#bambooboofic

You click your tongue as a few of the little bamfs crawled and hopped around the living room floor. Kurt sat next to you with an arm around your shoulder. He taps his fingers impatiently on the area between your shoulder and collarbone. “I’d like it if we could watch our little movie now, darling,” he says in a slight growl. A little frown forms on your lips. “I know, Kurt. Just give me a second! I want a few of the bamfs to cuddle with,” you tell him. The second the bamfs hear you say “cuddle,” four of them immediately came to crawl up onto you. Some of them use your pajama pants like a cat tree. Their little claws nick the cloth while they chitter and babble. The others teleport onto you. One lied on each of your shoulders and the other two lied in your lap. Kurt rolled his eyes in annoyance. His bottom lip subconsciously pushes out in a pout. The way his eyes glow like a warm lantern didn’t hide his expression at all. You chuckle when you notice it. “Are you jealous by any chance?” you ask. Kurt looks at you and sighs. “No. Not jealous. I simply like to have you all to myself,” he shrugs. Definitely jealous. Your eyebrows go up in amusement and you slowly shake your head. You start the movie and settle against your fuzzy, blue boyfriend.

About fifteen minutes in, a few of the bamfs start pawing at your socks. They chitter and chirp at you. You’re too zoned in on the movie to notice. Kurt attempts to nudge them away with his foot. One of them hisses at him aggressively. He mutters some profanity under his breath. He tries to lovingly squeeze your shoulder, but the bamf laying on it bit him. The mutant sucked in air from behind his teeth. “One of your ‘babies’ has just bitten me,” he told you, his tail flicking against your leg. “Huh?” you said thoughtlessly. “One of the bamfs bit me,” he told you once more. You let out a little gasp as Kurt shows you the bite mark on his hand. “Ah, Kurt. I’m sorry,” you coo to him. You carefully take all four of the bamfs off of you and sigh when you stand up. “Let’s go clean that up,” you say to him. He smiles as you lead him to the bathroom. He can finally be alone with you! He hates to seem so possessive over you, but it gets to a point where having all those mini versions of him begin to annoy him. Espically when they get all of your love and affection instead of him. Kurt stands behind you in the bathroom as you search through the cabinets. You grab some disinfectant and bandages to keep the bite from getting all nasty. He wraps his arms around your waist, resting his head in the crook of your neck. You giggle softly and turn to kiss his cheek. “You are all over me,” you sigh. “Just like your little bamfs,” he chirps at you. His tail wraps around your thigh. “My little bamfs?” you question. He nods against your neck. “They’re always on you and never on me. They hate me like teenagers seemingly hate their parents.” he quips. You shrug in agreement. He’s right. “Not to ignore your complaint, but we need to take care of your little wound,” you tell him. He lifts his harmed hand from off your waist and looks at it. “Mmh. I suppose so,” he hums.

As you finish dressing his wound, the sound of the bamfs’ little paws padding along the hard floor outside of the bathroom. They chirp, Kurt groans. In a split second, several of them are in the bathroom with you and Kurt. “Is there any way you could get them to leave?” he asks pitifully. You look at him, biting back your bottom lip. “I don’t know. I mean, I can try,” you drag out without an ounce of confidence in your tone. You turn to the bamfs and there they sit. They’re lined up together like lovebirds on a branch. Their big, yellow eyes begging you to pet them, to let them stay. You put your hands on your hips like an authority figure. And…

You just can’t! You can’t bring yourself to tell them to leave! They’re too cute. You start to awe over them, getting down and petting each of them. “I’m sorry, my little ones! I wasn’t trying to scare you. I promise I still love you,” you say in a high-pitched voice. Kurt groans into his hands. He can’t blame you, though. He knows how much you love the bamfs. You turn around at the sound of his annoyance. “Sorry,” you mouth with a guilty expression in your face. He rubs his hands together before dragging them down his face. “Could we go to bed now, darling? I’m getting tired,” he asks. His eyes spoke to you. He truly wanted to be alone with you. It seemed like an impossible concept, but you’d do anything to see Kurt calm for once in a while. You walk over to him, the bamfs following behind you like ducklings would follow their mother. “Of course we can,” you whisper. Your hands rest against the fluff of his face as you kiss his forehead. His tail flicks and he chitters softly.

You two get to your shared bedroom, the bamfs still following you around. You carefully pluck them off of your body before placing them outside of the door. “If you guys stay out, I’ll give you some treats, okay?” you offer in a loving, soft tone. They chitter and nod before scurrying away. Kurt is sitting on the bed, waiting for you with wide eyes. You chuckle at the goofy sight and cock an eyebrow curiously. “I don’t have a single clue how you managed that,” he whispered. You stood silent for a moment before shrugging. You make your way over while Kurt lifts the blanket for you. You smile gently and rubbed your face against his chest. “Finally alone,” he hummed happily. You ran your hands through the fur on his back. Your fingers trailed down to the spot where his tail connected to his spine and scratched it. His body tensed slightly before relaxing, his tail wrapping around your forearm. “That’s nice,” he tells you before kissing your forehead. You let out a huff of air into his fur. Kurt wraps his arms around you to hold you closer. After a while of cuddling, kissing, and petting, you and Kurt are left alone with the soft hum of the ceiling fan and each other’s breathing.

Tag List: @wimpyvamps

You’ve been isolating yourself in your room since you woke up. You feel so confused with yourself, with your mind, with your feelings. You press your back against your headboard, legs crossed one on top of the other. You gently rock back and forth while struggling to understand how you’re feeling; why you’re feeling the way you do. Yeah, you’ve got a ton of energy right now. You feel like you’re letting your inner child express itself in your mind, yet you’re holding them in as best as possible. You’re terrified of annoying anyone by releasing those feelings, espically Logan. You bite and chew at your lips nervously as you rock a bit faster. Why? That’s the only question you can ask yourself right now. Over and over, your mind fills itself with nothing but confusion of why you feel like this, why you yearn to be so childish, why you’re scared of annoying Logan when he loves you unconditionally.

You’re quickly snapped out of your thoughts as the man knocks on the door. “Everything alright in there, kid,” he asks with his face pressed to the wood. God, the way he calls you kid only makes these foreign feelings harder to suppress. You choke back your tears before responding. “Yeah. I’m fine. Just feeling a little down,” you reply with a tone that’s involuntarily soft and childlike. Logan raises his brows at the way you speak to him. You’ve never kept yourself away like this, but he’s been noticing a pattern lately. You isolate yourself the moment you wake up, beg him to leave you alone, and then come out quiet and reserved. He continues to press because he misses you so damn bad. He’s willing to do absolutely anything to get you in his arms again. “Please tell me what’s wrong, bub. I promise I’m not going to be upset with you,” he pleads with the softest tone he can force out of his throat. “I mean, I’d be more upset if you didn’t trust me with whatever you’ve got going on,” he chuckles akwardly.

You wipe your tears before inviting him in. The second he realizes that you’re crying, his lips form a frown and his eyes give you a sympathetic gaze. “Hey, hey, hey. Don’t cry, baby. I’m right here. I’m not leaving, I swear,” he scrambles to reassure you, sitting on your bed and pulling you into his arms. You let your cries get thicker once you lean into his. He smells so fatherly. His large, calloused hands make your entire body shiver with comfort. Everything about him is sending an unknown, unfamiliar feeling that you’ve been yearning for. You can’t even begin to imagine what to call it, but your body allows you to relax under his touch. “That’s it, baby. Let it all out. Tell me what’s up once you’re ready to,” he coos as his hands rub up and down your back. You nod against his chest, letting the thumping of his heartbeat soothe you.

You pull back from his embrace, but hold his hands in your own. His touch is what you’ve been needing. Scratch that, you’ve been needing Logan in general. You attempt to try and explain things, but you end up stammering and stuttering. “I’m sorry, Logan. I just — I don’t even know what to say,” you apologize while looking away from him. He squeezes your hands gently and sighs. “You don’t need to apologize, kid. I’ll be here as long as you need me to be. If I have to wait here for hours for you to get your thoughts together, I don’t mind. You know that, bub,” he tells you sincerely. You look at him and give him the best smile you can considering the circumstances.

You take a deep, shakey breath after a few minutes of silence before attempting to describe your feelings. “I’ve just been feeling like a child lately. I’ve had so much energy and excitement and joy for no reason. It’s so confusing and it’s scaring me Lo, it really is. I just want an answer,” you explain to him. His thumb rubs against your knuckles lovingly before he presses a silent kiss to your forehead. “Oh, god, I’m so sorry. You’ve got such a big heart, kid. I need you to understand that you don’t need to be afraid to let those feelings loose around me. I’ll love you no matter what,” he promises while holding your face in his hands so you’re looking at him. You nod gently, eyes glossy and wide from the way he comforts you so paternally. “I understand,” you mumble back, letting that same childlike voice slip. Logan gives you a gentle smile, failing to hold back a snicker. “Well would you look at that. You sound so little, baby. It’s adorable,” he says while attempting to hold himself back from squeezing your face. You giggle softly and shake your head no. “It’s not adorable, Lo,” you protest. Your stomach knots as you allow yourself to slip into this pure, innocent state. As soon as Logan begins to coddle you further, that knot unties itself and becomes a flutter in your heart. “If you deny anything else I say, I’ll have to find a way to get back at you for it. You’re too damn cute to not accept that you are,” he playfully threatens. “C’mere you sweet thing,” he growls as he pulls you into his lap. “No! Let me go,” you giggle sweetly, squirming in Logan’s arms despite wanting to stay right where you are forever. “I’m not letting you go, kid. You’re mine. My sweet little thing that I’ll protect with my life,” he declares before starting to pepper your face with soft kisses. You can feel him smiling like an idiot against your skin from the sound of your giggles, the way you smile, and the warmth of your face caused by him.

Out of all the mutations the universe could’ve graced you with, you were damned with involuntary invisibility. Sometimes it could come in hand when you’re about to be harmed. You have a sixth sense of fear, and any time it kicks in, you go invisible. That sixth sense has saved your life a handful of times, to be fair. However, the past month has been hell for you. You met a fellow mutant through your friend Rogue. Logan Howlett is his name. You’re so envious of his mutation. Built in claws that aid him in being up front and in the enemies’ faces rather than hiding away in plain sight.

You sheepishly walk over to Logan, already nervous that he’ll cause a sudden disappearance. He’s lounging in one of the chairs within the common room. One of his legs crosses on top of the other. Rogue is sitting on the couch across from him, reading some romance book that she’s been telling you all about. She glances up at you, and before she can speak, you give her a face, begging her not to speak. She looked back down at her book without another gesture. 

Logan takes another drag of his cigar while leaning back a bit in the recliner. You walk in front of him and sit next to Rogue with a light smile on your lips. “Heya, girl! What brings you down here?” she asks as she gives you a quick hug. You hug her back and shrug. “Not much. Just missed you and Logan,” you say casually, subtly trying to catch Logan’s attention. It works, and he shoots you his iconic look with one eyebrow raised in slight confusion. He takes his cigar out of his mouth between his pointer and middle, causing you to shiver slightly at the sight. “Missed me? Why the hell would you miss me, doll? I’m nothin’ special,” he tells you as his expression becomes more relaxed.

You feel your heart flutter and your mind fill with anxiety of you going invisible. You try your best to keep yourself together before replying to him. You tug at the neck of your shirt and bit and attempt to get comfortable. “Well, I just like being around you. You seem pretty comfortable around me, and you’ve been nothing but welcoming since Marie introduced me to you.” You ramble while trying your best to maintain eye contact with Logan, but ultimately end up looking in his direction instead. He raises his eyebrows and shrugs slightly in response. “Alright. Thanks for checkin’ on us then, princess,” he says with a soft smile. Damn, that does it for you. Your cheeks feel like fire before you go invisible. You quietly hold in an annoyed and embarrassed groan. You look to your side and see Marie looking down at her book in attempts to hide her snickering and smiling at the situation. You roll your eyes before you glance over at Logan. His lips are slightly parted, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Kid, am I crazy or did your friend just disappear?” he asks with slight concern. Marie lets out a few strangled laughs before wiping stray tears from her eyes. “Yeah. That happens sometimes,” she huffs out. Her eyes point in your direction before she smirks mischievously. “Usually when she’s really flustered. But it happens when she’s feeling some strong emotions too. I’m sure it’s the first case though,” she says to Logan before going back to her book.

Logan nods in understanding before taking another drag of his cigar. He keeps it between his lips this time.

Soon enough, you fade back into sight, and Logan immediately gazes at you. “Welcome back,” he murmurs against his cigar. You smile idiotically at him and nod your head to let him know you heard him. Marie looks at you and nudges your elbow, encouraging you to say more. You subtly shake your head no, but gain a knowing look from her in response. You bite at the inside of your cheek in anticipation for what she’s about to do. She stretches and lets out a bit of a groan before getting up on her feet. “I think I’ll be heading to my room now. I might hit the hay soon,” she tells the two of you before walking off.

Logan’s gaze lingers on you, and he smirks at you. Your cheeks began to heat again. The chair squeaks as he gets up and walks over to you. One of his hands goes to slip a thumb through his jeans’ belt loop. The other reaches for his cigar and falls to his side. He stands in front of you, looking down at you with a soft smile. “I don’t bite, baby girl. I know the huge metal claws could be a bit intimidating, but I swear I’d never hurt ya’. Alright?” he asks sweetly as his hand moves from his belt loop to your shoulder. He gently rubs his thumb against it while awaiting your response. You sit there for a few seconds in shock. You haven’t disappeared yet, but you wish you could right now. Your flesh is burning up so much that you’re sure Logan can feel it through your clothes. He leans in close to your face, his pupils right on yours, causing you to look away. “Hey. Look at me,” he asks gently while waiting for your eyes to meet his again. When you sink into yourself, Logan grunts, puts out his cigar, and uses his hand to hold your cheek in his palm. You involuntarily lean against the calloused skin, causing him to chuckle. In fear of him pulling away because of your defiance, you decide to look at him again. “That’s it,” he murmurs. You let out a quiet whine at his praises, and it does nothing but fuel the fire in Logan’s chest. You let yourself relax, your eyelids feeling a little heavy, your chest rising in falling shallowly. You’re not sure if you’re seeing right though when you see him lean in. His breath is strong with the scent of cigar smoke, but you ignore it the best you can. You’ve been waiting for this since you’ve met him. Both of you slowly close your eyes as his lips press to yours. You immediately go invisible, but that doesn’t mean you’re not physically there. Logan’s hand that was previously on your shoulder moves to cup your other cheek. His hand doesn’t miss your face. Fuck, it’s like he spends so much time looking at you that he has your entire figure mapped out in his head. You wouldn’t be too surprised if he genuinely did. He slightly leans more against you, your head and back pressing against the fabric of the couch. You can feel his legs shift between yours as he attempts to get as close as he can to you. The two of you unwind with each other. Your mouth opens for him, and he kisses you deeper. You breathe into each other, finding a good rhythm that keeps the two of you connected for longer than anticipated. But when you finally pull back, you are panting like a dehydrated dog. Your mouth goes dry as you realize you’ve been invisible since Logan started kissing you. He chuckles softly, his head hanging down in front of you. He catches his breath while attempting to look back up at you. His thumbs caress your cheeks before he leans in near your ear. “I know I can’t see you, doll, but I know you look so damn pretty and wide-eyed right now,” he mutters to you, causing your hands to clasp over your mouth to muffle your gasp.

You’ve been regressed all day. Yesterday was a busy, stressful, overwhelming day, and now you’re coping with the stress. Logan is by your side, caring for you as usual. You lay on the living room floor’s carpet, tummy pressed to the ground, legs kicking up in the air. You breathe contently as you carefully color the page Logan printed out for you.

You could hear him in the bathroom down the corridor near the stairs. He was carefully grooming his hair while humming a tune that sounded a little too familiar. A soft smile crept onto your lips once you recognized it, it was the sound of your favorite cartoon’s intro. “I know that song,” you chirp, gaining a soft chuckle from the man. “You sure do, kiddo. So much that you’ve got me hummin’ it myself,” he replied. He set down the comb before letting out a soft sigh. The sound of his boots slightly clacking against the hardwood floor made you turn your head and giggle out of excitement when you see him. “Kitty hair! Kitty hair,” you exclaim. “Not kitty hair,” he corrected while shaking his head.

“Kitty hair” is what you’d call Logan’s hair any time he had it brushed up like little animal ears. As much as he denied that they were meant to be ears to represent any animal, he never truly cared that you called it kitty hair. He found it pretty cute and grew fond of the term.

“Can I pretty please play with it,” you plead, clasping your hands together. Logan shrugs in response. “I dunno, bubs,” he drags out playfully. “Pretty please? I promise I’ll get that one spot behind your ears that you really like,” you add in an attempt to get him to accept your request. He looks down at you sweetly, hands on his hips, one eyebrow cocked. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt,” he groans dramatically, feigning annoyance. “But you gotta clean up all that arts and crafts stuff you got going on.”

Without hesitation, you nod in agreement. You start to clean up your crayons and coloring pages with haste. Within minutes, you’re done putting everything up, now sat on the couch waiting for Logan to come lay his head on your lap. You stretch your hands out to him grasping the air between you two. “Calm down, kiddo. I’m coming,” he assures you. He walks closer to you, leans down to press a kiss to your forehead, slips off his boots, and lays his head in your lap. He shifts a bit to get more comfortable by putting one leg on top of the other and crossing his arms against his chest. “There you go, bubs,” he hums with a deep exhale. You squeal with excitement as you gently begin to play with his hair. You run your fingers through the strands, scratch his scalp, and when you scratch behind his ears, you hear something. Purring. He always purrs when you play with his hair for long enough.

“You purr,” you exclaim with a giggle and a huge grin on your face. Logan sighs in return. He shakes his head in denial “You’ve got it all wrong, kid. I don’t purr. Wolverines don’t purr. You’re making things up,” he protests against your previous claim.

You felt his throat vibrate softly against one of your thighs and listened closely. As you told him, he was purring.

“You purr like a kitty, then,” you chirp back. Another deep sigh. He’s not even annoyed with your claim. He knows you’re right. He just doesn’t want to admit to his kiddo that he purrs. “I don’t purr. I didn’t purr,” he states firmly. “It’s not right to lie to your papa,” he said with a light-hearted chuckle. “But you did! I promise,” you pout to him. “I’ll prove it,” you say before beginning to scratch at his scalp again.

Sure as hell, he purrs. He grumbles softly to interrupt his purrs in protest. You know you’ve won once you hear a soft sigh fall from his lips as you scratch right behind his ears. More purring. “Guess you’re right, bubs,” he chuckles softly while closing his eyes. “Just keep scratching. It feels nice,” he adds with a smile creeping onto his lips.

TAG LIST : @saronics

It’s a pretty peaceful day in the bunker which comes once in a blue moon. You aren’t complaining though. The sounds of nature slowly creep up in volume as the sun rises. The morning is kind to you today. All the boys are either asleep or, if they’re awake, quiet enough to let you rest. Eventually, the time comes where you start to become aware of your surroundings. You can’t fight off the mundane tasks that need to be completed given the off track situation you’re in today. You stretch and groan to let the rest of your body wake itself up. You bite the inside of your cheek, almost giving yourself a Charlie horse from how good you stretch your legs. “G’morning, guys,” you rasp out to the men as you continue your regular wake-up. Jack and Castiel are awake, of course. “Good morning,” Castiel returns as he’s looking through some files Dean handed to him. Jack muffles out, what you assume to be, the same thing Castiel just stated. You rub the sleep from your eyes, peer over the couch, and chuckle. Jack has his cheeks stuffed full of sugary cereal like a rodent storing food for later. He gives you a goofy smile that you don’t hesitate to return.

You head to the small bathroom and wash your face as you usually do, taking long breaths after each splash of cold water. You pat your face dry, but hear the sound of foot fall against the wooden floor. You cock your eyebrow and peak out of the bathroom doorway. Nothing. Maybe Sam or Dean is finally awake. You shrug it off and continue to take care of yourself. Not even five minutes later, you hear the same exact sound. Same pace, urgency, everything. Your toothbrush hangs between your clenched teeth as you step out of the bathroom completely to observe your surroundings. “Are one of you trying to screw with me?” you ask suspiciously. Both Castiel and Jack look at you like you’re crazy. “Nevermind,” you groan while shaking your head. You spit out the minty foam and wash it down the drain. It’s been about thirty minutes since you woke up, and the brothers are now awake. They greet you as you make your way from the bathroom to where you keep your clothes. You push through the hangers and attempt to find your favorite sweater considering the cold weather outside. It takes you a while to realize it’s not on the usual hanger that you put it on. In fact, it’s not even on the rack. “Sam! C’mere!” you call to the tall man. He scratches his head and yawns. “What’s up?” he asks with half-lidded eyes. You motion to the top of the closet. “I can’t find my sweater. Can you pretty please get it? I think it’s on that top shelf,” you plead, even fluttering your eyelashes dramatically. You get a sigh and a chuckle out of the large man as he starts to search for it. He hums, squints, and even pokes his tongue out between his lips. He is determined to find that sweater you love so much. “Damn it,” he grunts. That phrases tells you all you need to knowz Sadly, even he can’t find it. “I’ll let you know if I see it, alright?” he tells you with a genuine smile. “Alright,” you drag out in complaint. “Thank you for trying, though!” you chirp to him, making sure his efforts don’t go unnoticed. He nods in acknowledgment as he heads back to the living area. You sigh in disappointment, missing your sweater like it’s your child. You let the situation be for now, and find something else to wear.

Jack was the first to spot you as you emerged from the bathroom after changing. He did his typical greeting where his hand shot up in a stiff wave. “Your outfit looks very nice!” he complimented, cheeks pushed up from his big grin. You chuckle softly and shake your head. “It’s not much. Just a replacement since I couldn’t find my sweater,” you told him, shrugging it off. You look around at the men who are all doing their own things. Dean is on a dating app of some sort, Sam is catching up on a book he’s been trying to read for ages, Castiel is watching TV, and Jack is on the floor in his own world—still staring at you kindly. “If you guys don’t mind,” you say somewhat loudly in attempts to get their attention. All the boys look at you in expectation. “I know today is like an off day, but I’d really appreciate it if one of you could help me try to find my sweater,” you sigh out, gaze awaiting for a volunteer. Jack jumps to his feet with the energy of a shaken soda bottle. You giggle at his reaction to your request, “I take it you wanna help me, Jack?” He nods in agreement, quickly rushing to your bedroom before you can make any protests. You shrug it off, not expecting anything devious. “See you guys in a bit!” you chirp to the others before waving to them.

You finally catch up to Jack who’s been upstairs for a bit now. You get all doe-eyed when you see how quick ues going through everything. “Jack, calm down!” you nervously laugh. He pauses, turning around to face you. He looks like a wild animal hunching over freshly killed prey. He’s sweating and panting, but still giving you that same smile at before. “You asked me to help,” he states. You take a deep breath to calm yourself hefore explaining things. “Yes, I did. That doesn’t mean you have to go rabid in my bedroom. Stand up,” you request to which he quickly follows. He bashfully comes to stand by your side. “Where have you not checked?” you ask with suspicion. He pauses and looks at you proudly. “I already checked every inch of your room, don’t worry!” he states happily. Your cheeks flush slightly as your mind rushes through all the things he could’ve seen that you had hidden in draws, boxes, and whatnot. “If you saw anything weird, never speak of it,” you say while attempting to keep your calm. He quickly nods in understanding. You sit there for a moment, arms crossed against your chest while you think. You gaze at Jack, who’s patiently standing in your peripheral vision.

Dean is too muscular.

Sam is too tall.

Castiel sticks to his trench coat combo.

“Jack,” you start, you tone more gentle than usual. “Yes?” he replies quickly. “Is it okay if we check your room?” you ask, attempting to come up with an excuse under pressure. “I think my sweater might’ve gotten mixed into your laundry,” you explain. He nods compliantly, quickly leading you to his room. You’ve been in there before, but never really searched. You look around at the collections of trinkets, crafts, drawings, and other fun things that represent Jack’s gentle persona. A soft smile creeps onto your lips as he stands by your side. You silently begin to search the nephilim’s room, looking inside of every drawer, under every piece of furniture, behind boxes of things. Jack blurts out of nowhere, “I have to take care of something!” You jerk yourself out of your focused state, but by the time you do, he’s already out of the room. You sigh and roll your eyes before continuing your search once more.

The minutes fly by, and you eventually give up. You’ve been trying to find your sweater for almost two hours now. There doesn’t seem to be any hope of finding it soon. You’re sat on the couch between the two angels—Sam and Dean are out getting food. You feel so relaxed when spending time with the non-humans. They’re so quiet and calm, never freaking out over little things. You feel odd, suddenly. Maybe a little too calm. Jack has his head rested on your shoulder, Castiel has his hand on top of your own. You’re quickly lulled to sleep.

It’s dark outside when you wake up. The sun is barely peaking over the horizon. You rub your head and try to recollect your thoughts of what happened. How are you in your bed? What happened to your jacket? Your rings? You slightly panic, expecting that the items you’re worried about ended up in the same place as your sweater. You really feel like you should tell Dean and Sam, but your gut tells you Jack might have something to do with this. He can knock people out. He seemed so anxious earlier when you needed to search his room for your sweater. You drag yourself out of bed, slug across the hallway as quietly as you can, and quickly open the door to Jack’s room. Lo and behold he’s got all your things. He’s using your jacket as a pillowcase, swaddled in your sweater, and your missing jewelry is placed neatly in a row on his bedside table. You know nephilims don’t need sleep, but that boy was sound asleep. He looked so precious wearing your things. It tugged at your heart—the way he was adorned by your things. Even if he stole them, you were torn between confronting him and seeing him so peaceful. You sigh softly, standing in his doorway to continue admiring him. He tosses and turns a bit, eventually laying to fave you. You smile when you notice the slight grin on his lips. God, he is just precious.

You jolt as soon as he does. He squeaks out your name while giving you a wide-eyed look. It’s below him to lie, so he proceeds to tell the truth. “I didn’t expect you to catch me! I’m sorry. You can have your things back. I’ll ask next time. I just needed them for now,” he explains quickly. You give yourself a moment to process everything before snickering. “Jack. You don’t need to be sorry. It’s cute seeing you all bundled up in my clothes,” you tell him. He gives you a toothy smile, eyes scrunching at the corners. “So I can keep your things?” he asks hopefully. You stand there and think on it for a moment. “We could make a deal,” you tell him. He’s all ears.

The next morning, Sam and Dean see the two of you cuddled up on the couch. You’ve got Jack’s coat messily draped on your shoulders, and Jack’s got the replacement sweater you wore on. The nephilim also has you wrapped in his arms like a human-sized stuffed animal, face pressed against your shoulder blade, knees tucked behind yours.

The two of you would never confess your love for each other, though.

divider creds :: @ithemes

You wake up and are still in a pretty stressed state. Last night you argued with your best friend, and they ended up blocking you. It wasn’t like them to do that. All that time the two of you spent together, every deep conversation, every moment of vulnerability soured just because of a disagreement. You never would’ve expected it, but here you were, sulking as your mind was screaming at you.

It was hard to think. It was hard to do anything. It was just hard.

Thank god for Logan Howlett, though. He came into your room with cautious steps and a worried look. “Hey, kid. I noticed you didn’t come down for breakfast,” he said with a soft voice. His gaze lingered on the outline of you under your blanket while patiently awaiting a response. “Just let me know if you end up getting hungry. I’ll make you something, okay? In the meantime I’ll be in my room,” he told you with a tone that pleaded for a response. After standing in the awkward silence of your room, he slowly walked out.

You weren’t really hungry. You’d lost your appetite. You didn’t want to do anything. But Logan’s tone tugged at your heart and flipped a switch in your brain after you sat there for a while and processed his words. You felt your stomach get fluttery and your bottom lip pushed out in a bit of a pout. You needed to get to him as soon as possible.

As much as your body didn’t want to, your mind convinced it to drag itself out of bed and go down the hall to Logan’s room. You knocked while holding your favorite stuffed animal against your chest. You felt a bit nervous seeking out his affection and care after you completely ignored him. Realistically, you’d probably end up crying if you didn’t get what your heart ached for.

Your slightly trembling hand reached to knock on his door. “Papa? Can I come in, please? I want cuddles,” you called to him. Logan smiled to himself softly. Mostly because you finally came to talk to him, but also because he loved caring for you when you regressed. “Yeah! You can open the door, babydoll. I ain’t doing anything,” he said with an optimistic tone. You giggled softly, your hand gripping your stuffed animal a little tighter out of excitement.

You peeked into his room before fully stepping in. Logan was lying on his bed, one leg on top of the other, cigar in hand, and wearing his usual attire. His hand scratched at his fluffy jaw while leaning his head against his forearm. He smiled when you made your way into his room. “Come on, kid. I might bite, but I won’t bite you,” he joked. He put out his cigar while exhaling deeply, the smoke curling up against his face.

His old bedframe squeaked as you climbed onto his mattress. “There you go, little one,” he cooed softly. He wrapped one arm around your side while the other rested on his stomach. A soft hum came from his throat as he carefully grabbed your stomach rolls. “My squishy little doll,” he whispered to you.

He loved feeling all the soft bits of your flesh. Anytime the two of you cuddled or had “sleepovers” in the living room, he’d grab a chunk of whatever he could. Your thighs, your stomach, your waist. Anything he could.

You curled up into his side, sandwiching your stuffed animal between you and Logan. “You brought a little friend with you. They’re so cute, aren’t they,” he asks sweetly. You smile and nod against his chest.

He reaches the hand that’s on his stomach to your thigh and moves it to rest on his hips. He pats the skin softly before he gives your thigh a good squeeze like he did to your stomach. “You are just so soft and amazing, kid. You know that,” he asks before kissing your forehead. You nod in agreement once more while letting out a soft squeak from all the affection. “Squishy, squishy, squishy,” he hums softly to you.

Logan nuzzles his face against the top of your head, his beard brushing your forehead gently. He keeps his hands where they are as they still slightly grasp your body. The two of you stay lying there for a moment. You can hear his heart beating steadily accompanied by his deep breathing. Wind whistles against the glass of Logan’s window. The sheets rustle every so often when he repositions his hand or kisses your forehead again. This whole moment almost lulls you back to sleep.

Until Logan gives you a little tickle. “Papa! That’s mean,” you pout softly. He chuckles at your disruption to the silence. “I’m sorry, doll! I couldn’t resist. You expect me to not do that when I’ve got my hand right here on your stomach,” he asks playfully while getting a tighter grasp on the flesh. You squeal at the feeling, unaware that he didn’t even mean to tickle you that time. Nonetheless, he keeps a playful grin on his face. He pats your side and sighs deeply. “How about some breakfast, kid?”

STEVEN GRANT .

“Are you sure you don’t want anything, love? Anything at all?” Steven asks you while preparing to order something in the drive-through for the two of you. “Mhm! I’m sure,” you reassure him with a nod for what feels like the millionth time in a row. He exhales deeply and nods in acceptance. He hates it when you insist on not ordering something for yourself. It’s not because he hates sharing his food, but because he wants you to treat yourself. You deserve it!

Your footsteps pad against the hardwood floor of you and Steven’s flat. You rub your eyes from the exhaustion of today. Your senses heighten a bit as you spot Steven on the couch. He’s watching a new documentary. You smile when you realize it’s the one you won’t stop telling him about. Your heart practically melts at the fact that he remembered.

“Steven,” you say in a sing-song voice as you walk up behind the couch. “Mm,” he hums as an absent-minded reply. You lean forward and slip an arm on his shoulder, your hand resting on his chest. “I’m hungry,” you complain. Your eyes drift to the screen, and for only a moment, you and Steven are indulged heavily in the documentary. Your boyfriend let out a breath and winced softly. “Sorry, hun. Did you say something? I was a little focused on my documentary,” he told you with a nervous chuckle. His words pull you out of your own trance, and you nod your head. “Yeah! I said I’m hungry,” you exclaimed.

Steven chuckles softly and releases a hum of acknowledgment. "Well, how about we solve that problem?” he asks with a soft smile. “But I’d really like it if you sat with me first,” he requested as a form of compromise. You smile and roll your eyes at him. He’s always known exactly how to make you agree to do something with him or for him. You walk around the back of the couch and flop down right next to him. Without asking, you reach over to the side table and grab a bite of his food. He swats at your hand with a stupid pout on his face before the two of you exchange snickers and laughs.

MARC SPECTOR .

“Whatever you say, baby,” Marc says in a tone that asks if you’re really sure. You laugh at the way he dramatically raises his eyebrows, throws up his hands, and widens his eyes. “Whatever I say,” you repeat while giving him a playful look. On the way home, though, you keep eyeing his bag of food as stubtly as your attempts can.

Marc sighs when he hears you approach the dinner table. “Marc! Hey,” you drag out awkwardly. He looks up at you from his phone and gives you the same look he always does—the one that tells you he’s always right. “Hungry?” he asks before you get the chance to spit it out. You drop your head in defeat and nod. “Yep,” you agree sheepishly while glancing at his food.

He nods while taking another bite. He reaches his hand into the bag and pulls out food for you. You get butterflies in your stomach as he hands you the packaged meal. “Your usual. With everything you always ask for and nothing of what you don’t ask for,” he says with a knowing smirk. You stand there silently, embarrassed that he knew you’d ask for his food but blushing at how he knew your exact order.

“My kiss?” he asks while giving you a side eye. You put your hands up in defense before leaning forward and kissing his cheek gently. “Thank you, Marc,” you chirp sweetly. “Thank you for the kiss, baby,” he says in a similar tone.

JAKE LOCKLEY .

“Dios mío,” Jake groans over the phone. “I know you’re going to beg me for a little bite of my food later, cariño. Tell me what you want me to get you,” the man urges, like his life depends on it. “Jake, I told you I’m not hungry! If I do get hungry later, I’ll heat up some leftovers or something,” you insist while laying sprawled out on your shared bed. Another noise of annoyance comes from your phone before your boyfriend speaks again. “Okay, mi sol. Whatever you say, don’t come begging for food later. You know I’ll make you do something for it,” he says with a soft chuckle. The two of you say your goodbyes before he hangs up.

“I’m home, chiquito,” he calls to you as he enters the flat, holding his bag of food in one hand while the other holds a flower. He struggles to shut the door with his hands full, but manages to get it done. “Jake! I missed you,” you exclaimed with excitement from the couch. “I know you did. You always do,” he says cheekily. You give him a look that says, ‘Really?’ “Okay, sorry! I missed you too,” he says in a dramatically sweet voice. You both share a laugh. He comes and sits down by you, the couch squeaking a bit once he does. “I got you a flower. Es muy bonito. Just like you,” he says before pressing a kiss on your forehead. He gently gets a hold of your jaw, then tucks the flower behind your ear. He smiles wider because, damn, you are just too much for him to handle. He loves how you look adorning his little gifts.

Jake lets out a grunt as he gets comfortable on the couch. He snatches the remote from your hand with a smirk. He begins to browse through the channels and starts to eat. As your boyfriend is focused on finding something interesting to watch, you carefully reach your hand into the bag of food. “Aye. Don’t,” he tells you with a stern tone. He’s always so good at noticing little details and catching things; likely from being a cabby for a living. You groan as your hand retreats. “Please? Pretty please? I just want a bite,” you ask with a slightly annoyed tone. “I told you earlier that you’d have to do something for me if you wanted some, cariño,” he reminds you. You huff softly and give him a look that prompts him to tell you what he wants you to do. He hums in thought, then makes eye contact with you once he thinks of something. He leans close to you and takes your jaw in his hand once more. “Say please again,” he purrs while looking at you. “Please,” you hesitantly beg. He smiles and pulls back, causing you to yearn for a kiss. He laughs and gives you a bite of his food before you steal the kiss you rightfully deserve.

Remy has been watching you all day. From the moment you came running to him because you had a nightmare at almost three in the morning, making you breakfast, watching Saturday morning cartoons, coloring with you, listening to some music, and playing card games with you. He was so tired right now. He tries his best to keep himself awake while being slumped against the couch. His hand absentmindedly runs up and down your back. You’re snuggled against his side with the back of your head pressing his chest. You kick your feet a bit off of the couch. Everything is so peaceful right now: Remy’s touch, his soft humming, your favorite movie on the TV, the sound of your legs moving against the fabric of the couch. You wouldn’t have it any other way.

Remy yawnes loudly, unable to contain his sleepy demeanor any longer. He moves his arm from your back to rest against your shoulder, his thumb reaching up and rubbing your cheek. “Gambit’s sorry, cher. I’m tired right now. I can barely keep my eyes open,” he mumbles while looking down at you with a tired gaze. It takes you a moment to process what he’s saying considering how focused you are. Once you get a second to take in what he said, you pout softly. You paw at his chest and give him a pitiful look while whining. He lets out a sad huff. Remy hates it when you’re sad. He doesn’t get angry; he just gets sad too. You’re his favorite little kid. He can’t let you be sad.

“Stay awake a little longer. Please, papa. I don’ want you to go to sleep,” you whine to him. Remy nods in understanding to your gentle pleading. “I know, mon chéri. But I can’ stand to be awake much longer,” he tells you. He displays an odd look on his face as he attempts to come up with a compromise. When he does, he kisses your forehead out of pure joy for thinking of such a good idea. “How ‘bout this? You an’ I go upstairs an’ cuddle. You can stay wit’ Gambit and he can stay wit’ you, cher,” he suggests with a sure smirk. Despite his confidence in his idea, you shake your head no. Remy bites the inside of his cheek nervously in response. He subconsciously holds his breath as worry begins to set in. He can’t let you go unsupervised or not be by his side. You and him have to be practically attached when you’re regressed. The last thing he wants is for you to end up lonely or anything worse. You go back to focusing on your movie, and Remy trusts himself; he could take a little power nap. Nothing too long, right?

He may have been a little far off. Next thing he knows, he’s waking up to a startling clanging and the sound of your feet quickly padding along the floor. He rubs his eyes and cards through his messy hair while looking around. The second he hears you crying, he goes into complete panic. “Oh! Mon chéri! Where are you? Are you okay? Are you hurt?” he asks out loud while getting onto his feet and trying to find you. You’re cowering in fear behind the couch, terrified that Remy is going to yell at you or punish you. However, when he finds you, he gives you the most genuine smile ever. He squats down and holds his hands out to you. “C’mon. Gambit ain’t mad. He is worried t’ough. He was scared you were hurt,” he explains to you while motioning for you to come into his arms. You nod your head and try your best to get to Remy your vision blurred by tears. “Dat’s it, mon chéri,” he praises as he pulls you to his chest. He wipes your tears and gently pets the back of your head with his warm hands.

“Now, care to tell Ol’ Remy what happened?” he asks sweetly. You nod your head against his chest slowly. You point over to the curtain rod that had fallen on the floor. Remy looks over with wide eyes and winces at the idea of every possibility of what could’ve happened. “I was walkin’ by the window and I slip on the curtain. I didn’ mean to make the metal thingy fall. I’m sorry, papa,” you explain, your voice quivering as you start crying again. “No, no, no. Dat ain’t no reason to be sorry. I promise. I don’t got any reason to be upset with you either. Long as mon chéri is safe,” he assures you, lifting up your hand to kiss the back of your palm. You giggle through your tears when he gives you the gentle kiss. Remy wipes another tear from your cheek and looks at you endearingly. “Dat’s it. Show Ol’ Remy dat adorable lil’ smile,” he coos. Out of impulse to do so, he pinches your cheeks softly, only resulting in more happy noises from you.