan frowned, his brow furrowing as he looked down at you. “What do you mean, ‘no coffee’? Darlin’, it’s coffee.”

You shook your head, standing your ground. “Exactly. And we agreed to cut back. Remember? Coffee isn’t exactly helpful for…” Your voice trailed off, and you glanced away, feeling your cheeks flush.

Logan tilted his head, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “For what?” he teased, clearly enjoying your bashfulness. “Go on, say it.”

You huffed, giving him a light shove. “You know what I mean! The research said caffeine can affect… you know, certain things.”

Logan chuckled, setting the coffee pot back on the counter. He crossed his arms and leaned against the counter, watching you with amusement. “Darlin’, I heal faster than most people. I don’t think a little caffeine’s gonna mess with my…” He paused, leaning in slightly and lowering his voice. “... swimmers.”

Your face burned, and you quickly turned away, pretending to busy yourself with your thermos. “Logan,” you muttered, your voice a mix of embarrassment and exasperation.

He laughed softly, the sound low and warm, before stepping closer and placing his hands on your shoulders. “Alright, alright,” he said, his tone gentler now. “If it matters to you, I’ll lay off the coffee. For now.”

You glanced up at him, surprised by his quick concession. “Really?”

Logan nodded, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “Really. If we’re doin’ this, we’re doin’ it together. No coffee, no whiskey, no nothin’. Just tell me what else you need me to do.”

Your heart softened at his words, and you smiled. “Thank you,” you said quietly, leaning into his touch. “It’s not just about the coffee. It’s about… us giving this our best shot.”

He nodded, his expression serious now. “I get it. And I’m in, darlin’. Whatever it takes.”

You let out a small laugh, feeling a bit of the tension ease. “Good. Because there’s a whole list I’ve been working on.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, his smirk returning. “A list, huh? Should I be worried?”

“Not unless you’re planning on sneaking coffee behind my back,” you teased, earning a mock-offended scoff from him.

“I’d never,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

The sound of footsteps approaching drew your attention, and Jean entered the kitchen, her red hair tied back in a loose ponytail. “What’s going on in here?” she asked, glancing between the two of you with a knowing smile.

“Just convincing Logan to give up coffee,” you said, trying to sound casual.

Jean raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Good luck with that.”

Logan shot her a look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Jean shrugged, grabbing an apple from the fruit bowl. “Just that I’ve seen you sneak a cup or two when you think no one’s watching. You’re not as subtle as you think.”

You turned to Logan, your eyes narrowing. “Sneaking coffee, huh?”

He held up his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. I’m done with coffee. Scout’s honor.”

Jean laughed softly, leaning against the counter. “You two are adorable, you know that?”

You felt your cheeks warm again, and Logan, ever the opportunist, wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you closer. “What can I say? She brings out the best in me.”

Jean smiled warmly at the two of you before grabbing her apple and heading out of the kitchen. “I’ll leave you two lovebirds to it.”

Once she was gone, Logan turned his attention back to you, his hand still resting on your waist. “Guess I’d better get used to tea,” he said, eyeing your thermos.

You handed it to him with a grin. “Try it. You might like it.”

He took a sip, his expression immediately souring. “Yeah, no. Not happening.”

You laughed, leaning against him. “It’s not so bad once you get used to it.”

Logan grumbled, but the corners of his lips twitched upward. “If you say so, sweetheart.”

As you stood there together, his arm around you and the faint warmth of the tea lingering between you, you couldn’t help but feel a quiet sense of hope. Whatever challenges lay ahead, you knew you’d face them together.

---

“Since when has your lab become a shrine?” Logan asked as he stepped inside, his eyebrows raised. His sharp eyes scanned the room, landing on the biology and pregnancy books stacked neatly on your desk. Then his gaze moved to the whiteboard covered in colorful charts, numbers, and a suspiciously detailed calendar.

You glanced up from where you were jotting notes at the table, a guilty smile tugging at your lips. “It’s not a shrine,” you replied, trying to sound casual. “It’s… research.”

Logan crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe. “Research? Looks more like you’re plannin’ to launch a rocket. What’re all these numbers?”

You hesitated, your pen hovering over the notebook. “Uh… temperatures.”

“Temperatures?” he repeated, narrowing his eyes. “Who’s?”

You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks as you muttered, “Ours.”

Logan blinked. “Ours? When the hell did you take my temperature?”

You cleared your throat, suddenly very interested in the page in front of you. “You sleep like a rock, Logan. I might’ve… borrowed a moment.”

Logan snorted, running a hand through his hair. “Darlin’, you’re takin’ my temperature in my sleep now? What’s next, experimentin’ on me?”

You rolled your eyes, though your smile betrayed your amusement. “Don’t be dramatic. It’s important to track these things if we want to—well, you know, increase our chances.”

Logan pushed off the doorframe and walked over to the whiteboard, squinting at the calendar. “What’re these stars next to certain dates?” he asked, pointing at a few marked in red.

Your face burned even hotter. “Those are… um, optimal days.”

Logan’s lips twitched as he turned to look at you, his expression thoroughly entertained. “Optimal days? You mean to tell me you’re scheduling sex now?”

You threw your pen at him, though it barely grazed his shoulder. “I’m being scientific about it! It’s not scheduling—it’s maximizing opportunities.”

Logan laughed, the sound rich and warm, as he leaned against the desk next to you. “So, what’s next on the plan, Doctor? You got a list of vitamins for me to take?”

Your silence must’ve said it all, because Logan’s amused expression turned suspicious. “Wait, you’re serious?”

You reached for a small container on the desk, holding it up. Inside were a mix of capsules and tablets in various colors. “These are specially formulated,” you explained, handing it to him.

Logan opened the container, his eyebrows shooting up as he counted the pills. “There’s gotta be fifteen of these things in here. You expect me to down all of ‘em?”

“They’re important,” you said, trying to keep a straight face. “And they’re extra-strength so your healing factor doesn’t cancel ‘em out.”

Logan shook his head, muttering under his breath, but he didn’t argue further. Instead, he picked up one of the bottles on the desk and studied the label. “You really are pullin’ out all the stops, huh?”

You softened, setting your notebook down and meeting his gaze. “I just… I want to make sure we’re doing everything we can. I know it might seem a little over the top, but—”

“Hey.” Logan cut you off, his voice gentler now. He reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “I get it. And I’m not givin’ you a hard time. If this is what we gotta do, then I’m all in.”

Your eyes met his, and for a moment, the teasing and laughter faded, replaced by a quiet understanding. “Thank you,” you said softly.

Logan gave you a small smirk, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. “Always, darlin’. Now, how about you tell me what else you’ve got on that whiteboard of yours?”

You laughed, swatting at his arm. “Only if you promise to stop sneakin’ coffee.”

Logan groaned dramatically. “You drive a hard bargain.”

“Logan.”

“Fine,” he relented, grabbing the thermos of tea you’d left on the desk. He took a sip and immediately grimaced. “I’m really startin’ to miss the old days.”

You rolled your eyes and grabbed the thermos from him, though your smile lingered. “You’ll survive.”

As the two of you stood there, surrounded by your meticulous planning and Logan’s begrudging compliance, you couldn’t help but feel a spark of hope. It wasn’t just about the charts or the vitamins—it was about the future you were building together, one step at a time.

---

It had been almost 6 months since you and Logan started trying, which is why you had started doing research and tracking cycle’s, body temperatures, and making sure the both of you were taking vitamins.

But it also meant doing research on other things too. Like—

“Are you readin’ porn?”

Logan’s gravelly voice snapped you out of your focused haze. Your head shot up, your heart skipping a beat. You hadn’t even heard him come in, much less lean over your shoulder to see the screen of your laptop.

“What?” you blurted, your hand reflexively slamming the laptop shut. Too late. Logan’s grin was already spreading, the kind that reached his eyes and filled them with mischief.

“Thought I’d seen it all, but here you are, learnin’ about creative new angles,” he teased, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned against the edge of the table.

“It’s not—” you paused, your face heating as you tried to think of a way to explain yourself. “It’s research, Logan. For… conceiving.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed with your defense. “Uh-huh. And what exactly were you tryin’ to learn, sweetheart?”

You hesitated, your fingers fiddling with the edge of the laptop. “…Best positions,” you mumbled under your breath, the words barely audible.

Logan barked out a laugh, the deep sound reverberating through the room. “Best positions? Hell, you’ve got a whole lab full of books and charts, but this is what you’re stuck on?”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Can you not make this more embarrassing than it already is?”

“Can’t promise that.” Logan reached out, gently prying your hands away from your face. His grin softened as he tilted his head at you. “C’mon, darlin’. Don’t look so mortified. I think it’s cute.”

“Cute?” you echoed, half-exasperated, half-amused despite yourself. “I’m sitting here reading medical journals about optimal positions, and you think that’s cute?”

“Yeah, ‘cause it shows how bad you want this.” Logan’s hand found yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. His voice dropped into a gentler tone. “You’ve been takin’ all this on yourself, and I get why. But you know you’re not in this alone, right? Whatever it takes, I’m with you.”

Your eyes softened at his words. Logan might tease endlessly, but there was always sincerity beneath it. That sincerity was part of why you loved him so fiercely.

“Thanks,” you murmured, squeezing his hand.

Logan leaned back slightly, his grin creeping back. “So, you gonna share what you learned? You’ve got my full attention now.”

You gave him a light shove, rolling your eyes as your smile widened. “You really want me to get into the mechanics of it?”

“Darlin’, I’ve spent over a century figurin’ things out on my own. If you’ve got some expert tips, I’m all ears.”

Your face burned as you tried to keep your voice steady. “Fine. Basically… uh, some positions are better for, um, helping things along. Gravity and angles—”

Logan smirked. “Oh, I get it now. It’s physics. Guess you’re in your element, huh?”

You swatted at him with your free hand, unable to suppress a laugh. “Yes, Logan, it’s physics. And afterwards, raising my hips for about fifteen minutes can apparently help even more. Something about keeping things… in place longer.”

Logan’s smirk turned into a slow grin, his hazel eyes glinting with a dangerous mix of humor and something a little more primal. “Practical application, then?” he asked, his voice dipping lower.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you looked away, suddenly very interested in the bookshelf to your left. “…Maybe,” you said, your voice quieter.

Logan stood, towering over you in a way that felt more protective than intimidating. He tipped your chin up with two fingers, ensuring you couldn’t escape his gaze. “We don’t have to keep this scientific, darlin’,” he murmured, his lips brushing yours.

You managed a small smirk, though your breath hitched at his closeness. “I don’t know, Logan. I think I’d look cute with a pillow under my hips afterward.”

That earned you a low chuckle, and Logan shook his head. “Fine. Science it is. But don’t go thinkin’ I need much persuadin’.”

Before you could reply, he swept you off your feet—literally—leaving your squeak of surprise echoing through the room as he carried you out the door. “Logan! Where are we going?”

“To try those optimal angles,” he replied, voice heavy with amusement. “Can’t let all that research go to waste.”

You covered your face with your hands, your laughter muffled by your palms. Maybe you’d let him win this round.

---

You turned on your side to face Logan, the sunlight streaming through the windows casting a golden glow over his features. He was already awake, one arm tucked behind his head, the other resting lightly on your waist. His hazel eyes flicked down to yours as a small, lazy grin tugged at the corner of his lips.

“Mornin’, darlin’,” he murmured, his voice rough and low from sleep.

You blinked up at him, still hazy, your glasses sitting on the bedside table where you’d left them the night before. “Morning,” you replied softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan’s thumb brushed a gentle circle over your hip. “You slept alright?”

“Mhm,” you nodded, your words coming slower, the weight of sleep still clinging to you. “You?”

“Like a log,” he said, his grin deepening. “Though wakin’ up next to you’s the best part.”

You gave him a soft smile, your cheeks warming. “You always know just what to say.”

His hand shifted, sliding up your waist and resting just below your ribs. The look in his eyes darkened slightly, the softness giving way to something hungrier. “Ain’t sayin’ it just to say it, sweetheart.”

“Logan…” Your voice trailed off, knowing that tone, that look. “It’s not… I mean, today isn’t…”

“Not an ‘optimal’ day?” he guessed, the corner of his mouth quirking up as his fingers traced idle patterns on your skin. “Don’t care.”

You raised a brow at him, even as your heart skipped a beat. “You don’t care?”

“Nope.” Logan shifted, rolling onto his side to face you fully. His hand moved down, slipping under the hem of your sleep shirt to rest against your bare skin. “It’s been six months of plannin’ and chartin’ and all that other stuff. Ain’t sayin’ it doesn’t matter, but sometimes I just wanna hold my wife.”

You swallowed, your breath hitching as his hand slid higher, his fingers brushing the underside of your breast. “Logan…”

“Yeah, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice dipping lower, that rough, familiar rasp sending a shiver down your spine.

“You’re impossible,” you muttered, though there was no real bite to your words. Your body was already responding to his touch, your skin warming under his calloused hands.

“You love it,” he countered, his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear. “Now, c’mere.”

Before you could protest—not that you wanted to—Logan was pulling you closer, rolling onto his back and guiding you to straddle his hips. His hands found your thighs, squeezing gently as he looked up at you with that crooked grin that always made your knees weak.

“Logan, I don’t even have my glasses on,” you pointed out, your voice breathless.

“Gotcha covered,” he said, reaching over to the bedside table with one hand while the other stayed firmly on your hip. He grabbed your glasses, unfolding them with practiced ease before slipping them onto your face. “Better?”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re beautiful,” he said, his hands returning to your waist, pulling you down against him. “Now stop distractin’ me.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat as Logan’s hands slid under your shirt, pushing it up and over your head. The cool air kissed your skin, but it was quickly replaced by the heat of his palms as he explored every inch of you. His touch was firm but careful, reverent in a way that made your chest ache with how much you loved him.

“Logan…” you breathed, your hands finding his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as he guided your hips to grind against his.

“That’s it, darlin’,” he murmured, his voice rough and low. “Just like that.”

You gasped, your movements becoming more insistent as his hands roamed your body, tracing the curve of your spine, the dip of your waist, the swell of your breasts. He leaned up, capturing your lips in a kiss that was all-consuming, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that left you breathless.

Logan’s hands gripped your hips, guiding you against him as the hard length of him pressed firmly against you through the thin fabric of his boxers. The heat of him, the unmistakable need in the way he moved you, sent a jolt through your core. A soft sound escaped your lips before you could stop it, and his eyes darkened at the sound.

“That’s what I wanna hear,” he murmured, his voice rough and low, sending a shiver down your spine. His fingers tightened, keeping you moving, drawing delicious friction between you both.

Your breath hitched, your hands bracing against his chest, fingers curling into the hard muscle beneath your palms. “Logan…” you began, your voice shaky but laced with warmth, a quiet plea threading through his name.

“Mhm, sweetheart?” His lips quirked up into that familiar grin, the one that could undo you completely. “You just keep ridin’ me like that. Don’t stop now.”

The bluntness of his words made your cheeks flush, but it wasn’t embarrassment that had your thighs tightening around him. You bit your lip, your hips moving instinctively as the growing ache in you demanded more.

Logan’s hands slid up your sides, his thumbs brushing the soft skin just beneath your breasts. He leaned up slightly, his breath warm against your jaw as he murmured, “You feel so good, darlin’. Always do.”

You let out a soft whimper, your body responding to him like it always did. Your hips rolled, the thin barrier of fabric doing little to dull the intensity of the sensation. He was hard and hot beneath you, and the teasing friction only made you want more.

“Logan,” you whispered, your voice catching. “I need…”

His grin widened, and his hands slid back to your hips, stilling you. “What do you need, sweetheart?” he asked, his tone low and teasing, though there was an edge of seriousness to it. “You’re gonna have to say it.”

You groaned, your cheeks burning hotter as you avoided his gaze for a moment. But the ache in you was stronger than your shyness. “I need you,” you managed, your voice quieter than you intended but clear enough for him to hear.

Logan’s grin softened into something warmer, though the hunger in his eyes didn’t fade. “Good girl,” he murmured, the praise making your heart race. His hands tugged at your underwear, and you lifted your hips to help him slide them down your thighs, discarding them onto the floor.

Before you could overthink the vulnerability of being completely bare in front of him, Logan’s hands were back on you, grounding you with their rough warmth. His thumbs caressed your thighs as his gaze roamed over you, taking in every inch. “Goddamn,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. “You’re somethin’ else, Y/N.”

You didn’t have a chance to respond before his hands guided you back down, the heat of him pressing against your bare core now. The sensation made you gasp, and Logan groaned, the sound rumbling deep in his chest.

“You’re already so wet for me,” he said, his voice a low rasp. “Bet I could slide right in without any trouble.”

Your breath hitched, and you nodded, your hands gripping his shoulders as your need for him grew unbearable. “Please, Logan,” you whispered, your voice trembling with desire.

Logan reached between you, tugging his boxers down just enough to free himself. You felt the hot, hard length of him against you, and it made your whole body tremble. He lined himself up, his hazel eyes locking onto yours as he guided you down onto him.

The stretch of him was immediate, filling you in a way that was both overwhelming and perfect. You gasped, your fingers digging into his shoulders as he groaned, his hands steadying you.

“That’s it, darlin’,” he murmured, his voice strained with pleasure. “You’re doin’ so good.”

You bit your lip, your eyes fluttering shut as you sank down fully, your body adjusting to him. Once you were seated completely, a shudder ran through you, and you let out a breathless moan. Logan’s hands gripped your hips tightly, his fingers pressing into your skin as he groaned deeply, the sound vibrating through your chest.

“Goddamn, sweetheart,” he muttered, his voice rough with need. “You’re so perfect. Always are.”

Your hands rested on his chest, fingers splayed out over the hard muscle beneath them. You could feel his heartbeat, strong and steady, even as your own raced. You shifted your hips experimentally, drawing a sharp intake of breath from him and a soft gasp from yourself as the movement sent a rush of pleasure coursing through you.

“Logan,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart. “You feel…”

“Yeah?” he prompted, his hazel eyes locking onto yours. His hands slid up your sides, his thumbs brushing just beneath your breasts. “Tell me, sweetheart. How’s it feel?”

You couldn’t stop the flush that spread across your cheeks, but you managed to meet his gaze. “It’s… so good,” you admitted, your voice trembling slightly.

A lazy grin spread across his face, his hands returning to your hips to guide you. “That’s what I wanna hear. Now, c’mon, darlin’. Move for me.”

You nodded, your hands pressing into his chest for leverage as you lifted your hips slowly, feeling every inch of him as you rose. The sensation was almost too much, and a soft whimper escaped you before you sank back down, drawing a deep groan from Logan. His grip on your hips tightened, his thumbs pressing into your skin as he helped guide your movements.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly. “Nice and slow. Let me feel you.”

You fell into a rhythm, your movements steady but deliberate, each roll of your hips sending waves of pleasure through both of you. Logan’s hands never left your body, roaming up your sides and back down to your thighs, his touch grounding you. His gaze stayed fixed on you, drinking in every gasp, every tremble, every hitch of your breath.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “Always are, but like this? Can’t get enough of you.”

His words sent a fresh wave of heat through you, and your movements became more insistent, your body seeking more. Logan groaned, his hips lifting slightly to meet yours, the new angle sending a jolt of pleasure through you that made you cry out.

“Logan!”

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he said, his voice strained but full of encouragement. “Let go. I’ve got you.”

You couldn’t hold back the sounds spilling from your lips, each one seeming to spur him on. His hands slid up your back, pulling you down toward him until your chest pressed against his. His lips found your neck, kissing and nipping at the sensitive skin there, making you shiver.

“Logan,” you murmured, your fingers tangling in his hair. “I… I can’t…”

“You can,” he insisted, his voice a low growl. “And you will. Just let me take care of you.”

He shifted, sitting up and keeping you in his lap, his arms wrapping around you to hold you close. The new position allowed him to thrust up into you more deeply, and you gasped, your head falling to his shoulder as the intensity overwhelmed you.

“Oh, God,” you breathed, your nails digging into his back. “Logan…”

“I’ve got you, darlin’,” he said, his lips brushing against your ear. “You’re doin’ so good. Feels so damn good.”

You clung to him, your movements becoming more frantic as the tension in your body built higher and higher. Logan’s hands roamed your back and hips, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was all heat and desperation. His teeth caught your bottom lip, tugging gently before releasing it and moving back to your neck.

Logan’s teeth grazed along the side of your neck, his stubble scratching your skin in a way that sent tingles through your entire body. He kissed the spot just below your ear, a soft, almost reverent press of lips that contrasted with the heat pooling in your core.

Your hands were in his hair, pulling him closer, needing more. “Logan,” you whispered, your voice catching as his hips shifted beneath you, his length pressing even deeper. The slow, deliberate grind of his movements made your thighs tighten around him, the tension building with every second.

“Mmm,” he murmured against your skin, his breath warm. “You’re so damn perfect, sweetheart. Can’t get enough of you.”

Your fingers tightened in his hair, and you tilted your head to give him more access to your neck. “Logan, please…” you said, your voice trembling with need.

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his hazel eyes dark and filled with something raw. “What’s it, darlin’? You wanna tell me what you need?”

You bit your lip, your cheeks flushing. You’d been married long enough that you shouldn’t feel shy, but Logan always had a way of undoing you with a single look.

He smirked, his hands sliding to your hips, holding you steady. “C’mon now, use your words. Tell your husband what he can do for you.”

“I need you to…” Your voice faltered for a moment before you found the courage to continue. “I need you to move.”

Logan’s grin softened, a tenderness slipping into his expression even as his grip on your hips tightened. “Yeah, sweetheart. I got you.”

His hands flexed on your waist, steadying you as he shifted beneath you. “Hold on,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, sending a shiver through you. Without warning, he leaned forward, wrapping an arm securely around your back. You gasped softly, your arms automatically circling his shoulders as he maneuvered you with effortless strength, lowering you gently onto your back.

“Logan,” you began, your voice a mix of surprise and warmth.

“Easy, darlin’,” he interrupted, his lips quirking up into a small, knowing smile. “Didn’t you say this was the best way?”

Your cheeks burned as you recalled the countless articles and studies you’d pored over in the past six months, each one dissecting the optimal positions, timings, and conditions. He’d teased you about it before, but there was no judgment in his tone now—just a gentle reminder of how deeply he’d paid attention.

“I… yeah,” you admitted quietly, your hands brushing against his chest as he settled himself above you.

Logan’s gaze softened as he looked down at you, his hazel eyes tracing every line of your face. “Figured I’d give my scientist wife what she wants,” he teased, leaning down to press a kiss to the tip of your nose.

You laughed, the sound breathy and a little shaky. “You’re impossible.”

“Mm, you love it,” he countered, his lips finding yours in a kiss that started soft but quickly deepened. His tongue brushed against yours, drawing a quiet sound from your throat. When he pulled back, he didn’t go far, his breath warm against your lips. “This okay?”

You nodded, your fingers sliding into his hair, tugging gently. “Yeah,” you whispered, your voice steady despite the rapid beat of your heart. “It’s perfect.”

Logan’s smirk softened into something warmer as he shifted, guiding your legs to wrap around his waist. The movement pressed him deeper, and you gasped, your hands tightening in his hair. He groaned softly, his head dropping to rest against your shoulder for a moment. “Jesus, Y/N…”

Your hands slid from his hair to his shoulders, your nails grazing his skin as you arched up to meet him. “Logan,” you murmured, the sound of his name spurring him on.

His hands found yours, intertwining your fingers and pinning them on either side of your head. The weight of his hands, the way his body pressed into yours, sent a rush of heat through you. “I’ve got you, sweetheart,” he said, his voice rough and low.

You nodded, your breath hitching as he pulled back slightly before pressing into you again, the motion deliberate and unhurried. It wasn’t frantic or rushed—it was steady, purposeful, the weight of every movement making your body hum with pleasure.

“God,” you breathed, your head tilting back against the pillow. “Logan…”

“Mhm,” he murmured, his lips brushing against the side of your neck. “Right here, darlin’.” His pace picked up slightly, the rhythm just enough to make your toes curl. He squeezed your hands gently, his thumbs brushing against your knuckles. “Keep lookin’ at me, sweetheart,” he urged, his voice soft but commanding.

You forced your eyes open, meeting his gaze. The intensity there took your breath away—a mix of love, desire, and something deeper that made your chest tighten. “Logan,” you whispered again, your voice trembling.

“I know,” he said, his lips curving into a faint smile. “I know, Y/N.”

He released your hands, his palms sliding down your arms and over your sides. The calloused roughness of his touch sent sparks dancing across your skin. He braced one hand beside your head while the other slipped beneath your thigh, lifting it higher around his waist. The new angle made you cry out softly, your fingers digging into his shoulders.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple. “Let me hear you.”

Your body responded instinctively, your hips lifting to meet his movements. The rhythm built gradually, each thrust sending a fresh wave of heat pooling low in your belly. Logan’s breaths came heavier, mingling with yours in the small space between you.

“You’re incredible,” he rasped, his voice strained but filled with sincerity. “Always have been.”

A soft laugh escaped you, though it was broken by a gasp as he shifted his weight slightly. “You… you’re biased,” you managed, your voice breathless.

He chuckled, the sound low and rough. “Damn right I am. But it’s still true.”

Logan’s hand moved to cradle the back of your head, his fingers threading through your hair as he kissed you again. This time, the kiss was slower, deeper, matching the rhythm of his movements. Your hands slid down his back, feeling the tension in his muscles as he worked to keep his control.

“Logan,” you murmured against his lips, your voice trembling with need.

“What is it, darlin’?” he asked, his forehead resting against yours as he paused for a moment. His hazel eyes searched yours, his chest heaving as he caught his breath.

“Don’t stop,” you pleaded softly, your fingers digging into his shoulders. “Please.”

Logan’s expression softened, and he nodded, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Never,” he promised, his voice low and filled with conviction. “Not for anything.”

He resumed his movements, his pace increasing slightly as the tension between you built. Your breaths mingled, your bodies moving together in perfect synchrony. Every brush of his skin against yours, every shift of his hips, sent sparks of pleasure racing through you.

Your hands slid to his face, cupping his jaw as you pulled him down for another kiss. The connection between you felt electric, every touch, every sound magnified by the depth of your emotions. Logan groaned against your lips, his grip on your thigh tightening as his movements became more insistent.

“You’re incredible,” he muttered, his voice rough and filled with emotion. “Always have been.”

You couldn’t form a coherent response, your mind too clouded with sensation. Instead, you let your body speak for you, your nails dragging lightly down his back as you arched against him. Logan’s lips found your neck again, kissing and nipping at the sensitive skin there, leaving a trail of heat in his wake.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured against your skin, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down your spine. “Always.”

The tension in your body coiled tighter, every nerve ending alight as Logan drove you closer and closer to the edge. His name spilled from your lips in a breathless chant, each syllable laced with desperation and love. Logan’s own breaths were ragged, his movements becoming less controlled as he followed you into the spiral of pleasure.

“Y/N,” he groaned, his voice thick with emotion. “Darlin’… I…”

Whatever he was about to say was lost as the wave of sensation crashed over you, your body tightening around him as you cried out. Logan followed moments later, his body shuddering against yours as he buried his face in your neck, his breaths hot and uneven against your skin.

For a moment, neither of you moved, the room filled with the sound of your breathing and the rapid thudding of your hearts. Logan pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder before lifting his head to meet your gaze. His hazel eyes were warm, a small, satisfied smile tugging at his lips.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice soft.

You nodded, a tired but genuine smile spreading across your face. “Yeah,” you whispered. “More than okay.”

Logan chuckled, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. “Good,” he murmured. “Because I’m not done holding you yet.”

---

As you poured over your large desk calendar, carefully reviewing the neat little markings you’d made to track your cycle, one thing became clear—you were late. Just by two days, but late nonetheless. Your stomach twisted slightly at the realization. It wasn’t panic, but an odd mix of hope and trepidation.

Logan was out for the day, helping Bobby with reconnaissance in the field. You had the mansion’s lab all to yourself, for now, save for the soft hum of the equipment around you. You stared at the calendar for a moment longer before exhaling sharply, closing it.

Footsteps echoed softly down the corridor outside your lab. The familiar red-haired figure appeared a moment later, her bright smile a welcome sight. Jean always seemed to have a knack for showing up when you needed her, whether or not you realized it.

“Hey,” she said, leaning against the doorframe, her green eyes warm. “Mind if I come in?”

You shook your head, offering her a faint smile. “Not at all.”

She stepped inside, glancing around before narrowing her gaze playfully. “Alright, what’s got you so deep in thought that you didn’t even hear me walking up?”

You hesitated. Jean was one of your closest friend—someone you trusted implicitly—but the thought of saying it aloud made your cheeks warm. You busied yourself tidying a few loose papers on your desk.

“It’s nothing,” you said lightly, though your tone betrayed you.

Jean arched an eyebrow, crossing her arms. “Y/N. I know you too well for that.”

You sighed, sitting back in your chair and fiddling with the edges of your sleeves. “I realized… I’m late.”

It took a beat, but comprehension dawned on her face. “Oh.” Her voice softened immediately. “You mean…”

You nodded. “By two days.”

Jean moved closer, pulling up a chair to sit beside you. Her tone remained calm and supportive, but her expression was curious. “Have you told Logan yet?”

“No. I just figured it out this morning, and he’s out with Bobby.” You shook your head, pushing up your glasses. “And honestly, I’m not even sure I’m… y’know. I don’t want to get his hopes up for nothing.”

Jean tilted her head thoughtfully. “Fair. But, what’s the harm in knowing? Have you taken a test yet?”

“No. I haven’t exactly worked up the nerve,” you admitted, managing a wry smile. “Besides, I don’t even have one.”

Her lips quirked into a smile of her own. “Alright. Why don’t we go grab one now? It��ll give you some company, and we can grab lunch afterward. My treat.”

The suggestion caught you off guard, but the idea of not facing the store alone—and spending some time with Jean—was surprisingly appealing. You gave her a grateful look.

“You don’t have to do that,” you started.

“I know,” she interrupted gently, standing and reaching for your hand. “But I want to. Come on, get your coat.”

You hesitated a moment longer before standing, sliding into your coat and scarf. Jean smiled encouragingly, and you followed her out of the lab, glad for the distraction.

---

The two of you walked into the drugstore, the bright fluorescent lights making the shelves gleam. Jean glanced over at you as you lingered near the door.

“Alright, where to?” she asked, her teasing smile disarming any awkwardness you might’ve felt.

You motioned vaguely toward the pharmacy section, hesitating for a moment before finally heading down the appropriate aisle. Jean walked beside you like a fortress, keeping her presence casual but protective.

Reaching the section with pregnancy tests, you froze slightly. The sheer number of options was overwhelming—digital, non-digital, early detection, the works. Jean followed your gaze and let out a quiet laugh.

“Who knew it was so complicated, huh?” she said, reaching out to grab one of the boxes. “This one looks straightforward. What do you think?”

You nodded, relieved she was taking the reins. She handed you the box, and you managed to keep your expression neutral as you tucked it under your arm.

Once at the checkout, Jean casually chatted with you about physics lectures, cutting through any tension. If the clerk gave you an odd look as they rang up the test, you were too focused on Jean’s lighthearted commentary to notice.

---

After getting back to the mansion and successfully avoiding the test for hours, you found yourself pacing your shared bedroom, the unopened box mocking you from the desk. Every time you thought you were ready, your nerves got the better of you.

Logan would be back soon, and the last thing you wanted was to be caught mid-test, especially if it turned out to be a false alarm. Not to mention, you weren’t even sure how to feel yet. Hopeful? Nervous?

You finally let out a frustrated groan, swiping the box off the desk and heading for the bathroom. Best to just get it over with.

Jean had offered to stay and wait with you, but you’d insisted you were fine. She’d left with a knowing smile and a promise to check in on you later.

The knot in your stomach tightened as you sat on the edge of the tub, staring at the pregnancy test still untouched on the counter. You didn’t even realize how tightly you were gripping the edge of the porcelain until your knuckles turned white. For months, you’d been doing everything you could to plan, track, and optimize, but now, faced with the moment of truth, it felt… terrifying.

Still, you’d promised yourself you’d do this today. “Just get it over with,” you muttered under your breath, pushing yourself off the edge of the tub and grabbing one of the small sterile cups Jean had handed you earlier. You couldn’t help but smile briefly at her thoughtfulness—of course, she’d come prepared.

Steeling yourself, you slipped into autopilot mode, getting everything in place as clinically as possible. You focused on the steps, trying to push away the weight of your emotions. But when you glanced down after finishing, your breath caught in your throat.

It wasn’t the pale pink lines on the pregnancy test that greeted you. It was bright red.

Your heart plummeted as the realization hit. You didn’t even need the test anymore.

The wave of disappointment was immediate and sharp, crashing over you before you even had time to process it. You felt frozen for a moment, staring blankly at the stark evidence in front of you. All the charts, the vitamins, the careful planning—none of it mattered. Not this time, at least.

You sat back down on the edge of the tub and pressed your hands to your face. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them away, forcing yourself to breathe deeply. It wasn’t the end of the world, you reminded yourself. You and Logan had only been trying for six months. There was still time.

But the hope you’d been holding onto—nurturing like a fragile spark—felt snuffed out in an instant.

---

You stayed in the bathroom longer than you meant to, staring at the sink as your thoughts swirled. When you finally managed to gather yourself enough to leave, the sun had dipped lower, casting warm orange light into the bedroom. The clock on the nightstand read 6:17 PM.

Logan would be back soon.

The thought of seeing him was equal parts comforting and daunting. You knew he wouldn’t blame you or be upset, but the weight of letting him down—of letting yourself down—pressed heavily on your chest.

You busied yourself cleaning up, discarding the unused test and tucking away the box in the bathroom cabinet. By the time you emerged, you had forced your expression into something neutral, though you felt anything but calm.

---

The rumble of Logan’s motorcycle echoed through the driveway not long after, and you instinctively straightened in your chair, fiddling with the edge of the smaller version of your calendar you’d been pretending to review.

When the door opened, Logan’s presence filled the room like always, his familiar scent and the soft creak of his boots against the floor grounding you. He shrugged off his jacket and tossed it onto the chair, his hazel eyes immediately finding yours.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he greeted, his voice low and warm. His gaze softened as he stepped closer, his hand brushing your cheek. “You alright? You look tired.”

You managed a small smile, leaning into his touch. “I’m fine. Just a long day.”

Logan studied you for a moment, his thumb brushing lightly over your cheekbone. “You sure?”

You nodded quickly, but soon your eyes started to burn again, and you shook your head, unable to keep up the facade. Logan’s brow furrowed as his hand slid from your cheek to rest lightly on your shoulder.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” His voice was soft, concerned.

You tried to speak, but the lump in your throat made it impossible. Instead, you gave a small shake of your head and looked down, your glasses slipping slightly down your nose as you avoided his gaze. Logan crouched in front of you, his hands finding yours, his thumbs brushing over your knuckles in a slow, steady rhythm.

“Hey,” he murmured, his tone coaxing. “Talk to me.”

You took a shaky breath, your hands tightening around his as you finally forced yourself to say the words, even if they came out in sobs and jumbles. “I thought—I thought maybe this time, but… it’s not. I’m not.”

The tears you’d been holding back spilled over, and Logan’s grip on your hands tightened just enough to steady you. He didn’t say anything at first, letting you cry, his thumbs brushing softly over your knuckles.

“Sweetheart,” he said softly, his voice rough with concern. He moved to sit beside you, pulling you into his arms. The warmth of his embrace broke down the last of your walls, and you clung to him, your face pressed against his chest as the sobs came harder.

“I—I thought I felt different this time,” you murmured against his shirt, your voice muffled. “I was so sure. And then…” You shook your head, unable to finish the sentence.

Logan rested his chin on the top of your head, his hand stroking your back in slow, soothing circles. “It’s okay, darlin’. It’s okay to feel like this. You don’t have to hold it in with me.”

You nodded against his chest, even as fresh tears welled up. “It just—it feels like I failed. Like we’re doing everything right, and it still doesn’t matter.”

“You didn’t fail,” Logan said firmly, his voice steady and low. He pulled back enough to tilt your chin up so you’d look at him. His hazel eyes were soft but intense, focused entirely on you. “This ain’t on you. Sometimes things don’t work out the way we want, even when we’re doin’ everything we’re supposed to. Doesn’t mean it’s over. We’ll keep tryin’, together.”

“But what if—what if it never happens?” you whispered, your voice cracking.

Logan’s lips pressed into a thin line, and he took a moment before answering. “Then we’ll figure it out, sweetheart. We always do. One way or another, we’ll have the family we’re dreamin’ about. You hear me?”

You nodded, your throat too tight to speak. Logan cupped your cheek, his calloused thumb brushing away the tears. “You’re the strongest person I know, Y/N. We’ll get through this, just like we’ve gotten through everything else. And we’ll do it together.”

His words eased some of the weight pressing on your chest, and you leaned into his hand, letting out a shaky breath. “I just… I wanted to tell you. I didn’t want to hide it.”

“I’m glad you told me,” Logan said. “Don’t ever feel like you gotta deal with this by yourself. I’m here, no matter what, alright?”

You nodded again, and this time the tears that fell were lighter, more cathartic than crushing. Logan leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, lingering there for a moment before pulling you back into his arms.

For a while, neither of you spoke, content to sit in the quiet comfort of each other’s presence. The soft hum of Logan’s steady breathing and the warmth of his embrace grounded you, reminding you that you weren’t alone in this.

“I love you,” you murmured after a while, your voice small but steady.

“I love you too, darlin’,” Logan replied without hesitation, his lips brushing against your temple.

The reassurance in his voice settled something inside you, and for the first time since the disappointment had struck, the knot in your chest began to loosen. You weren’t sure what the future held, but as long as Logan was by your side, you knew you could face it.

this is mostly 2006! next chapter will cover the rest of the year!

#logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #james howlett x reader #james howlett x you #logan howlett #logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlett x fem!reader #logan howlett fic #logan howlett smut #i love you in every time #i love you always and forever #logan ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ #abby's works ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

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alice-angel12x · 16 days ago

Text

The Blue Knight Ch.7 (Special )

Ch 6 / Ch 8

Truth and Lies Arc

After Gingerbrave and the Gang saved the fairy kingdom, Pure Vanilla and Y/n had to make a quick journey back to Cristopia. So Pure Vanilla could warn his fellow heroes what he had learned of the beast cookies, and tell them the amazing news of White Lily's return.

The allies were on edge with the news of White Lily, and even more so about the new threat that the Dark Enchantress Cookie is cooking up. The Creme Republic suggested that a small elite team scout ahead in beast yeast. From all allied kingdoms, their top soldier will be assigned to this scout mission.

Of course, Y/n Knight was quick to step up to the plate.

-----------------------------------------------------

"Are you sure you want to do this? My crows and I could handle this mission," Black Rasin cookie offered.

"I know, but I also know you don't like staying away from your people for too long. And going to a whole new continent is..." Y/n smiles softly.

"I know. I know. I'm just a bit sad that... I'm a little happy that I am not going," Black rasin Cookie said, shame in their voice.

"It's okay, Black Raisin Cookie. Someone needed to say and help Pure Vanilla. And with all your eyes in the sky, you are the best pick," Y/n reassured.

"Thank you, Y/n knight Cookie. Ah, also. I think Pure Vanilla wishes to speak with you," Black rasin Cookie points upward.

The two cookies looked up to see, standing on the second-floor balcony. Pure Vanilla looked down at them with a sad expression. Y/n smiles weakly as they suddenly and swiftly scale the castle wall, effortlessly jumping over the balcony railing. Pure Vanilla smiles sadly as he forces an amused chuff.

"You couldn't take the stairs?" Pure vanilla questions with a weak smile

"I just wanted to get to you as soon as possible. The stairs are too inconvenient," Y/n knight weakly chuckled.

The two stood in awkward silence till Pure Vanilla finally broke the tension.

"Do you have to go?" He asked weakly, knowing it was a stupid question.

"Yes. Shadow milk cookie is still out there, and we don't know how to stop him from simply mind-controlling you. So it's best if you stay out of his reach," Y/n nods, but stops as they place a trembling hand on their chest. " And I need to know more about this... Bliss Butter Cookie. Who is she? Where is she? Is she like her fellow beasts? What does this mean for me?"

Pure Vanilla's frown deepens as he watches his love tremble. As Y/n's hand rests over their chest, a faint star shape glows deep within their dough. He slowly pulls them in a hug.

"I will always be here for you when you need me, and I know I can't stop you from going. Just," Pure Vanilla pauses as he looks deep into Y/n's eyes. "Promise that you'll come back to me."

Y/n smiles softly as they rest their head on his shoulder. "Of course," Y//n smiles.

As they hugged close, the soul jam glowed gently. Slowly, Y/n pulls away. With a brave face, they jump the railing, quick to join the scout party.

______________________________________________

10 months later

_________________________

Welcome to the next arc.... To be continued!

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twistedwonderlandimaginesblog · 5 months ago

Text

Valentines Day with Pomefiore

Vil Schoenheit:

Each detail had to be perfect.

Vil deserved nothing more than perfection and, thinking about the standards your lover set, would not accept a sloppy presentation at the most romantic time of year. You had put careful consideration into the dinner date you planned, jumping from casual to elegant to a comfortable in-between—you knew Vil would be content even if you didn’t rent out an entire restaurant for the sake of being alone, and that he’d probably even prefer a set up in the comfort of your own home.

He had given you the details on the outfit he planned to wear on your date, allowing you to plan yours accordingly. His outfit was perfect for a romantic candlelit dinner, with perhaps a few extra candles burning bright in the background so you could admire his pretty face properly. It should be considered a sin to bring Vil somewhere that wasn’t well-lit, the only exception being movie premieres where you got to admire him on the big screen instead (while he sat next to you, fingers laced with your own).

Rook Hunt:

If anything, Rook knew how to surprise you.

You suspected he was up to something when his lips stayed zipped about your Valentine’s plans, even when you poked and prodded. He seemed amused at your attempts, placating you with gentle kisses all over your face as an adequate distraction before your mind wandered from the topic entirely. He knew your reaction would be worth the secrecy, and it’s not as though he wasn’t an expert at keeping secrets.

There’s fireworks going off in the sky and your heart as you see the special midnight picnic all for you, in an area he had scouted out that had a perfect view of the moon. He had, of course, gathered all your favorites, even bringing along an extra jacket should you get cold. He seemed pleased with himself but you know the night had just begun, and Rook had more than a few more surprises up his sleeves.

Epel Felmier:

Epel was at a loss.

He knew the general gist of Valentine’s Day, but he had never had a significant other at the time, and had otherwise ignored the lovey dovey behavior that surrounded him. If he was being honest it felt a little sickening to constantly show off your love with bigger and more expensive gifts, rather than doing something that came from the heart. His grandparents always spent the entire day together, baking or carving or doing some other activity that felt more exciting when you did it with the person you loved.

That’s all he wanted to do with you, enjoy the day together but he feels the pressure of coming up with a plan. Just expecting you to lead him around was uncool and unmanly, neither of which Epel could be on a holiday like this. He settled on baking together, hoping you’d see the romance in the idea of family tradition and love inspired by simplicity.

#Twisted Wonderland #TWST #Twisted Wonderland Imagines #Twisted Wonderland x Reader #TWST Imagines #TWST x Reader #Rook Hunt #Vil Schoenheit #Epel Felmier #Rook Hunt x Reader #Vil Schoenheit x Reader #Epel Felmier x Reader

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revelboo · 5 days ago

Note

Does the other Humans knows about Thundercracker novel? I just know that novel opened a lot of bots for human fuckers

The humans don’t know yet… 🔞 🌶️

Caught

Bluestreak x Reader

• Swiping to turn to the next page, Bluestreak isn’t sure what he’d expected when Jazz had distributed the novel to several of them, but for being written by a Decepticon, it’s surprisingly good. About a Cybertronian adventurer and his human companion. And it’s sweet, the two slowly getting closer. Falling in love to make his own spark ache as he glances at where you’re amusing yourself painting your nails. In his colors even though he doesn’t know what to make of it. The longing of the Cybertronian in the novel for his human something he understands all too well. Needs you by his side, needs your warmth and voice so he’s not so alone.

• Carefully screwing the lid back on the polish, you wander closer to where Blue’s stretched out. “Work or pleasure?” You ask and his head lifts. Just staring at you, those blue optics so confused your heart melts a little more. He’s so sweet and innocent, you just want to hug him. “Reading something fun?” You clarify, gesturing at the alien gibberish on his datapad. Figure it’s not work related, because he’d been smiling as he reads. And you like it when he smiles to himself. You’re happy when he’s happy because you get the feeling he’s not had a lot of happy in his life.

• “Oh, yeah. It’s an adventure story and the characters are holed up hiding from the bad guy during a storm,” he says, watching you duck under his wrist to sit leaning against the crook of his elbow, little fingers splayed and he can almost taste the chemical bite of your paint the scent is so strong. “The human’s worried about the Cybertronian, he got hurt getting them both to safety,” he adds, turning the page. “I think they like each other. Yeah, he just kissed her and… and…”

• He’s just staring at the page, optics wide and you hear his fans click on. Blowing on your nails to try and help them dry, you frown. “You good, hun?” Because he looks almost horrified staring at the datapad. “Blue?” It’s not like him to be stunned into silence, the bot talkative to a fault, though you know it’s mostly a nervous tic. That he doesn’t mean to do it and can’t seem to help himself. He’s silent right now, though. He kind of looks a little horrified.

• Venting loudly as his internal systems overheat, he’s staring at the graphic description of a human and a Cybertronian interfacing. The mech mass shifting, then stripping and mounting his human and rutting against them as the thunder rolls outside their shelter. Horrified when his spike stirs behind his modesty panel reading the paragraph. And he’s quickly fumbling the datapad screen off as you stare worriedly at him. Knows you can’t read Cybertronian and right now, he’s so thankful for that. Can’t seem to cool off or meet your eyes, too embarrassed. “Good. I’m good,” he manages, very aware of the warmth of you against his arm. Remembering Megatron’s intercepted PSA and wondering if humans and Cybertronians are really compatible that way. Trying and failing to not think about you and interfacing. Shouldn’t be fantasizing about you that way, you’re his friend. Even if he wants more. Wants all of you to be his.

• Almost falling backwards when he lifts up and scoots sideways to lay down away from you, optics shuttering, you lift your brows. Because, yeah, he’s not acting suspicious at all. If you didn’t know better, your alien boy scout is acting like he got caught with a copy of Playboy or watching porn. “So what happened next?” You ask and his fans get even louder as he pretends to be recharging. How bad could it be? You wonder if it’s a smutty novel. That would mean they have sex, though. Do they have sex? Part of you is tempted to keep pestering until he spills, because he can’t keep a secret to save his life. But he’d looked so mortified you resist the urge, but you can’t help but wonder about if Cybertronians have sex, because you’d be willing to bet that they do.

#transformers x reader #bluestreak x reader #tf bluestreak #valveplug

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spiicii · 2 months ago

Text

the usos / sibling rivalry

x fem!reader word count → 4.5k summary → what happens when jey loses a bet and jimmy wins a night with you? there’s only one condition: jey gets to watch. notes → a huge shoutout to the incredibly talented @wildbornsiren and her amazing fic that inspired this story. another source of inspiration would be this fantastic fic by @eringobragh420 which i cannot recommend enough. y’all are so talented … i bow to you! links → masterlist / taglist tags → unprotected piv sex, oral (fem!receiving), fingering, voyeurism, exhibitionism, degradation, dirty talk, face-slapping, hair-pulling, restraints, dom/sub, orgasm delay, spanking, crying, squirting, breeding kink, fluff and aftercare at the end

“You ain’t gotta tie it so fucking tight,” Jey hissed, his eyes flashing in annoyance as he glared up at his older brother. His annoyance doubled when he met Jimmy’s wicked grin.

“Gotta make sure you keep your hands to yourself, uce.” Jimmy’s words were already taunting and Jey curled in his lip in response.

“Jimmy,” you chided, watching them both from where you reclined on the bed. “Be nice.”

Jimmy’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Yes ma’am.”

You watched as his deft fingers tied the intricate knots around his twin’s wrists, effectively restraining him to the chair by the bed. You hadn’t asked where Jimmy had learned to tie such complex knots, but it certainly wasn’t Boy Scout camp.

Jimmy finally stood back to admire his work, his grin cocky. “Well, go on, uce. Try them.”

Jey glared at him, but he still obeyed, tugging against the rope to test its strength. Jimmy’s cheshire grin widened, looking positively delighted at Jey’s predicament.

“Looks like you ain’t going anywhere, little brother.”

Jey’s eyes flashed again, his gaze downright murderous. Nobody knew how to press his buttons the same way his twin did. It was rare to see your normally easy-going boyfriend so riled up and you thought he’d never looked more beautiful. It was why you’d agreed to this, after all. Seeing Jey angry and restrained and begging to touch you was something you’d only fantasized about.

You couldn’t help but jump down from the bed to approach him, reaching out a hand to trace his bearded jaw. You watched as Jey’s angry expression shifted into something far more vulnerable, his gaze up at you adoring.

“You sure you’re okay with this?” You murmured. The three of you had already talked about safewords and expectations, but you wanted to be sure.

Jey offered you a reassuring smile. “A bet’s a bet. Besides, I don’t mind watching my girl put on a show for me.”

You smiled back, reaching up to comb your fingers through his hair. Jey leaned into your touch, his hands instinctively tugging on the ropes in an effort to reach out and touch you.

“I think I like you like this,” you murmured, continuing to pet him. “You look so pretty all tied up.”

Jey’s cheeks flushed, his eyes flickering self-consciously to his twin who was leaning against the bed to watch the two of you with amusement.

“Don’t look at him.” Your hand shot out to grab Jey by the beard, forcing his eyes back at you. “Look at me. And only on me. Understand?”

Jey quickly nodded and you didn’t miss the way his cock jumped in his shorts.

“Good boy.”

You released his beard and Jey leaned forward to chase your hand, eager for more of your touch. You chuckled and moved away, watching with amusement as Jey whimpered at the loss, his puppy eyes pleading.

“No more for you tonight, baby.” You told him. “Now be a good boy and stay.”

Jey seemed distressed, already beginning to tug against the ropes around his wrists.

“See, that’s why I had to tie you.” Jimmy’s grin showed far too many teeth. “Knew you couldn’t keep your hands to yourself.”

Jey’s face twisted at his words.

“Jimmy.” There was a new warning in your tone. “You promised to play nice tonight.”

Jimmy spread his hands. “What? It ain’t every day I get to fuck my brother’s girl in front of him. I can’t have a little fun with it?”

“You can do something productive with your mouth instead of running it.” You shot back, already climbing onto the bed and spreading your legs in invitation. “Unless you’d rather switch places with Jey?”

Jimmy’s grin was devilish, but you were pleased when he finally tugged his shirt over his head. “I can’t say I’d be mad if a girl as pretty as you decided to tie me up.” He admitted, throwing you a cheeky wink as he crawled between your legs. “But I guess we’ll save that for next time, huh?”

You raised an eyebrow at his words, but your incredulity quickly took a backseat to desire as he began pressing open-mouthed kisses to the inside of your thigh.

“Excited to see this pretty pussy my brother keeps talking about,” he murmured. “You already wet for me, baby?”

You wanted to offer him a clever retort, but all thoughts flew out the window when he used his teeth to tug your panties to the side, allowing him to finally catch a glimpse of your soaked folds.

“Even prettier than I imagined.” Jimmy breathed, his breath hot against you as he leaned closer. “Lemme have a taste, pretty girl.”

You couldn’t help but moan as he licked a hot stripe up your leaking sex, throwing your head back against the pillow as the older twin began to explore you with his tongue. He ate you out leisurely, seemingly savoring your taste as he lapped up the nectar that was beginning to leak out of you. He nudged his tongue deeper into your hole and you shuddered at the feeling, the hairs from his beard tickling in the inside of your thigh.

It should have felt strange having your boyfriend’s brother between your legs, but it didn’t. If anything, it felt strangely normal. Jimmy was familiar, his skin the same bronze, his own tribal ink similar to tattoos you’d already memorized.

You realized that Jimmy was removing your panties, tossing them onto the floor to grant him better access to you. And when you met his gaze again, he was smiling.

“Shirt too, baby,” he rumbled, motioning to the tank top you still wore. “Lemme see all of you.”

You quickly obeyed, throwing the shirt onto the floor with the other pile of clothes to allow Jimmy’s large hands to reach up and palm at your breasts.

“So beautiful,” Jimmy murmured, his gaze at you appreciative. “So lucky I get to see you like this, honey.”

Before you had a chance to respond he dipped his head back down to resume licking at your swollen cunt, moving his hands back down to your thighs to keep you spread for him.

Your gaze slid over to Jey, curious to see his reaction. The three of you had already spoken at great length about how things would go tonight, but now that it was really happening - Jimmy’s tongue exploring parts of you Jey had never imagined - you were worried he might be having second thoughts. He was normally pretty good about sharing with his brother, but he still had a jealous streak. What if he hated this? What if he regretted ever agreeing to it? What if he safeworded?

But you shouldn’t have had any doubts.

Jey’s eyes were blown wide with lust, seemingly enraptured by the sight of his older brother feasting against your soaked folds like a starving man. You didn’t miss the way his cock jutted up from inside his shorts, a wet spot rapidly forming there.

Jimmy’s teeth nipped at the inside of your thigh and you jumped at the sudden prick of pain.

“Don’t look at him.” Jimmy growled, his fingers already reaching up to prod at your empty hole. “Look at me.”

His fingers sank deeper inside you and you moaned, your eyelids fluttering as he scissored you open. His clever tongue found your clit and began circling the sensitive bud, his broad shoulders nudging at your legs to urge them further apart.

Delicious heat curled at the base of your spine, another needy moan falling from your lips as Jimmy’s thick fingers explored deeper inside you. You could feel your gummy walls fluttering and clenching around him, greedily sucking him in.

“Poor thing,” Jimmy tutted, his eyes glued to your cunt as it continued to leak around his fingers. “She’s hungry, ain’t she?”

You gasped when he curled his fingers and found your g-spot, pleasure now throbbing between your legs.

“Already close?” His words were taunting. “Knew you was a slut, but I didn’t think you’d come this fast.”

“Jimmy.” You were writhing against the mattress now, Jimmy’s free hand gripping your thigh tighter to keep you still. His fingers were incessant, now pressing against that sweet spot inside you with devastating accuracy. You could feel yourself on the edge, your body tense as your orgasm rapidly approached. Then Jimmy withdrew his fingers.

“Fuck!” You exclaimed, looking down at him in desperation. “Jimmy, please…”

“Shut up.” He snarled, smacking the inside of your thigh and grinning when you yelped in surprise. “Don’t be greedy. I ain’t even fucked you yet.”

You let out a whine, but Jimmy wasn’t looking at you anymore. He was now meeting his younger brother’s desperate gaze with a smirk, putting on a show as he licked his fingers clean. “Her pussy tastes even sweeter than I thought it would,” he jeered, his other hand still on your thigh to keep you spread open for Jey to see. “Too bad you can’t touch her, uce. She already begging for it.”

Jey seethed in anger, tugging again helplessly against the ropes that kept him tied down.

Jimmy chuckled, dipping his fingers back into your soaked folds one last time to gather more of your wetness. You watched with wide eyes as he slid off the bed and approached his brother’s side, holding out the fingers covered with your juices to his younger brother.

“Wanna taste?” There was a challenge in Jimmy’s eyes and Jey’s anger wavered. He seemed uncertain now, his gaze flickering between you and his brother.

“Well?” Jimmy’s grin was devilish. “How desperate are you, uce?”

Jey stared at his fingers, practically licking his lips at the prospect of finally getting to taste you. But the line in the sand was clear. Would he cross it?

Then Jey slowly opened his mouth. His cheeks turned a violent shade of red, his gaze up at his brother equal parts humiliated and desperate.

“You an even bigger slut than her,” Jimmy huffed, though he seemed amused, quickly pushing his fingers into Jey’s mouth to allow him a taste. Jey’s eyelids fluttered, licking your juices from his brother’s fingers with fervor.

Jimmy looked over to you with a smirk. “See how whipped you got him, girl? I’m impressed. Ain’t ever seen my brother this desperate before.”

Your pussy clenched around nothing as you watched Jimmy remove his fingers from Jey’s mouth, Jey’s cheeks still beet red and his lips shiny with spit. He now looked thoroughly debauched, struggling to meet your gaze as Jimmy gave a derisive laugh.

“Can’t say I blame you, uce.” Jimmy chuckled, picking up your discarded panties from the floor and wadding them up in his hands. “Now that I’ve had a taste, I get it.”

Jimmy was quick to grab his twin by the hair, shoving your panties into Jey’s mouth when he let out a hiss of pain.

“Good boy.” Jimmy’s words were mocking, offering his brother a condescending pat on the head just to watch Jey’s entire body flush crimson. “Now you just sit and watch. Might even learn a thing or two.”

Jey’s eyes flashed murderously, his muscles rippling as he strained against the ropes. But when you met his gaze again, his pupils were blown wide. It was clear he hated this as much as he loved it. Your hole spasmed again when you saw that he didn’t spit out the panties in his mouth.

“C’mere, slut.”

Before you realized what was happening, Jimmy was grabbing you by the ankle, tugging you roughly until you were standing in front of him.

“Pretty girl,” he cooed, reaching up to cup your cheek with his large hand. His eyes were softer now, staring down at you with unconcealed affection. “Can’t believe my brother’s been keeping you all to himself. Selfish, ain’t he?”

You wanted to protest but he was quickly kissing you before you could, his lips warm against yours. You couldn’t help but lean into it, your knees already weak from his touch. His kisses were nothing like Jey’s. Jey was soft. Sweet. His kisses were always gentle, each one a sign of his love and affection. His kisses weren’t possessive - not like Jimmy’s. Jimmy kissed you like he owned you, his tongue bullying its way past your lips to claim your mouth for himself. And when his fingers reached up to tangle into your hair you gasped, your eyelids fluttering.

“Such a submissive little thing,” Jimmy murmured, his eyes dark as he stared down at you. “That why you letting me do this to you? You like being roughed up like this?”

Your cheeks grew warmer, suddenly unable to meet Jimmy’s smoldering gaze. Jimmy’s lip curled and he tugged on your hair again, a small whine escaping your lips at the feeling.

“Answer me, slut.” He snarled. “You like being treated like this?”

“Yes.” The word came out breathy, your voice hoarse. “Yes, I like it.”

Jimmy smirked, his grip on your hair tightening. “That’s what I thought.” He leaned forward to lick up the side of your neck and you shivered. “That’s why you need this, baby. Need me to give you what my brother can’t.”

He quickly released your hair and spun you around, pressing himself against your back as he held you close. You could feel Jey’s eyes watching you but you were too embarrassed to look at him.

“It’s alright, sweetheart,” Jimmy murmured, his breath hot in your ear. “Imma take care of you. Gonna give you whatchu been begging for.”

He placed his hand between your shoulder blades and forced you to bend over the side of the bed. You felt a humiliating trickle of your own wetness run down your leg, the inside of your thighs already coated with it. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been this wet.

Jimmy’s cock nudged at your entrance and you gasped at the feeling. You hadn’t really gotten a good look at Jimmy��s dick before, but when you felt him pushing inside you, your hole spasming as it tried to accommodate his width, you realized that he was bigger than Jey. Much bigger.

“Good girl,” Jimmy crooned, his hands roaming your body appreciatively as he gave you inch after agonizing inch. “Just made to take me, weren’t you, honey? Grippin’ my shit so tight. God, you feel so fucking good.”

You felt tears prick at the corner of your eyes as he pushed deeper and deeper inside you. Jesus, how big was he? You started to squirm, your hole fluttering helplessly around him as that delicious burn began to curl from within.

“Be still.” Jimmy’s hand shot out and grabbed you by the hair, forcing your back to arch further for him. “What’s wrong, slut? Ain’t used to being split open like this, are you? Guess Jey been going too easy on you.”

You could see Jey staring out of the corner of your eye, but you couldn’t look at him. Not like this. You instinctively moved to hide your face in the sheets but Jimmy’s tight grip on your hair made it impossible. Instead, you were forced to screw your eyes shut, your body hot with arousal and embarrassment. You felt so slutty like this: bent over the side of the bed with your boyfriend’s brother inside you, your back arched and your face on display like you were Jimmy’s trophy. You felt helpless beneath him, his mocking laughter only making things worse.

“I can feel you clenching around me, slut,” Jimmy laughed, landing a harsh swat on your ass just to hear you moan. “You love this, don’t you? Love getting fucked in front of my little brother.”

You wanted to protest, but your body betrayed you. Your leaking hole spasmed at his words and Jimmy laughed harder.

“Nasty fucking whore,” he cackled, grabbing a handful of your ass and squeezing. “God, where’d Jey dig up a slut like you?”

He finally bottomed out and you let out a cry at the feeling, your body trembling beneath him. God, you’d never had anything this big inside you before. Jimmy was massive.

“It’s alright, baby.” Jimmy cooed, rubbing a reassuring hand down your hip. “I gotchu. I know what you need.”

His first thrusts had you moaning, your hole still struggling to accommodate him.

“Such a good girl,” Jimmy praised, though his words were breathless, your velvety walls still tightly gripping him as he began to pound into you. “God, you feel amazing. I can see why my brother’s so whipped. If I got to fuck this pretty pussy every day, I’d do anything you asked me to.”

He finally released your hair, your face immediately falling into the mattress to hide. You hadn’t looked at Jey since Jimmy had stuffed your panties in his mouth. Unfortunately, Jimmy noticed.

“Aw, who you hiding from, honey?”

You could feel Jimmy leaning forward, draping himself across your back even as he kept drilling into your leaking hole.

“Nah, you gon’ look at him. You gon’ look at my brother.”

Before you realized what was happening, Jimmy had a firm hand around your throat, forcing your head up once again to look in Jey’s direction. You squeezed your eyes shut, your entire body burning with shame and embarrassment. It didn’t help that the pleasure from Jimmy’s thrusts were forcing small, breathy moans past your lips, your mind already growing hazy.

“Look at him, slut.” Jimmy snarled, his breath hot in your ear, and your eyes flew open at his command.

Jey’s eyes were impossibly wide, seemingly glued to the sight of his older twin fucking you in his own bed. His chest was heaving as he’d run a marathon, the skin around his wrists red from how hard he’d been tugging on the ropes. His forehead was beaded with sweat, his erection straining in his shorts. You couldn’t believe that he hadn’t spit out your panties yet, still holding them in his mouth to taste what little of you he could.

“He fucking likes it,” Jimmy chuckled, his thrusts unfaltering as he continued to lean over you. “Likes seeing his girl fucked by his older brother. That’s because he knows I can do it better, ain’t that right, Jey?”

Jey’s face went crimson, though you couldn’t be sure if it was from anger or arousal.

Jimmy chuckled again, quickly flipping you onto your back to change his angle.

“Just needed to see your pretty face, honey,” he purred, leaning down to press a sweet kiss to your cheek. “I can’t believe Jey gets to see you like this all the time. Lucky bastard. You make the cutest faces when you’re getting fucked.”

This new angle had Jimmy’s cock aligned perfectly with your g-spot, lightning bolts of pleasure shooting up your spine with every cruel thrust of his hips. Jimmy leaned over you, one of his hands gripping your hip tightly to keep you close while the other cradled your cheek. His gold chain dangled in front of your face, glinting in the light.

“That’s why you needed the older brother to take care of you, isn’t it, slut?” Jimmy’s words were cocky, his lip twisted into a smirk as he stared down at you. “Needed Big Jim to give you what you need. And you need it bad. I can tell. I know Jey don’t fuck you like this.”

He aimed a vicious slap to your cheek and you couldn’t help but moan, Jimmy grinning sadistically as you began to writhe beneath him.

“You gonna come on this dick, bitch?” Jimmy’s words were strained now, his thrusts stuttering as he grew closer and closer to his own release. “Gonna cream all over my dick while your boyfriend watches?”

You could barely keep your eyes open, the pleasure threatening to drown you. You could only nod, another moan tearing from your throat when Jimmy slapped you again.

No matter how embarrassed you were at his words, you knew that Jimmy was right. Jey had never fucked you like this. And when you finally came, squirting all over Jimmy’s dick with a high-pitched keen, you weren’t sure you’d ever felt pleasure this intense before. The spray coated both of your stomachs, surprising Jimmy so much that he leaned back to watch with wide eyes.

“Holy shit,” Jimmy looked stunned. “You squirting just for me, baby?”

You were too exhausted to feel embarrassed, your hole continuing to spasm and convulse around Jimmy’s massive length. You opened your eyes just enough to see Jimmy’s triumphant grin, his eyes now on his brother.

“Yeah, I bet she ain’t ever done that shit for you, uce. Gushing all over my dick like a goddamn fountain.”

You couldn’t see Jey at this angle, but you could hear his heavy breathing behind you. You could only imagine what he looked like - your panties still between his teeth, his face a beautiful shade of red.

“Gonna come inside your girl, Jey,” Jimmy’s voice was a low growl, leaning forward to cage you in possessively as his hips stuttered out of rhythm. You caught a glimpse of Jimmy’s gaze and it was wicked. “Gonna breed her and make her mine. And whatchu gonna do about it? Just gonna have to sit there and watch, won’t you, little brother?”

You could have sworn you were going to come again from the brutal way he was pounding into you, your body still twitching from pleasure and overstimulation. You couldn’t help but moan when Jimmy finally spilled inside you, hot ropes of come painting your gummy walls white. You could feel your cunt fluttering and convulsing around him, trying to milk every last drop from his softening cock.

Eventually Jimmy stilled, his breath coming out in short, ragged pants.

The room suddenly seemed very quiet, your soft moan sounding louder than usual when Jimmy finally pulled out of you.

“Shhh, it’s alright,” Jimmy’s words were sweet, a stark contrast to the nasty filth he’d been spitting before. “I gotchu, baby. You’re okay.”

He quickly retreated to grab a warm washcloth, washing your tearstained face and cleaning the mess between your legs. You let out a low hum of contentment when he maneuvered you to the middle of bed, tucking you into the sheets before pressing one final kiss to your cheek.

“Sweet girl.” He murmured affectionately before pulling away, his eyes now on his younger brother.

Jimmy chewed his lip in an uncharacteristic display of nervousness, slowly climbing off the bed to approach the chair where Jey was tied. Jey watched him warily. He had spit out your panties long ago, his fingers now flexing dangerously as Jimmy got closer.

“I’ll…get the ropes.” Jimmy mumbled, kneeling beside his brother to undo the intricate knots around Jey’s wrists. Jey said nothing in return, his expression inscrutable. While everything that happened tonight had followed the expectations set up in advance, Jimmy had certainly taken some creative liberties. Would Jey be angry?

The air felt tense. Jimmy’s brow furrowed in concentration as he finally freed Jey’s left arm. Jey let out a sigh, grimacing as he attempted to stretch the sore muscle. Jimmy watched him carefully. He seemed to be expecting a hit from Jey’s newly freed hand, his body stiff from where he knelt beside his brother.

“You gonna untie my other arm or you want me to do it?”

Jimmy seemed startled by Jey’s words. “Nah, I got it, uce.” he muttered, now focused on Jey’s other arm until it was finally free.

Jey grimaced again, rubbing his chafed wrists.

“Hold on, lemme grab something.” Jimmy was quick to stand, retreating into the bathroom and returning with an aloe cream. Jey raised an eyebrow when Jimmy knelt beside him again, squirting some of the aloe onto his own fingers and gingerly reaching out to take his younger brother’s arm.

“Lemme help, uce.” He murmured, rubbing the aloe across the red skin and massaging Jey’s sore wrists. “I know it gotta hurt.”

Jey allowed it, his eyes never leaving his brother’s even when Jimmy finally retracted his hands and stared up at him.

“We good?”

Jimmy’s question was tentative, his eyes flickering down to Jey’s hands. You wondered if he would fight back if Jey decided to hit him. Some of Jimmy’s dirty talk had been diabolical. Had it been anyone else, you had no doubt that Jey would have killed them.

Your heart soared when you saw the barest traces of a smile on Jey’s lips. “Yeah, we always good, uce.”

Jimmy’s smile was so bright that it felt like you were staring into the sun. “Oh, good.” He seemed relieved. “I guess I went a little overboard, huh?"

Jey shrugged, helping his brother to his feet. “Nah. We already talked about it beforehand. I knew what I was getting into. Besides, a bet’s a bet.”

You struggled to follow the rest of the conversation, your eyes growing heavy as you listened to Jey shuffle to the bathroom to clean up. It wasn’t until he crawled into the bed with you, his lips brushing across your temple, that you opened your eyes again.

“You alright, baby?” Jey murmured, wrapping his arms around you to pull you close.

“Mm hm.” You hummed, looking up at him with sleepy eyes. “Are you?”

Jey grinned. “Yeah, I’m alright. More than alright actually. That was hot as fuck.”

“Really?” You couldn’t help but smile back at him. “Wasn’t sure if you’d like it.”

“Only thing I didn’t like was the damn rope.” Jey chuckled, pressing another kiss to your forehead. “And that’s only because it hurt. Next we using cuffs or some shit.”

“Next time?”

A splotch of pink dotted Jey’s bronze cheeks, but he still maintained your gaze. “Yeah. Next time.”

You heard a small cough and turned your gaze to the bedroom door. Jimmy stood in the threshold, now fully clothed with his bag slung over his shoulder.

“Well, I guess I better head out.” He said, suddenly looking uncomfortable. He seemed to have trouble meeting your gaze. “I’ll see y’all later.”

“Where are you going?” You asked, sitting up in concern to stare at him.

Jimmy furrowed his brow in confusion. “Whatchu mean?”

“I…” You suddenly felt embarrassed. The three of you hadn’t discussed what would happen afterwards. “I don’t want you to go.”

Jimmy’s eyes flickered over to his brother, but Jey seemed unbothered, reclining further back into the pillows to give a cat-like stretch.

“You want me to stay?” This seemed like a revelation to Jimmy, his eyes wide as he stared at you.

“What, you got a hearing problem now?” Jey’s words were sharp, but his eyes sparkled with humor. “Come on, uce. We ain’t got all night.”

Jimmy dropped his bag, approaching the side of the bed with caution. You offered him a reassuring smile.

“Thought you liked to cuddle?” You questioned, pulling the sheets back to welcome him in. Jimmy removed his shoes and jacket, only stripping off his pants when you gave him an encouraging nod.

“I do.” he muttered, finally climbing into bed with you. “I just didn’t wanna impose.”

“I think we’re past that now, Jim.” You chuckled, reaching out to take his hand. “Don’t you?”

Jimmy couldn’t help but smile, interlacing your fingers together and giving you a reassuring squeeze. “Yeah.” he said. “Yeah, I think we are.”

_____

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