#i hope it comes quicker i cannot for the life of me wait

[notfeelingthyaster]

he has chokerized the scar. he has the book in his hands. he is screaming, playing, cynical. he has a wedding ring in at least three frames. he is serving sooooo much.

[notafunkiller]

we found wonderland

Summary: You have a choice to make: you either set yourself free or continue to play the game.

Pairing: (fake) boyfriend’s brother!Bucky Barnes x female reader

Warnings: 18+, age gap (r is 26, Bucky is 39), teasing, dirty talk, unprotected séx (but she is on the pill), pet names, daddy kínk, language, implied aftercare, no mention of y/n

Word Count: 2.4K

story masterlist

Bucky Barnes masterlist

A/N: I hope you enjoyed this mini-series! Thank you for reading!

Please, do not repost or translate without my permission!

You had decided you should wait for a week before making your relationship public, using that time to try to convince your parents to change their mind while Bucky plays pretend with his. It’s not an ideal situation, but he understands, keeping the truth to himself.

What he can’t keep to himself is his hands. Not that you can… but as soon as he comes home, he’s all over you, not even caring you are in the living room sometimes.

Acting like you’re just friendly is very hard for you. You want to touch and kiss him like crazy. Having sex with him changed the game, and now you try your hardest to find a way out of this deal so you can be in this relationship completely.

You laugh at the way he pouts. “You’re really adorable for an old man.”

“Is it so crazy I want us together?”

You melt, leaning in to kiss his chin. “That’s not crazy, baby, but isn’t that a little fast?”

“We’ve been living together for months now. What’s the difference?”

You wish you could find the right words to explain it. It’s quite scary and exciting, but it feels strange. “We’ve been together for a couple of days. Maybe we don’t…”

“Are you thinking of a break up already?”

You jump immediately. “No! Maybe we don’t have things figured out enough yet. And by we I mean me. I won’t have a job anymore if my parents don’t change their minds. I won’t have a real home. I won’t have anything but you. And I love every moment I spend with you, but I want something of my own, and I definitely don’t want to feel like a burden even if you don’t make me feel like that. My life is a mess.”

“And I want to help. I am not trying to control you or suggest something you don’t want, but we are friends, too, not just a couple. I am here for you. You can stay with me as a friend if not as a boyfriend. I want you safe.”

You say nothing, only staring at him for a while. You don’t even know what to say because the mix of emotions you feel is confusing.

“You know what I want?”

“What?”

“I want to fuck you right now.” You don’t try to hide your neediness as you place your hands on his shorts. “Can I, baby? Can I ride you?”

“Fuck, you’re gonna kill me before I turn forty. Is this your plan? Do you want me gone?” He’s already raising his ass so he can help you take off his shorts quicker.

“I want you with me always. Want you inside me so badly.”

He groans at your tone. “Then go for it, baby, take whatever you want. It’s all yours. I’m all yours.”

You smile eagerly seeing his hard cock, and lift his T-shirt. You cannot stand anything between your bodies right now. You just need to feel him. “God, we should go to the bedroom, but I can’t wait.”

You take off your underwear, unable to wait any longer. As if someone is holding a knife to your throat, and if you don’t get Bucky inside you in the next seconds, you’re gonna die.

“Anyone can walk in,” he says as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. He probably even enjoys it. “Can you imagine their faces?”

You snort, bringing his dick to your entrance without hesitation after spreading your legs further apart. “No, but I can imagine yours when you come.”

“You don’t need to imagine. You’re gonna see it up close if you hurry up.”

Neither of you even realize you’re not using a condom for the first time until it’s too late and you’re already sliding down.

Your grasp on his shoulders is so forceful, you’re sure it will leave a mark, as you moan his name.

“James…” You desperately look at him, wanting to see if he feels the same. “We’re not using anything.”

“I c-can feel that.”

“God damn it, James,” you sound like you’re scolding him, but in reality you are just overwhelmed.

“What did I… fucking hell, I am totally not getting to turn forty. I will die tonight.”

You ask with your eyes closed. “Do you want me to get a condom?”

“No, I want to die.” He groans, already in a different space. “Unless you want to… I am clean and you are, of course, and I can pull out, but like it’s not… I can go grab a condom right now.”

You immediately shake your head, placing your hand on his chest. He’s not gonna do that. He has to make you come.

“You are not going anywhere, you get out of me and I’ll die!”

“So you’re ovulating?” He asks casually, with a playful grin spread across his face.

You chuckle, hitting him in the shoulder. 

“Yes, I am, and you gotta take care of me.”

Bucky groans, grabbing your ass, unable to keep his hands off you. You’re so hot and warm. “You’re really, really wet, princess.”

“Ihm.” You slide down further, almost taking all of his cock. “Look how deep I took you now.” You moan proudly, feeeling so stretched like this. “Look at this, daddy.”

And when he lets his eyes drop to your entrance, he has no idea how he doesn’t com right then. The sight is incredible.

“Baby…”

“I’m your baby, daddy.” You quickly take off your T-shirt at the same time you move your hips. As soon as he’s naked, you grab your breasts, holding them together with a smirk. You know that is going to affect him, and it makes you feel powerful.

“Oh God,” he groans as you bring your breasts closer to his mouth.

“Come on, daddy, go ahead.”

It’s all he needs to hear before he takes your right nipple into his mouth and the left one between his fingers. Riding him like this is a little difficult, but it’s not impossible. You love getting your breasts played with, and he loves doing it.

There is also something really hot and thrilling about the possibility of getting caught. You have no idea why and how, but you’re going to enjoy this as much as you can.

“You feel so good like this, nothing between us. Nothing between your come and me,” you moan, not even thinking about what you say.

“You can’t say that and expect me to be strong.”

That makes you laugh. “I’m on the pill, though, you don’t have to be strong.”

“Fucking hell, you’re gonna drive me crazy.” He starts to thrust his hips back so he can meet you halfway. Riding him feels so, so good. You got him deeper, and the lack of a condom makes you properly feel his thickness.

“You feel so… Fuck, your cock is filling me just the way I need it.” You grab his shoulders so you can move faster. “You’re such a good daddy, let-letting me use you right here, where everyone could see us.”

“You love using daddy’s cock.” He looks so drunk, in so much pleasure. “Such a naughty girl.”

“I’m your naughty girl, James.”

“All mine.” His hands on your hips help you move faster indeed, and you’re already so close you can barely keep your eyes open.

“F-faster.”

Bucky stops thrusting his hips back, and you groan. You need more.

“If you want it faster, keep your eyes on me, pretty girl.”

“I c-can’t-” As much as you want to fight this, your eyes instinctively close again. “Ss-so close.”

He can hear your desperation and without hesitating, he brings his hand into your hair and pulls unexpectedly hard. That’s enough for you to come loud. So loud you can hear yourself as you let the pleasure consume every bit of you.

But Bucky doesn’t stop moving his hips, making your orgasm last longer. He’s saying things, probably dirty things, in your ear, but you can’t understand anything. Your ears are still ringing.

And just like that, Bucky comes too, with his right hand still wrapped around your hair while the left one is digging into the skin of your hip.

“Fuck, I’m coming inside you, baby, can you feel it? Can you feel me filling your pussy, baby?”

“Ihm,” you can barely whisper, too overwhelmed by everything.

“Whose come?”

“Y-yours.”

“Good girl.” He groans as soon as he finishes coming, wrapping his arms around your waist and hugging you. “This feels like heaven.”

“I don’t think I can go back to wearing a condom now. I mean if you want to…”

“Are you sure? We can still use one just to make sure we are safer.”

You peck him. “We can still use it, don’t worry, I get it. Looking out for me and stuff.”

He lets out a deep breath, thankful you understand what he means.

“Of course I am looking out for you, that’s my job.”

“Job? You are my daddy, not my mom or dad.”

“I am your partner and your friend. I will always look out for you.”

A sudden urge to fuck him again takes over your body, but before you can do it, your phone starts ringing.

Bucky gives you the phone without moving, and when you both see it’s his brother, you groan.

“Hi, William.” You try to sound as normal as possible, but your voice is so raspy it’s impossible.

“Hey, gonna be home in a few minutes. Are you okay? Is Bucky home yet?”

“Ihm, he came.” You wink at James. “All good here. See you.”

You don’t wait for him to answer before you’re hanging up.

“You came too.”

You giggle immediately. It’s hard not to be around Bucky; he is goofy at the right time. “We need to clean up, though, he’s close.”

“Alright.”

*

Your parents didn’t want to listen to you at all. You didn’t have the chance to talk at the party since they’re avoiding you at all costs, and you had to go outside not to cry in front of everyone. You don’t just feel alone and treated like shit, you feel humiliated.

You’re lucky Bucky went to pick up William because his car broke down halfway here, so he didn’t actually witness your breakdown. You know he’d have done something about it. Something you should.

At this point, what do you really have?

“Hey, are you well? Why are you outside, it’s freezing?”

Bucky’s voice makes you jump as he’s suddenly by your side, rubbing your arms. William is right behind him.

“Baby, why are you outside?”

You see Bucky rolling his eyes, and you sigh.

“I wanted some fresh air, William.” You turn toward Bucky before taking a step back. You don’t want him to think you reject his touch. You really need his hug, but it’s not about what you need. “We should go inside.”

He nods, and all three of you make your way close to the improvised stage in the main room.

It’s crazy how many people actually came; it almost feels suffocating.

Your parents have been talking for a while, you assume, because people were animated. You wonder what they promised them.

“And since we’re all here now, I have something to announce,” Bucky’s dad takes the microphone all of a sudden, and William sighs. You want to ask him what is going on since he looks nervous, but you don’t have time to. “I want to invite my son, William, on the stage with us.”

And then he calls your name.

You look at both of your parents, trying to understand why you’d be needed there, and Bucky is just as confused as you are. Everyone starts clapping, and you find yourself dragged on the stage before you can protest.

“Tonight marks a very special moment for us both: professionally and personally.” You freeze, looking at Bucky instantly, but he’s also shocked, shaking his head. “A partnership that will last for a long time, hopefully, passed to a real-life partnership that has developed over the last months.”

William smiles proudly when his dad pats him on the back, and you want to throw up right then.

You turn your head to your parents, who display the fakest smiles you’ve ever seen. They don’t care about what you want. About what you need. Either way, you’re alone, and you cannot continue to play their game. You can’t!

And before anyone can stop you, you’re basically running down the stairs, straight toward Bucky. You quickly wrap your hand around his neck and force him to lean in so you can properly kiss him. You sense his surprise, but you don’t stop, using the opportunity to shamelessly kiss him in front of the whole company, including your parents. He’s yours, and everyone should know it.

He cups your face when you break off the kiss to breathe, and you smile.

You finally did it! You’re free.

You don’t need to turn around to know how upset your families must be. Everyone around you is either gasping or whispering around. You know they’ll be talking about this for a solid week at least, but you’re not gonna be there to hear. You won’t explain anything to them, and they can consider you a cheater who fucked the other brother all they want. It is not your mess to fix. You just want to leave.

“Let’s get out of here,” you whisper, taking his hand. All you want is to eat something and suck him off. “I need to pack my stuff.”

“Are you sure?” He asks concerned as you start to walk toward the exit. Neither of you turns when William calls your names.

“I have never been more sure in my entire life.”

He says nothing as you reach his car, lifting the hand he’s been holding closer to his lips so he can brush a tender kiss against the back of it.

You’re going to be okay.

Tags:

@charmedbysarge @identity2212 @vicmc624  @cjand10  @mayusenpai666  @abitofblues @doveromanoff @buckyb-stan @igotmajordaddyissues

[draczrys]

I know Criston Cole is not who you usually write for and I know he’s not a fan favorite but could you write a Drabble or one shot of Criston Cole x Reader? I love Fabian Frankel and just wish to read something with one of his characters. Much love! 💕

brb just added him to my muse list bc mr fabian is yum & early s1 criston is bearable. and this trope!! my fave medieval theme ever. like wdym i’m not supposed to love a boy w big brown eyes

COURTLY LOVE. ❨ criston cole x reader ❩

the standing of a riverland lord's youngest daughter was nothing of note to the realm. little to inherit, a pitiful dowry, barely a suitor at the door. so, the seven must have blessed you the day queen aemma requested your presence at court. the princess was of age now, and in need of ladies in waiting of noble birth.

suddenly, the world was a different place. thrown into the deep end of the red keep, you had all the dresses you wished for and every suitor at court vying for your hand in marriage. no longer just an unknown lady, but a lady of the crown. still, there wasn't a single lord or son that caught your eye. not since you saw him.

"... ser criston cole!"

your breath had caught in your throat as the young knight shed his helmet and blinked up to the royal box, respects paid to the king before he looks to you.

"i would like to ask for your lady's favour, if she would be so kind," he spoke, voice smooth, eyes never leaving your own. if it weren't for rhaenyra's elbow in your side, you're sure you would have stared all day.

"best of luck, ser," comes your wishes, leaning over the wooden rail to drop your favour over his joust. you had spent a whole day on it, the princess on her's too, weaving daisies and lavender into a pretty ring. "i hope that you win."

"as do i," criston muses, smirking. "if it means speaking with you again, my lady."

a blush burns at your cheeks, hurrying to sit back down. you ignore rhaenyra's teasing and watch the knight mount his horse, readying himself for the competition. he knocks down lord after lord, knight after knight, even defeating prince daemon. the heat in your chest has your heart beating quicker, head somewhat hazy as you watch on in delight.

the chaos of a tourney day sweeps you up from your daydreaming, ushered behind the princess to dress her for the feast. though she speaks to you as you braid her hair, it's barely audible past the heavy thoughts of the knight in your ears. eventually, when rhaenyra is summoned to her mother, you find the time to catch your breath in an empty hallway. leaning against the cold stone, your eyes squeeze shut to urge any romantic ideas from your mind.

"my good luck charm."

the sudden voice startles you, turning quickly to ready yourself in defence. but there, only a few steps away, is your knight. for a moment, you think he's talking about you. noting your furrowed brows and slightly cocked head, he raises the favour you had gifted into view.

"ah," you breathe out, a smile growing on your lips. "i'm glad it was of use."

criston mirrors your smile, steps closing the space between you, his armour clinking as it still rests on his bones. his arm reaches out, offering the flowered ring back to you. "it is custom the knight returns the favour to the lady, if they have survived."

glancing at the branches and petals your hands had tirelessly woven, then back to the warm eyes that watch you so carefully, that strange feeling creeps back into your chest. you shake your head.

"keep it," you urge, cheeks rounding. "perhaps it will bring you luck again."

cole's brows raise, interest obviously piqued at your suggestion. his smile turns crooked, eyes sparkling with a life you'd only seen outside of the walls of the keep.

"and will you be present, again? in case it is you, and not the favour, that has blessed me." his tongue is playful and teasing, but his eyes hold a sincerity you daren't question.

"i cannot promise my presence to be so virtuous." you giggle breathily, eyes darting to the ground for a moment to spare yourself the dizziness that comes from his gaze. "and i should--"

"a kiss then."

the blunt but hopeful proposition snaps your eyes back to him, unsure of whether to be more shocked, offended or delighted. criston smirks, obviously enjoying your surprise. "as a precaution, of course."

stomach jumping with nerves, heart dancing with excitement, you watch his eyes carefully in an attempt to gauge whether he was taunting you or not. but no, still only genuine.

shuffling forward, close enough now, you slowly stretch upwards onto your tiptoes. eyes locked, your lips journeying closer to his cheek - slightly stubbled, but littered with freckles. they barely brush his skin before he turns his head, quicker than you can notice, replacing his cheek with his lips.

the surprise that overtakes you is quickly subdued by the sweet taste of his kiss. his lips soft, just relishing in yours. not desperate or rough as you had seen with older lords and ladies, but delicate and kind. he only parts when he feels you swoon a little in his arms, smiling against the aftertaste of the kiss. breathless, you look at each other, caught up in the warmth between you.

"my lady," criston murmurs, stepping back from your space when he hears the distant patter of feet. bowing at the waist, his eyes still linger on your own. "until next time."

[supernaturalscribe67]

In Plain Sight

Words: 6,968

POV: 3rd Person

Pairing: Sam/Dean Winchester x Male!Winchester!Reader [Platonic]

Warning(s): Language, fear of rejection, brothers keeping secrets, Dean being a teasing asshole as always, Supportive family, The Reader's boyfriend is a total himbo

Summary: The reader has been keeping a secret from his brothers his entire life. The reader is gay, and it was something that he had always kept from Sam and Dean in fear of their reaction. What happens when Sam and Dean stumble upon a moment between the reader and his boyfriend? How will they react?

Request:

Hi! Don’t know if your doing requests or not, BUT if you are can you do one where Dean and Sam have an Older brother who is gay and has a boyfriend but hides it because he doesn’t think that Sam and Dean would approve that he like guys and has a boyfriend, and one night where Sam and Dean go out on a hunt and their supposed to be gone for a week but come back early and find their older brother with his boyfriend passed out on the couch with a movie playing

@hpxmcusworld

A/N: Words cannot even begin to describe how sorry I am for taking over a month to get this out. So much has been going on in my life, specifically at work. I could write a twelve-book series about all the drama that has been going on at work. You guys can't even BEGIN to imagine, especially everything that has been happening in the last week. I mean, it's baffling. Regardless, here's the story, finally! I hope you enjoy! I had a lot of fun writing this!

~ Much love!

(Y/N) laid on the couch in the Men of Letters bunker. A blanket was draped over his body loosely, and the corner of the fabric lay limply on the floor. A box of Kleenex sat on the floor next to the sofa, crumpled-up tissues tossed here and there in a small waste bin placed next to (Y/N)’s head. There was some cheesy medical drama show playing in the background on the television that he was barely paying attention to. 

As the show went to commercial break, the sound of a pair of footsteps echoed down the hallway, approaching the open door. (Y/N) glanced up as Sam and Dean appeared in the doorway, their duffel bags slung over their shoulders. Dean peered in and eyed him. 

“Hey, man, how’re you feeling?” He asked. 

(Y/N) cleared his throat and brought the blanket further up his body, placing it directly under his chin. “Still feel kinda shitty,” he replied, his voice low and scratchy. 

“That sucks,” Dean shook his head. “I’m surprised Sammy and I haven’t got anything from you, yet,” 

“Honestly, me too,” 

“Are you sure you’re okay with staying here while we go on the hunt?” Sam questioned. 

“Yeah, it’s a simple salt ‘n burn. At least that’s what Garth says. You guys will be alright.” 

They both nodded. “Well, we’ll call you when we get there.” Dean gave a brief wave.

(Y/N) smiled softly. “Alright, see you guys later,” he waved at them. 

“See ya’.” They spoke in unison as they walked out of the room. 

(Y/N) turned his head back to the television, but didn’t listen to the line delivery. Rather, he listened to their steps. He listened as they slowly faded in the distance, followed by the heavy sound of the bunker door opening and closing. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest from anxiety and anticipation. Even with how far he was from the garage, he could still hear the roar of the Impala’s engine. He waited as it gradually softened before disappearing from the vicinity. 

When all he could hear was the sound from the medical drama, he broke out into a smile and threw the blanket off of his body, sitting up quicker than he ever had before. He rapidly took out his phone from his pocket and went to his contact list. He dialed the number marked Quinn (Hunter/Cincinnati) and called. 

Quinn was a fellow hunter that he, Sam, and Dean had met when they were on the road a little over two years ago after they got wind of a Wendigo in Ohio. What started as a typical hunting partnership turned into a celebration at the bar, which later turned into a night of (Y/N) and Quinn sharing the same bed. Since then, the two of them would text and call each other, asking each other for advice on hunts, getting to know one another, and, on occasion, scheduling a time and place for them to meet up if they were close enough. It was evident months after the two of them began communicating that they started to develop feelings. It wasn’t just casual sex to let out pent-up frustration, there were emotions behind the act, and both of them knew it. Quinn was the one who spoke up first. When prompted with the idea of making their relationship official, (Y/N) was hesitant, but he couldn’t deny the feeling that welled deep inside of him and accepted. Under one condition;

Sam and Dean couldn’t know. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust his brothers, or feared they wouldn’t like Quinn. Quite the contrary, he knew they would like him. Quinn’s personality was the perfect mixture of Sam and Dean. A badass flirt with the heart of a big nerd. He would fit right into their group. But there was one big secret that he had been keeping from his brothers his entire life, and he wasn’t yet prepared to make it public. 

Sam and Dean didn’t know he was gay. 

True, he never outwardly told them he was straight, but he also never attempted to flirt with anyone at the bar in front of them. Whenever they would question him about it (more specifically Dean), he would always brush him off and tell him how tired he was after the hunt. He never lied to them. He was always tired after hunts. Yet he knew, deep down, that wasn’t the only reason why. He would trick himself into thinking he didn’t know the reason behind his hesitancy, but he knew. 

He couldn’t blame it on any event in particular, but he understood that his upbringing had a lot to do with his reluctance. With the lack of acceptance he saw from his father on a variety of topics and how influential their father was on Sam and Dean’s views - despite what Sam would say - he was anxious about the way his brothers would react if he came out to them. The worst-case scenario always popped into mind when he considered coming out to them. The idea that they wouldn’t accept him, that they would turn their backs on him, and that was the last thing he wanted. He would rather keep himself closeted for the rest of his life than risk it. 

That was why he decided to feign his illness to spend quality time with his boyfriend. He planned to have Quinn spend a couple of days with him, going out with him on different dates, and doing various activities together, and, the day before Sam and Dean would get back, Quinn would head out and be back on the road while (Y/N) would go back to pretending he was in recovery. It was a foolproof plan. 

He was sure of it.

 

*~*

Quinn arrived three hours after Sam and Dean had left. (Y/N) was quick to open the bunker door as soon as the knocking echoed throughout the halls. Quinn had a bright smile on his face. Clad in a loose-fitting plaid shirt, jeans, and combat boots, Quinn stood a couple of inches taller than (Y/N). His black hair was slicked back neatly, just like it was on their first official date, and his beard appeared to have been trimmed recently. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” Quinn greeted in his heavy Midwestern accent. 

“Hey, glad you made it,” (Y/N) reached a hand up and cupped his cheek gently. 

Quinn pursed his lips and shrugged his shoulders. “Had to drive around once or twice because I couldn’t find that little makeshift driveway y’all made, but other than that…” Quinn wrapped his arms around his waist. 

(Y/N) rolled his eyes. “Well, it’s supposed to be hidden.”

Quinn smirked. “And you did a damn good job hiding it,” He mumbled before he leaned down, connecting their lips. 

(Y/N) chuckled into the kiss, his eyes closing. His heart never failed to flutter every time Quinn kissed him. In a sense, (Y/N) felt the same as he did when he was in high school and had a crush on a boy in his class. Whenever Quinn was near him, holding his hand, and kissing him, he could feel the swarm of butterflies flying around in his gut. It was refreshing to his aging mind to feel as young as he did when he was around his boyfriend. 

Quinn was the first to pull away, the smile never leaving his lips as he stared lovingly into (Y/N)’s eyes. He pressed their foreheads together. “So, it’s just gonna be us?” 

“Just us for the whole week.” 

Quinn hummed and kissed his cheek before he stood up straight. “Why don’t you show me around then? I’ve heard some stories about the Men of Letters here and there, but nothing much. I’m kind of excited to see what they have hidden down here.” Quinn stepped past the threshold and into the bunker. 

“God, you sound just like my brother.” (Y/N) mumbled as he shut the door. “Always excited to research everything you find interesting.” 

“Sounds like someone I’d get along with then. I’d love to meet him again someday.” Quinn hinted with a raised brow. 

“Yeah…some day.” 

(Y/N) gestured toward the stairs and began to walk down, Quinn a couple of steps behind him. 

“So, you haven’t told them yet.” It was phrased more like a statement than a question. “I thought you would have told them by now.” 

(Y/N) sighed as he got to the bottom of the stairs and turned back toward Quinn. “I was going to tell them…at some point. It just…never came up.” 

“And, what, this wasn’t a time when it could have been brought up?” 

“You know how I feel about telling them, Quinn.” 

“I know, darlin’, I know. But we’ve been together for almost two years now. It was fun sneaking around in the beginning, but…” Quinn trailed. “(Y/N), I love you, and I see myself wanting to spend the rest of my life with you, no matter how short it will be, but I don’t want it to be in secret.” Quinn slowly took a couple of steps towards (Y/N) and grasped his hands in his. “I want you to be proud of our relationship,” 

“I am proud of us,” 

“Proud enough to tell your brothers?” 

(Y/N) opened his mouth to reply, but he found it nearly impossible to lie to him. He wanted to say that he was confident enough to tell Sam and Dean. Confident enough to finally tell them what he had been hiding from them for years. Yet there was still that voice in the back of his head convincing him otherwise. 

Quinn sighed after (Y/N) failed to answer. “Tell you what? We can talk about it before I leave, okay? How about we use this time to enjoy ourselves?” 

(Y/N) glanced down at their hands for a moment. “You won’t be upset if we don’t talk about it right now?” 

“No, sweetheart, I won’t. I promise,” he smiled. “I love you too much to stay mad at you for long.” 

(Y/N) rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah,” he mumbled. 

Quinn chuckled. “Now, why don’t you show me around?”

 

*~*

After giving a brief tour of the bunker, accompanied by some oohs and awes from Quinn, (Y/N) helped him get set up in their shared bedroom. It was exciting. Even though Quinn was only staying for a couple of days, it would be the longest that the two of them had spent together consecutively, and that meant the world to (Y/N). He considered it his first taste of normalcy. A view of the ‘apple pie life’ as his brother called it. 

Some would argue that the discovery of the bunker should be considered his first experience with a normal life. He permanently had a roof over his head, a place to call home. But it’s difficult to consider the bunker a ‘home’ in terms of ‘normal’ when his job was hunting. He was surrounded by his job, day in and day out, haunted by the spirits of the men who hunted before him. No, home to him was a two-story colonial, painted blue, with a white picket fence surrounding the front and back yards. Sure, the bunker was safe, and kept the dangers away while they had a chance to relax, but it wasn’t a home. It never felt like a home, not truly. At least, (Y/N) didn’t think that’s what a home should feel like. 

Regardless, he had a feeling that, with Quinn by his side for the week, he would get a small glimpse into the reality he could have. A reality where hunting wasn’t a part of his life, where he wasn’t put in harm's way on a day-to-day basis with minimal pay - if you considered credit card fraud and hustling a paycheck. And the mere idea of experiencing such a life, even for a brief moment, sent a level of excitement through him and made him more anxious about the days to come. 

For most of the day, Quinn explored the bunker, asking questions about various artifacts placed on display and getting less-than-satisfactory answers from his partner. His main level of interest was focused on the library, and the variety of research material scattered around the aged shelves. (Y/N) thought it was cute how excited he was, and he didn’t mind that his boyfriend’s attention was mainly attached to the bunker and not him. He had Quinn with him for a whole week, and he was thoroughly enjoying himself just by being in the same room as him. 

They cooked dinner together that night, a basic pasta recipe one of them found online. Something was satisfying and romantic about the entire experience. In a way, they felt like newlyweds, having their first dinner in the very first house they bought together. It truly was as if they were staring through a lens at a reality they could have, and it was peaceful. 

After dinner, the two of them sat in the living room - Dean’s ‘Man Cave’ as he likes to call it - with a movie cued up on the television, blankets covering their bodies, and pillows behind their backs for support. Quinn leaned back against the couch, one leg elevated on the rest of the couch, and one arm wrapped around (Y/N)’s shoulders. (Y/N)’s head rested on Quinn’s shoulder, an arm wrapped around his back, as they watched the movie. A bowl of popcorn sat on Quinn’s lap and the two of them snacked on it occasionally. 

Well, more than occasionally. 

Quinn reached his hand into the bowl but stopped when his fingertips scraped along the buttery plastic bottom. He looked down and noticed the bowl was empty. The movie was only a quarter of the way over, and he knew that the two of them would need more snacks if they were going to make it the rest of the way. 

“Hey, go ahead and pause it. I’m going to go get us some more popcorn.” Quinn gestured towards the TV. 

(Y/N) sat up, grabbed the remote, and paused the movie. Quinn grunted as he stood up and stretched his back. A faint pop could be heard. Quinn let out a satisfied sigh as he looked down at his boyfriend. 

“Do you want anything? Snacks or a drink?” 

(Y/N) hummed. “I put some M&Ms on the top shelf in the glass cabinet. If you wouldn’t mind getting those, that would be great.” 

Quinn furrowed his brows. “The glass cabinet? Why the hell did you put them there?” 

“Trust me, if you know Dean Winchester, that man can snack,” (Y/N) rolled his eyes and shook his head. “I tried hiding my snacks everywhere in my room, but he always managed to find them. I’m waiting for him to find this stash.” 

Quinn chuckled. “Okay, now I know I’ll get along with your brothers.” He turned and began to walk out of the room. 

(Y/N) narrowed his eyes and pointed at him. “If you tell Dean about my stash, I’ll kill you.” 

Quinn pushed his bottom lip out, held up his free hand in surrender, and wordlessly walked out of the room. 

When Quinn left, (Y/N) let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding. Even when he wasn’t in the room, knowing his boyfriend was in the same building as him made his heart flutter. A smile spread across his lips as he lowered himself onto the couch, lying on his side where Quinn had been sitting. He pulled the blanket closer to his body and let out a surprising giggle. A part of him felt pathetic for acting as such, but the other part adored it. Loved the way that Quinn made him feel. It only made the connection between them stronger, and that made (Y/N) look forward to their time together even more. 

It didn’t take long for Quinn to return, the scent of fresh popcorn wafting into the living room. Quinn stopped as he passed through the door. He stared at (Y/N) for a moment before he walked in front of the couch. He held the bowl of popcorn in one hand and (Y/N)’s M&Ms in the other. He gestured down at him. 

“I was sitting there,” he smirked. 

(Y/N) raised a brow and glanced down at the couch. “Oh, were you?” He questioned, his smirk placed on his face as he snuggled deeper into the cushion. 

Quinn deadpanned, head tilted to the side. After hesitating for a couple of seconds, he silently nodded, set the bowl of popcorn and package of M&Ms on the ground next to the couch, and began to climb on top of (Y/N). 

“What are you doing!?” (Y/N) exclaimed with an amused, yet startled tone. 

“Laying down,” Quinn couldn’t stop the smile from appearing on his face. 

Quinn laid down on (Y/N), blanketing his body with his. (Y/N) groaned. 

“You’re so heavy!” He whined. 

Quinn laughed. He nuzzled his nose into the crook of (Y/N)’s neck and adjusted himself on top of him. “But you’re so comfy,” 

(Y/N) let out a sigh and looked down at Quinn with raised brows. Quinn glanced up at him and gave him a bright, white smile. (Y/N) smirked. 

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” he said as he reached his hand up and began to rake his fingers through Quinn’s soft hair. 

“I know,” 

(Y/N) rolled his eyes. “Well, here,” he mumbled as he shifted under Quinn’s weight. He adjusted himself so his legs were placed on either side of Quinn’s body, and Quinn was lying comfortably across (Y/N)’s chest and stomach. (Y/N) let out a breath of relief. “There, better. Now you’re not so heavy,” he teased.

Quinn glared at him and stuck his tongue out. He then laid his head on his chest gently, eyes cast towards the television. (Y/N) chuckled, his chest rumbling. He reached down, grabbed the remote, and, before he pressed ‘play’, pressed a kiss to Quinn’s temple. 

“I love you,” he spoke softly. 

Quinn glanced up at him, as if studying him, for a brief moment before a smile crept across his lips. “I love you, too, baby,” 

*~*

The hunt was a bust. What started as a potential salt and burn turned out to be some ghost-hunting TV personality wannabe who wanted her fifteen minutes of fame. The whole thing was a hoax. A waste of time, and a waste of gas. Dean wasn’t too happy about it, but a part of him was glad that he was able to get back to his bed sooner, rather than have his back stabbed by some cheap boxspring. His memory foam mattress sure had him spoiled. Sam, on the other hand, was excited to get back to the bunker to check in on their brother. They hadn’t called him since they left, and he was anxious to see if he was feeling any better. Granted, he didn’t know how well someone could feel in less than twenty-four hours, but he hoped that he would feel even slightly like his normal self. 

He had been sick for over a week, after all. 

They pulled into the bunker around four in the morning, no doubt thinking the rumbling of the Impala’s engine would wake their brother. Even in the deepest parts of the bunker, it was nearly impossible to miss the sound of the Impala approaching, and Dean thought it was one of the most beautiful sounds in the world. 

“I’m going to have Garth pay me back for all that gas I just wasted,” Dean grumbled as he climbed out of the Impala. 

“Don’t,” Sam mumbled. “He didn’t know the hunt was going to be bogus.” 

“The article was a week old, Sam, you said so yourself. You would think that he would do a bit more digging before sending us on a wild goose chase,” Dean opened up the trunk and grabbed his duffel bag. 

“Dean,” 

“And another thing! Do you know how many times I had to stop and get gas?” 

Sam sighed, his movements sluggish, showing his evident exhaustion. “Yes, Dean, I know, I was there. Remember?” 

“Twice! Garth owes me a hundred and twenty bucks for having to fill up that much because he didn’t give a shit enough to look more into the hunt.” 

Sam reached a hand up and ran his thumb and forefinger against his heavy eyelids. “Dean, we’re home, okay? Let’s just go in, check on (Y/N), and go to bed.” 

Dean opened his mouth to retort, but closed it, instead, letting his shoulders slump. He found he was too tired to argue. “Fine,” he grumbled, tossed his duffel bag over his shoulder, and wrapped his thumb around the strap. 

The two ventured into the bunker, the familiarity, safety, and comfort of it all causing the exhaustion to double down on them. Sam let out a deep yawn as they stumbled down the stairs with heavy steps. 

“Where do you think (Y/N) is?” Dean asked, the corner of his mouth opening as he yawned as well. 

Sam shrugged his shoulders. “Probably his room. Probably asleep for the night,” 

“Alright, I’ll check in on him. Make sure he’s not dying.” 

Sam rolled his eyes. “He’ll be fine,” he grumbled. 

They walked down the hallway to their respective rooms. Sam wandered into his room, leaving the door open as Dean walked down to his. Sam turned on the lamp from his nightstand and winced slightly at the harsh yellow light. He placed his bag at the corner of his bed and made his way over to the dresser. He was at least thankful for the fact he didn’t use any of the clothes he had packed. Less laundry he would have to do. He kicked off his boots and moved them over to the side of his dresser before he unzipped his duffel bag and began to place all of the clothes he had packed back into their designated spots. 

“Sammy!” Dean’s voice echoed through the hall. “He’s not in his room!” 

Sam furrowed his brows and glanced towards the open door. “Did you check the bathroom?” 

It was silent for a couple of seconds as Sam finished organizing his dresser. Soon, footsteps approached, which caused him to turn back to the door. Dean stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame. He gestured with his thumb down the hallway. 

“He’s not in the bathroom either.” He said. 

Sam furrowed his brows and hummed. He ran his hand tiredly through his hair. “He was on the couch when we left. Maybe he’s there.” 

“Right, right, I’ll go check.” 

Dean pushed himself off of the doorframe and walked away. Sam could practically feel the exhaustion starting to overwhelm him. He was used to staying up for hours on end, especially when it came to necessary research for a hunt. However, with all the driving they did that day, Dean’s constant bickering, and the endless classic rock songs, the day took a lot out of him. It didn’t help that he hadn’t had any caffeine either. He hoped that Dean would be able to find their brother so he could crawl into bed and sleep for an eternity. 

As soon as Dean left, Sam took his empty duffel bag and placed it on the floor next to his shoes. He then walked over to his door, closed it gently, and wandered back over to his dresser, where he proceeded to change into his nightwear. Once the jeans and flannel were off his body, he felt a sense of relaxation, and even more tired than he had been before. 

Just as he pulled on his sweats, his door swung open. He jumped and turned around, eyes wide. Dean stood in the doorway, a massive grin spread across his lips. 

“Dude!” Sam exclaimed. “I was changing.” 

“Sorry,” Dean waved him off and shook his head. “Sammy…you gotta come see this.” 

Sam walked over to him. “What’s up? Is (Y/N) okay?” 

Dean snorted. “Oh, he is more than okay. Now, come on,” he gestured towards himself. “But you gotta be quiet.” 

Sam looked at Dean for a moment, brows furrowed, before Dean turned and began to head back down the hallway. Sam followed, the two of them walking silently. Now and then, Dean would glance back at his brother, a child-like glimmer in his eye, the look only causing further confusion. 

“Stop looking at me like that, you’re creeping me out,” Sam said with an unsteady tone. 

Dean shushed him, placing his index finger against his lips, as they stopped in front of the open living room door. Carefully, Dean took a step into the room and pointed to the couch. 

“Look,” he whispered. 

Sam stared at Dean before he, too, stepped into the room, peering inside. His eyes landed on the sofa. At the sight before him, his eyes widened and his mouth dropped. 

When he first saw the look of giddiness in his brother’s eyes, he didn’t know what he was expecting to find. He was too tired to come up with any type of logical explanation at that point. The last thing he would have predicted, though, something that wouldn’t have even crossed his mind, was the image placed directly in front of him. He would have never guessed he would find his oldest brother with a man lying on his chest, peacefully asleep on the couch. 

It took Sam a bit to realize his shocked expression was still on his face. He corrected it and crossed his arms as he slowly edged his way into the room, his footsteps light and quiet. Dean followed after him, his grin never wavering. 

“So, I guess he wasn’t sick,” Sam whispered, leaning his body closer to Dean. 

“Nope,” Dean whispered a little louder right back. “And you owe me twenty bucks,” 

“For what?” 

“Remember that bet we made?” 

“Which one?” 

“The one when we were at the bar in Illinois.” 

“What? Six years ago?” 

“Yeah! I told you that I bet he was gay.” 

“This doesn’t mean he’s gay. He could be bisexual for all we know.” Sam shrugged. 

Dean deadpanned. “Sammy, have you ever seen him pick up chicks?” 

“Well, no, but-” 

“The entire time we’ve known him, have you ever heard about him having a girlfriend?” 

“No, but he could just be a private person.” 

Dean rolled his eyes and let out a huff. “Well, I know I’m right.” 

“How’re you so sure?” 

“I’m his brother, I know him.” 

“I’m his brother, too, dumbass.” 

“Yeah, but you’re the baby. I’ve known him longer.” 

Sam scoffed and shook his head. Dean threw his hands up dramatically. 

“Why don’t we just ask him?” Dean asked as he walked closer to the couch.

“Dude, he’s sleeping,” Sam hissed between clenched teeth.

“And? It’s almost five o’clock. He needs to wake his ass up and introduce us to his boyfriend,” 

Sam opened his mouth to say something else but found it difficult in his drained state. He ran his fingers through his hair and shook his head as he watched Dean move to the end of the couch where (Y/N)’s head rested. Dean went to say something but stopped himself. He quickly reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and took a picture of (Y/N) and his mystery man. Dean chuckled deeply, chest rumbling. 

“Real mature,” Sam mumbled. 

“Oh, come on, I need it for blackmail later,” Dean replied, shoving his phone back into his pocket. Dean leaned back down, placing his hands on his knees, as he got closer to (Y/N)’s face. “(Y/N),” Dean said in a quiet singsong voice. “(Y/N),” he sang a little louder. 

(Y/N) hummed. 

“Time to get up, buddy,” Dean couldn’t resist the smirk that appeared. 

“Five more minutes,” (Y/N) grumbled and turned his head away from his brother. 

“(Y/N)!” Dean exclaimed, loud enough for his voice to reverberate off the walls. 

(Y/N) jumped, eyes wide open, staring directly at Dean and Sam, filled with weariness and confusion. Dean stood up and backed away from him. He gave a small wave while Sam shot him a sympathetic look. (Y/N)’s gaze quickly shifted between his brothers as he blinked rapidly to wake himself up. He tried to sit up but remembered the heavy weight on his chest. He looked down at Quinn’s sleeping form. For a hunter, (Y/N) had to admit, Quinn was a heavy sleeper. He slapped Quinn on the shoulder.

“Quinn,” he said. 

Quinn whined. 

“Quinn,” he hissed. 

“Couple more minutes, babe,” 

(Y/N) closed his eyes and pressed his lips together tightly, trying to will away the red tinge that fought its way onto his cheeks. He slapped Quinn’s shoulder again, a little harder that time. 

“Get up!” 

Quinn groaned and opened his eyes. “What?” He looked up at (Y/N). 

(Y/N) looked at him and gestured towards his brothers. Quinn turned his head and, immediately, his brows shot up, and he appeared more alert than ever. He sat up from his position on top of his boyfriend and scrambled to sit on the couch next to him. 

“Oh, um,” Quinn cleared his throat as he situated himself on the couch, forearms resting on his knees, hands folded together. 

(Y/N) sat up slowly, his body still riddled with sleep but progressively gaining a new feeling of anxiety. Of fear. He felt like a child that was caught with their hand in the cookie jar. Despite the looks on his brothers’ faces, which preached the opposite of how he was feeling, he couldn’t help but let his mind wander to the worst-case scenario. He was convinced, at that moment with his brain fogged with interrupted slumber, that he had just spent his last night in the bunker. 

“So…” Dean trailed before he gestured to Quinn. “Who’s this?” 

(Y/N) looked over at Quinn before he cast his eyes down to the ground. “Um…” he paused, his mind racing, trying to think of an excuse. Trying to think of a lie that would sound convincing. Yet, no matter how hard he tried, nothing he thought of would work. His brothers would see right through it. 

Quinn watched (Y/N) and noticed how much he struggled with getting the words out. He licked his lips and sat up. “I’m Quinn, I’m his-” 

“He’s my boyfriend.” 

“I mean, I would hope he’s your boyfriend. I think the way you guys were practically sleeping inside each other was a bit too much for just friends,” Dean replied and chuckled. 

Sam sighed. “Dean, don’t be an ass.” 

“I’m just saying,” Dean shrugged. 

(Y/N) huffed before he slapped his hands on his knees and stood up. “You know what, it’s too early for this. If you’re going to yell, go ahead and yell. Just get it out of your system. I’ll just go ahead and start packing,” (Y/N) turned to leave the room. Quinn was quick to stand. 

The smile vanished from Dean’s face for the first time since he discovered the two. “Hey, hey, hey, woah, woah,” Dean rushed over and gently grasped his brother’s arm to stop him. “Packing? Why?” 

(Y/N) halted and turned to his brother. “I just…I figured-” 

“What? That we would kick you out?” 

(Y/N) pressed his lips together and looked down. Dean’s frown deepened as Sam padded closer to them. 

“(Y/N),” Sam began. “We would never kick you out because of that. All because you have a boyfriend?” 

“Wait, so…” (Y/N) furrowed his brows as he fully turned his body so he was facing Sam and Dean. “You guys don’t care that I’m gay?” 

Dean immediately smacked Sam’s shoulder. “See? Told you! You owe me!” 

“Okay, okay, hold on,” (Y/N) ran his hands down his face and shook his head. He suddenly felt a strong, warm arm wrap across his shoulders. He glanced up to see Quinn standing by his side, holding onto him. A comforting smile was on his face. (Y/N) then looked back at his brothers. “You bet on me being gay?” 

“I said that you were gay. Sammy over here didn’t believe it for a minute.” Dean said smugly. 

“It’s not that I didn’t believe it. We just didn’t have anything to go off of.” Sam rolled his eyes. 

“I knew from the moment he turned that hot blonde down at the first bar we went to,” Dean nodded. 

“Yeah, right,” 

“I did! She was hot! He would have been stupid to turn him down if he was straight, which he isn’t.” 

“He could have also had a type Dean.” 

“Type my ass, that girl was everyone’s type,” 

While his brothers bickered in front of him, (Y/N) watched them, mouth agape. Next to him, Quinn chuckled. He pressed a soft kiss to (Y/N)’s temple. 

“How’re you feeling?” He whispered in his ear. 

(Y/N) looked at him for a second before he stared back at his brothers, mouth still open, words seemingly unable to form. He was too in shock to think of anything to say. He was so busy convincing himself that his brothers would negatively view him after he came out to them that he never took into consideration the possibility of them being supportive. It was then he began to think of all the things they had supported him in through the years. They were always with him, always had his back, and he always had theirs. Sure, they had their fights, they had their moments, but they always came back together. They always talked it through. 

In the end, he felt like a fool for thinking they would kick him out. 

“Look, I need to ask something,” Sam chimed up, his attention now turned towards his eldest brother. 

(Y/N)’s eyes flickered up at him. He closed his mouth, feeling that it had gone dry. 

“(Y/N), what did we do to ever make you think we would kick you out? And, whatever it is, I’m sorry that we came across that way.” Sam continued.

Dean nodded. “Yeah, we never meant to do anything that made you think you couldn’t tell us.” 

(Y/N) hesitated. “No, no, you guys, you guys didn’t do anything, um…it’s just…I…” Again, he was struggling to find the words to describe his thought process. 

“He was projecting his own insecurity onto the situation,” Quinn said, nodding. 

(Y/N) ran his tongue over his teeth and pursed his lips. He looked up at Quinn and gave him a tight smile. “You know, Quinn, that couch was pretty comfy, right?” 

Quinn furrowed his brows at the statement. “Uh, yeah, I guess it was?” 

“Would you like to sleep on it for the rest of your visit?” 

Dean snorted and Sam pressed his lips into a thin line to hide the grin he was holding back.

“Uh, nope, no, I’m okay,” 

“That’s what I thought,” (Y/N) shook his head and turned to his brothers. “No, guys, you didn’t do anything wrong. I guess…I don’t know, with the way that Dad was with us growing up, a part of me was afraid that that part of him would have rubbed off on you guys. I was severely overthinking it and I let the fear of what Dad would think overshadow how you guys truly are.” (Y/N) then looked back up at Quinn. “Was that a good way to describe it? Since it seems like you’re my shrink now?” 

“That was wonderfully put, babe,” Quinn grinned widely. 

(Y/N) rolled his eyes. 

Sam chuckled. “Hey, I get it, okay?” Sam smiled comfortingly. “I wish that you would have told us sooner, but I’m glad we know now. Just know that we still love you, (Y/N), no matter who you date.” 

“Unless you were dating a demon,” Dean interjected. “Or Crowley. Crowley is off limits.” 

“Crowley isn’t my type anyway, so you don’t have to worry about that,” (Y/N) chuckled. “My type is more of a Midwest-Country hunter.” (Y/N) wrapped an arm around Quinn’s middle. 

Quinn looked down at him with a small smile on his face. A couple of seconds ticked by before a look of realization crossed his face. “Oh! You mean me!” 

(Y/N) deadpanned. “A Midwest-Country hunter who’s also an idiot at times.” 

“But I’m your idiot.” 

“Unfortunately,” 

“Hey!” 

“You guys are so cute,” Dean paused. “Makes me want to throw up.” He grimaced. 

“So, wait, you’re a hunter?” Sam asked. 

“Yeah! We met two years ago. I joined you guys on a hunt in Ohio. Columbus?” 

Sam and Dean looked at each other before they both shook their heads. 

“Sorry, man,” Dean said. “We see a lot of hunters while we’re out, and two years is a long time.” 

Quinn waved him off. “I get it, don’t worry.” 

“Only gives us more of a reason to get to know you,” Sam mumbled before a yawn erupted from his mouth. “But not tonight. How long are you staying for?” 

“About a week,” Quinn shrugged. “If that’s alright, of course.” 

“Yeah, yeah, no worries man. As long as you stay the Hell out of my room,” Dean fought back his yawn. 

“Noted.” Quinn chuckled. 

“Alright, well, it was nice meeting you, again, but we’re hitting the hay. The drive back was brutal.” 

“Why are you guys back so early anyway? You never said anything.” (Y/N) asked. 

“Well, you see, Garth-” Dean began. 

Sam placed a hand on Dean’s shoulder, pushing him towards the door. “We’ll explain when we get up. We need to get to bed and I don’t need to hear him complain anymore tonight. He’s been doing it all night.” 

“Hey, I have not complained all night.” 

“All night he has done nothing but complain.” 

“I have not!” 

Sam and Dean squabbled as they shuffled out of the room, their voices echoing down the hall. (Y/N) couldn’t help the smile that appeared on his face as he listened. 

“Goodnight!” He hollered once their voices started to soften. 

There was a pause before both brothers simultaneously shouted, “Goodnight!” back. 

(Y/N) snorted and shook his head. Suddenly, he felt Quinn wrap an arm around his waist, pulling his body close. (Y/N) turned and tilted his head to look up at him. Quinn rested his forehead against (Y/N)’s, their noses brushing against one another. 

“Is it too late to say ‘I told you so’?” Quinn asked in a quiet, low voice. 

(Y/N) pursed his lips in thought. “Well, it’s not too late for you to still sleep on the couch.” 

Quinn snorted, his chest rumbling with his chuckle. “You love me too much to do that.” 

“I guess,” 

“You guess?” Quinn asked, his hands moving from (Y/N)’s back to his stomach. “You guess?” 

(Y/N) tried to jerk away, but found that Quinn had a strong grasp on him. “Quinn,” he warned. 

“You guess?” Quinn repeated before his fingers began to dance over (Y/N)’s stomach. 

(Y/N) tried to stifle the laughter that was bubbling up inside his throat, but it was all to no avail. His attempts to move away from Quinn were futile as the laughs echoed in the room. Quinn had a goofy grin on his face.  

“Quinn, stop!” 

“Do you love me?” 

“Yes!” 

“Say it!” 

“Dammit! I love you, you idiot!” 

As soon as (Y/N) spoke, the tickling seized. The laughter died down and Quinn wrapped his arms around (Y/N), pulling him into a tight embrace. He began to litter (Y/N)’s face with kisses. 

(Y/N) grimaced. “Stop it!” He whined, smiling. 

Quinn let out a content sigh, pressing a final kiss to his temple. “I’m proud of you, you know that?” 

“What?” 

“I’m proud of you.” 

“For what?” 

Quinn pulled back so that he was able to look his boyfriend in his eyes. “For telling your brothers. For letting yourself be vulnerable like that. Now that’s the man I want to be with. The strong, badass, sometimes vulnerable hunter that is confident in himself. I can already see a change in you as soon as they told you they accepted you.” 

“Really?” 

“Really.” 

(Y/N) tilted his head to the side and looked up deep into Quinn’s eyes with much love and adoration. He leaned up and gently pressed a kiss against his lips. Quinn closed his eyes and kissed him back immediately. For the first time in a while, (Y/N) felt sparks as they kissed, as if they were kissing for the first time all over again. It made his chest flutter and his stomach stir with butterflies. It reinforced the idea that Quinn loved him, and he loved Quinn. They were with each other through thick and thin. Quinn was, indeed, the man he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. 

As they parted, they stared longingly into each other’s eyes, the passion never waning as Quinn reached a hand up to caress (Y/N)’s cheek. 

“What do you say we go back to your room and cuddle? It’s still pretty early,” Quinn suggested. 

“I like that idea. But no more sleeping on top of me.” 

“Aw, come on, but you’re so comfy. How about we take turns? Now you can sleep on top of me.” 

(Y/N) smirked. “It’s a deal.” 

[in1-nutshell]

Maximals reaction to Human Buddy having a rough day

SFW, platonic, Human reader

BW

Optimus primal

One of the first to see a difference in Buddy’s mood.

He’ll ask if they are okay once he gets a chance alone with them.

Doesn’t want to put Buddy on the spot in front of everyone

Buddy better think twice before lying to him.

The ape can smell lies from a mile away.

If Buddy starts ranting, Primal would listen while putting small things away. Not to mistake Primal for not caring and not paying attention, he is listening and understands what’s coming out of Buddy’s mouth. It’s just that he also needs to keep the ship a bit tidy, especially with how messy things can get with this crew.

If Buddy ends up crying, he’ll stop immediately whatever he is doing and hold them, gently rubbing circles on their back. If they don’t want to be touched, he’ll sit near them and wait patiently for them to stop. He won’t ask questions until Buddy is ready to talk. He will want to know what happened to make Buddy like this but will wait before attempting to try and fix anything.

If Buddy just wants a hug, Primal will give them a good, hearty hug… in private. If they insist Primal will make an exception.

“It’ll be okay. Everyone their bad days. Just remember you have family here you can talk to about this, I will be there if you ever need me again.”

Overall, 8/10.

Rhinox

Another one of the first to recognize Buddy’s change in mood.

Like Primal will ask what’s wrong in private.

Buddy physically cannot lie to Rhinox.

If Buddy starts to rant it can go in 2 ways.

1. He stops whatever he is doing and sits down near the control module and listens to them.

2. Puts Buddy on his shoulder and continues to do the task he was doing while also listening to Buddy.

If Buddy starts crying, he’ll bring them to either his quarters or theirs, give them side hugs and rub circles on their back until they are down. If they don’t want to be touched, he might retell them about the beautiful plants he saw on his patrol hoping that they will calm down. When they are done crying, Rhinox doesn’t immediately ask what’s wrong, he’ll talk to them about other things before reintroducing the problem. He might recommend the two of them to take a stroll outside the ship.

If Buddy asks for a hug, they are going to get it.

Rhinox will hug them until all the negativity is gone from their body.

“There, there, it’s okay there Buddy. Let it all out, there’s no good in keeping all this inside. You’ll only hurt yourself more if you do that, cry if you need to.”

Overall, 9/10.

Dinobot

Notices a shift in Buddy a bit later than Primal and Rhinox.

He won’t say anything out loud, but if it continues long enough, he’ll try and get them to talk, in a semi passive aggressive way.

Will actively sneer at any lie said.

If Buddy starts to rant, his body language will say that he doesn’t care, but he does listen and gives out questionable advice when given the opportunity.

If Buddy starts to cry, he starts to panic a bit, he just isn’t prepared to deal with these types of things. He’d much rather get a sword and cut down physical enemies down for them. Instead decides to give Buddy a pep talk about difficulties life can throw and how to be an honorable warrior through it. If it’s bad enough, he’ll throw in a pat on the back. If Buddy doesn’t want to be touched, he’ll stand near them still, almost acting as a bodyguard for them as they finish crying.

If Buddy wants a hug, it’s going to be a bit difficult to get it from Dinobot. He doesn’t hug. But he will let Buddy hug him for a bit, as long as it’s out of the crew’s vision. Primus forbids if Rattrap saw this happening.

“Even the strongest warriors have their moments. This will pass sooner than you expect. Now how does attacking Terrorsaur sound? I believe I saw him on the radar, care to join?”

Overall, 5/10

Rattrap

Like Dinobot, finds a shift in Buddy’s mood but doesn’t voice it out. He is however quicker to spot the shift than Dinobot is.

Has an internal debate on how to bring up the subject without it being awkward for either of them.

He knows a filthy lie when he hears one. They are almost as smelly as he is.

If Buddy starts ranting, he’ll stand by and hear them out. Will voice his opinion when he feels it’s needed.

If Buddy starts crying, he’ll try to get them to stop crying. Not because he finds the act annoying, it’s because he gets nervous around tears. But he does stop after seeing it not helping the situation. He lets Buddy cry next to him patting their back softly. If Buddy doesn’t want to be touched, he’ll just sit next to them silently and wait till they’re done.

 If Buddy wants a hug, he’ll give them a quick side hug in public. If they were private, he would give them a full hug before ‘threatening’ them if they ever told Dinobot or the others about this interaction.

“Listen kid, things will get better, I’m sure of it. Sure everything seems to be put up against us… but you know what? We gotta continue, cause that’s what we do.”

Overall, 6/10

Cheetor

Despite being one of the fastest members on the team, he is one of the slowest to notice that there’s a shift in mood with Buddy.

Once he does get drift that somethings wrong with Buddy, he makes their problem his problem and he is going to solve it.

Most likely to fall for one lie but would quickly learn from it.

If Buddy starts ranting, he’ll try his best to stay still and listen but it would most likely end up with him pacing the room that his in. Its hard for him to keep still.

If Buddy starts to cry, his panic would be more visible. Part of him believes that he did something to make them cry. Immediately gathers them up and goes move to them to a more secluded place so they can cry without anyone coming in. Once they are alone, he keeps them in his arms until the sniffling subsides. If Buddy doesn’t want to be touched, he’ll respect that and try his best to not initiate any physical contact until they are done crying. While he is waiting, he will tell Buddy funny mishap adventures he has had with the rest of the Maximals. When they’re done, he will ask his questions slowly, not wanting to accidentally make them upset again.

If Buddy wants a hug, they are going to be slightly suffocated by his fur and how tightly he hugs them, though he is mindful of their fragility. Will deny any purring that may or may not have happened while hugging.

“Hey, listen, we’ll get through this thing, I don’t know exactly what it is but if we stick together, I’m sure we can fix it. Everything’s going to be okay, alright?”

Overall, 8/10

Tigatron

He is one of the later ones to find out something is wrong with Buddy. The only reason why he doesn’t get it immediately is because he doesn’t visit the ship too often, thus doesn’t know Buddy’s mood too well.

Once he knows he’ll tip toe around the subject before asking what’s wrong.

There is no point in lying to him.

If Buddy starts to rant, he’ll get comfy before listening. Let’s them take their time.

If Buddy starts to cry, he’ll place his servo on their shoulder, gently rubbing small circles on their shoulder, letting them cry. If they don’t want to be touched, like Dinobot, he’ll stand near acting like a bodyguard. Once they have stopped crying, he’ll give some advice that he has learned from his time out.

If Buddy asks for a hug, he might hesitate a bit, but will relent and give them a quick hug.

“Young one, it is okay to feel how you feel, never let anyone say that about you. And remember everyone in the jungle has their struggles in life, you are not alone.”

Overall, 6/10

Airazor

A lot like Tigatron, Airazor won’t notice Buddy’s mood shift until later because of her absence in the base.

Once she gets wind that somethings wrong, she’ll observe from afar before asking anything.

May let one lie sly but will intervene when she deems it necessary.

If Buddy starts to rant, she’ll sit down with them and listen to what they have to say. Or invite them to go on patrol so they can get more privacy for the ranting.

If Buddy starts to cry, she’ll bury them in a hug in her feathers while gently rocking them back and forth. Will claw at anyone who decides to interrupt them. If Buddy doesn’t want to be touched she’ll stay by their side quietly fanning her wings a bit to let some cool air on their face. Will ask what’s wrong as soon as their done crying. She wants to know what got Buddy to be in such a state of mind.

If Buddy wants a hug, she’ll gladly give them a hug, maybe a little tickle from her feathers.

“Things do sometimes feel overwhelming, do they? But just remember you can talk to us, to me, if there’s anything on your mind.”

Overall, 8/10

Silverbolt

Is most likely the last to figure out that something is wrong with Buddy. Not that he wouldn’t figure it out himself, but it would have taken longer. Probably notices quicker if one of his teammates (most likely Rattrap) makes a comment on Buddy, then he would realize what’s going on.

After the realization, he makes it his personal mission to figure out what is wrong with Buddy.

Does not take any lie, wants the truth and only the truth.

If Buddy starts to rant, he’ll set up a comfy space for the both to sit in. He might rant with Buddy if they let him.

If Buddy starts to cry, he’ll hug them until there are no more tears left to shed while talking about how everyone has bad days and how to move forward even if it’s slow. If Buddy doesn’t want to be touched, he’ll just give them the pep talk. After they are done crying, he’ll ask if they want to talk about it later or not.

If Buddy asks for a hug, they will get a very elaborate hug. Example: running and spinning them around while hugging tightly while laughing.

“What you did with showing me your personal battle was very brave of you. Not even some of the greatest warriors can do what you did. And you know what, that makes you strong, if not stronger than they are. I’ll be there for you if you ever need me, just say the word, and I’ll be there.”

Overall, 9/10.

[kill-the-feels]

the most dangerous thing is to love ~ ch. IV

a/n: hey besties!! it's been a hot minute since i've been on here and even longer since i updated this, but i come bearing a fun chapter so i hope you'll forgive me! i've also got the next four or five chapters plotted out, so the next few updates should be quicker in coming! thanks to everyone who's waited and loved it so far! <3 (previous part) (master list)

warnings: language, lots of snark, references to past injuries, slight horror vibe at the end

word count: ~4.9k

You crouch behind Fett as he lays flat against the edge of the cliff, eyes squinting in the blistering sunlight.

The crystal water all around you shimmers in the distance, the dark forest and cave system between you and the shore.

“I don’t see anything,” he says. You creep up beside him, mirroring his pose, lest you fall over the side.

This is the highest point on the island, a rocky hill that left the both of you winded on the climb up.

“Nothing?” you repeat. He gives you a wicked side-eye, the kind that gives a blaster bolt a run for its money, irritation at your questioning evident.

“Nothing. You’re positive it was bones you found?” You clench your jaw, his skeptical tone grating. This is the third time the two of you have been over this.

“Unless sticks are shockingly white and humanoid. And carry ancient med kits.” He snorts beside you, wiggling himself back away from the ledge.

“This little island is clearly uninhabited. And there are no signs of life. Which makes the presence of another human-”

“Disturbing, to say the least,” you interrupt. He glares at you.

“And unlikely.” You glance at the horizon. Empty, same as it has been.

“Or like us — unlucky. Who’s to say they weren’t like us? Survivors who washed up here, survived as long as they could, then died.” You paint a morbid picture, and Fett makes a face.

“This cannot be the only island on the whole planet. Someone has to be out there.” He's trying to be logical about this whole thing, but you remain unconvinced.

“Maybe. But I don’t like our odds.” Fett fiddles with a button on his wrist, and you watch as it blinks red twice, then shuts off.

“Damn it,” he mutters under his breath, hurrying back the way you came before you can ask any questions. ~~~ The climb back down takes the rest of your afternoon, and the two of you retreat back into the caves as night sets in, building a fire and sitting closer to it for warmth.

“We need food,” you say, halving a ration bar and passing him half. He scowls at it.

“These taste like shit,” Fett says bluntly. You nibble on the edge of it, trying to make it last, so you can trick your stomach into thinking it’s more food than it is.

“I’m sorry, I’ll have the chef prepare something else for next time,” you say, and he glares at you, his favorite pastime.

“If someone hadn’t tossed my helmet, it’d be easier to find things to eat.” You make a face, sticking your tongue out at him like a three-year-old. Always about that damn helmet.

“We could also fish," you suggest. "Got to be plenty of those.” Fett pokes a stick in the fire, ignoring you.

“Tomorrow you’re showing me where you found the bones,” he says instead. Unease slithers down your spine.

“I’d rather not go back there.” He finally glances at you, disdain barely masked on his face.

“Afraid of the nexu?” You clench your jaw, grabbing your own stick to poke the fire with.

“No.” It’s the truth. It’s not the nexu that leaves your skin crawling. It’s the idea of being back in that spot. Everything was so still and quiet, and you can’t shake the sensation that something else was there besides the nexu, watching you.

“If you found the med kit there, odds are there are other supplies. We’re going back.” His tone leaves no room for argument, and you bite off another corner of your ration bar, gathering your courage to poke the proverbial bear again.

“Why are you the one calling all the shots?” You interrupt the silence, unable to let it go. Fett doesn't respond at first, instead twisting his stick in the flames, burning a neat circle around the end. His silence is worse than his caustic arguments, because you can't argue with silence.

“I thought this was a truce.” Bitterness seeps into your voice as you try again.

“If you with your infinite knowledge of survival would like to be in charge, then by all means,” he says calmly. A small flame grows on the end of the stick, steadily climbing up its length to his hand. Fett smudges the stick out in the dirt.

The side of his mouth tilts up, just barely, and you gape. Instead of arguing with you, meeting your anger with the plenty of his own that he's got stored up, he does that.

“Did you just make a joke?” Your own stick burns, and you toss it in the fire instead of extinguishing it.

“I don’t make jokes,” he says, stretching out on his back, one hand resting behind his head. You stare at him as he throws the other arm over his eyes.

“You made a joke.” He gives you a noncommittal hum.

“Some of us are trying to sleep,” Fett says. You snatch up another stick, letting it catch fire. When it burns, you hold onto it, torn between smudging it out and burying it in Fett’s ribs.

In the end, you put it in the dirt beside his stick, pillowing your hands under your head and shutting your eyes. ~~~ “Get up.” The foot to the ribs doesn’t feel any better than before, and your eyes fly open, glare ready.

“Good morning to you too, ass,” you mutter. The sun is barely peaking over the hills but the morning is already hot and steamy, with distant creatures calling out in the jungle.

The waves crash against the rocks as you eat the half of the ration bar Fett passes you on his way out of the cave. You’re scrambling to follow, still half-asleep and vaguely confused.

“Easy,” you huff, sliding on loose rocks as you make your way up the hill. “Do you know where you’re going?”

In your haste to follow him, you put your foot down on the wrong rock, and it twists, sending you sprawling on your knees. Fett catches hold of your upper arm before you can slide too far down, hefting you back to your feet.

“We’re meant to be walking, not sliding,” he says. Blowing hair out of your eyes, you watch where you step, until the two of you reach the top of the hill, just outside of the tree line.

“Where do we go from here?” He's looking at you expectedly, like you should just know where to go. You hesitate, trying to remember.

“I was trying to head to the beach, where we washed up,” you say. “And I know I headed downwards, pretty much straight in.” You bite your lip, unsure how to tell Fett that you basically stumbled onto the spot.

He glances at the sky.

“You have no idea where we should be going,” he says. It isn’t a question.

“I know the general idea. Just… be quiet and let me think.” After the nexu attacked you, it was a miracle you managed to make it back. The green all looks the same, and you have a feeling that the less you try to navigate, the more the your instinct takes over. Plus, the cave is next to the water, so you were able to follow the sound of the waves as you got close enough.

But as you walk forward, the jungle starts to look a little less confusing, certain landmarks seeming familiar. Fett follows silently behind you, shoving leaves and branches out of his way with more force than is probably strictly necessary.

He says nothing, but gradually his breathing gets heavier, like he’s struggling to keep up, still recovering from being sick. You round the corner, into a small, open area littered with rocks.

“Let’s stop for a minute,” you say. Fett glances around, eyes tracing the line of the trees.

“Is this where you were?” he asks, leaning on a waist-high rock. You shake your head.

“No, I don’t recognize any of this. But I need a breather.” The look he gives you is not amused.

“So we keep walking.” He starts off, headed in what feels like the complete wrong direction. With a groan, you hurry after him.

“We can keep walking all you want, but I’m telling you, I need to take a breather, and so do you, and I’m not sure which way I-”

Fett takes another step forward and something clicks under his foot. He freezes and you react on instinct, holding your breath.

“What was that?” He glances back at you without moving, then looks down, lips set in a grim line. Slowly, he crouches, keeping his feet in the same position, until he can brush the leaves and detritus of the jungle away.

His spine stiffens, ramrod straight, and more telling than anything he could say with his words.

“It’s a mine,” he says, voice flat and without any emotion. He's way too calm for the situation, in your opinion. You squint at the ground, just able to make out the top of a durasteel circle.

“Why is there a fucking mine?” you ask, voice a horrified whisper. Fett looks around as he carefully stands back up.

“I don’t know. But there are probably more. Are there any under your feet?” You crouch, maintaining your position the same way he did, and carefully clear away the leaves covering the ground around you.

“I don’t see any.” Fett’s jaw clenches.

“Go back the way we came,” he says. “Watch your feet, trace your steps as best you can.”

“And you?” He eyes the distance between you two.

“Just go.” You shake your head.

“No, we can come up with something. We’re a team now, remember?” He rolls his eyes.

“As if you’d ever let me forget.” Instead of stepping away, you step closer.

“For once in your fucking life, can’t you listen?” he says, angry. “If you step on one, at best we’re both screwed, at worst, we both die.” You stop moving.

“Okay. Since we’re stuck — for now — let’s discuss: why are there mines?” You add the “for now” when he glares at you.

“You’ll be happy to know this counts as a sign of life,” Fett says. “And is one hell of a disturbing way to find out.” Thunder rumbles above the two of you.

“It definitely ranks above the bones,” you say. The wind whistles through the trees, brushing over your skin, leaving chills in its wake.

“Bones can’t kill you.” He looks above him, at the way the clouds are steadily thickening.

“What do we do?” Fett looks behind him, at the way the two of you came. He sighs, rubbing his hands down his face.

“I don’t suppose you have secrets skills with defusing bombs hidden up your sleeve.” You’d almost believe it was a joke, except you know Fett and find it hard to believe he’s joking right now. You’re certainly not laughing.

“Sorry, fresh out of that one,” you say, wiping the sweat off your forehead. Fett closes his eyes, seeming to gather himself before he looks at your fingers.

“Alright. Do exactly as I say.” He reaches for one of the pouches on his belt, pulling out a tiny blade and a little pointed rod of durasteel. When you hesitate, he shakes them at you, drawing you closer.

You move carefully, examining the ground before you shuffle your feet forward until you’re right in front of him.

“What now?” Fett crouches a little, trying to get a good look at the mine.

“Clean it off some more — carefully — so we can see what we’re working with. There should be a place to unscrew the casing. That’s what the pointed piece is for. Tell me when you’ve done that.”

Gently, holding your breath lest you breathe too hard and set the damn thing off, you scrape away dirt and leaves until the muddy mine stares up at you. There’s a raised circular section, with dirt caked into what looks like a tiny X.

“Unscrew there,” Boba says, and you flex your fingers to try and work out the shakiness.

“No problem. Anything else while I’m down here? Some refreshments, maybe?” He scoffs.

“Cut the shit and focus on what you’re doing.” You save the choice words you’ve got for him because it takes too much of your concentration to make sure the little rod is fitting correctly in the corroded X of the screw.

Slowly, it gives way and starts to twist.

“Wait until it’s almost all the way free, then switch to your fingers and twist — slowly. When you get it out, put it to the side and pry the casing open just enough to see what’s inside. Try not to disturb any wires.” He makes the instruction sound like something as simple as baking.

“How am I meant to pry it open and not disturb any wires?” The screw loosens dangerously and you quickly grab at it with your fingers, giving it the final few twists it takes to pull it all the way out. You set it and the rod to the side. Taking a deep breath, you ready yourself for the hard part.

“Get at an angle where you can see down inside without moving it too much. Tell me what you see.” You make a face, the angle required putting your face right next to his leg.

The proximity is weird and makes the situation even worse. Squinting, you try to make out what’s under the dirt.

“Bunches of wires,” you mutter.

“I know that,” Fett says, and you can hear the eye roll. “What color?”

Your head is fully pressed against his leg now, fingers trying to delicately crack open the side some more.

“Brown,” you say finally. “And a blue and white one. Maybe a black one under all that? Or a dark grey?” He huffs.

“Which? It’s important to know.” And really, it shouldn’t surprise you that Fett knows how to disarm a mine. He is the Boba Fett after all.

“Black,” you say decisively, because either you’re right or you’ll be dead wrong and blissfully dead so you don’t have to hear about how you were wrong.

“Cut the brown wire.” You look at the blade in your hand.

“Uh, not to question you, but that was awful quick. Are you sure, buddy?” He looks down at you, where your head is still pressed to his leg.

“Cut the brown wire,” he says through gritted teeth.

Slowly, you stab the blade into the gap, trying to not to touch any other wires. Your heart is racing, skin buzzing with anticipation.

Ever so gently, you turn the blade, watching in fascination as it severs the brown wire.

It is a win, you suppose, that you don’t immediately blow up.

But Fett still has to move his foot.

“Is it cut?” he asks. You nod, already carefully backing away.

“Get back here,” he says, “and cut the blue and white one.”

“I have to cut more?” You’re not proud of the way your voice whines. He glares at you, not even dignifying you with a response.

This time, you’re less careful, slicing your way through it.

“And now the dark grey one?” you ask. He jerks his gaze down to you.

“You said it was black!” Is that fear in his voice?

“I meant black, calm down.”

“Don’t touch the last wire. Back up.” You hold your breath, watching.

Your heart bangs against your rib cage as Fett slowly inches his weight off.

There’s a click and you squeeze your eyes shut. Waiting.

It doesn’t blow.

“Fuck,” he hisses, resting his palms on his thighs, catching his breath. You sigh in relief and he pins you with an unamused stare.

“Some thanks for saving your life would be nice,” you say, and he ignores you. The thunder is louder this time, vibrating against your bones.

“Let’s get moving,” Fett orders, as a few fat raindrops start to fall on your heads.

“Back to camp?” you ask, and he shakes his head.

“It’d take too long. Let’s find somewhere to hunker down.” The two of you set off in the opposite direction, moving as quickly as you can as the rain picks up. ~~~ He’s damn lucky.

Squinting through the curtain of rain, Boba follows you as the two of you try to find somewhere to take shelter.

It makes him wish he had his helmet, but he’s not complaining, because he’s damn lucky.

Even now, his hands are still shaking so badly that he keeps them clenched into fists, ignoring the way his legs feel weak and wobbly. He’ll take that to his grave, thank you very much.

But still, being forced to confront his own mortality twice in less than a week is not doing great things for his mental space, especially when he has to deal with you, instead of having peace and quiet to process everything.

“Up ahead,” he calls, seeing a rocky overhang that juts out enough to offer some cover.

Cold rain runs down the back of his neck, slipping underneath the collar of his flight suit and sending shivers down his spine.

It worsens his mood, his frustration making it hard to concentrate. You slide underneath the rock, the space just big enough for the two of you to sit shoulder-to-shoulder, heads brushing the rock above you.

“I hate the rain.” Boba blinks at you as the words slip from the both of you in unison.

“Ha,” you say, nudging your shoulder with his. He shoves back, disliking the contact. “Figures we’d have something in common.” Boba scowls out at the grey curtain cutting the two of you off from the rest of the world.

Rain makes his bones ache, makes him feel cold and clammy, and it’s just so loud.

“It’ll pass,” he says, not sure if he’s reassuring himself or you. You glance at him.

“I know. But if you get sick again, I’m going to be pissed.” He rolls his eyes.

“Not gonna get sick.” You don’t look convinced, your hands twisting in your lap. Rainwater that must have been collecting above him gushes over the side of the rock, running down his side, soaking him. Boba glares, biting back the groan and unintentionally shifting closer to you.

“Easy, big guy,” you say, and he looks down to find your hand in the center of his chest piece as he ends up nearly in your lap.

“It’s getting too wet over here,” he says, glad that his brown skin hides the way he can feel his cheeks getting hot.

With a long-suffering sigh, you scoot over, towards the edge on your side, and he moves closer, hating that his options are touching you or sitting in the small waterfall.

“If it isn’t raining, it broiling hot,” you say. “I wish we could just have one day with moderate temperatures and nothing trying to kill us. No cliffs, no killer cats, and no fucking mines.” Boba snorts.

“I dunno. Mines and cliffs are easy enough to avoid. If there wasn’t any challenge, we might get bored.” You roll your eyes at him, and Boba looks away, momentarily distracted by the strange jump in his chest.

It’s the physical contact, he decides. He hasn’t had something like that in years, not since Jango died. Obviously, he’s had lovers. But it’s different, a quick release that ends just as soon as it’s begun.

The last time he sat this close to someone? And didn’t do anything else, but just sat? He couldn’t say.

“What if it doesn’t let up? Do we camp here?” You make a good point, but he’s not exactly sure where the two of you are, and the rain makes it hard to see where you’ve been. Trying to navigate your way back to camp could prove fatal.

“We don’t have to make a decision yet,” he says, giving you a non-answer that has you rolling your eyes again.

“Sure thing, boss,” you mutter, tilting your head back and closing your eyes. Your brow stays furrowed, like you’re thinking about something that’s troubling you. Boba stares at the rain, willing it to stop. It doesn’t work. It never does, but it didn’t stop him from trying when he was a little boy and it doesn’t stop now.

“How does a person like you end up on a bounty hunter’s radar?” he asks, hating the silence. You open one eye, glancing at him, unamused.

“You know how. It’s the same as it always is.” Objectively, he knows the answer. Jabba put the bounty out, so it has something to do with the Hutts. It’s why he took this job.

But he wants to know what exactly you, of all people, did to merit being hunted down, other than being a wise-ass.

You clench your hands in your lap, twisting your fingers around each other. There’s a barely contained anger there, simmering just below the surface. He recognizes it because he sees it in himself, an odd realization to have.

“That can’t be the whole story,” he prods. “You weren’t worth the fuel it took to find you.” Your jaw clenches and you stare pointedly into the rain.

“And yet, it is.” You don’t offer anything else, just take a few measured breaths in and out, calming your temper. It’s a little impressive actually, to see that you are capable of reigning in your blistering comments. ~~~ You know what he’s doing. He’s probing, trying to learn more about you. What you don’t know is why. You two might be allies, but you’re certainly not friends.

He scraps a spare blade over the side of the rock, sharpening it.

Most likely he’s asking because he still can’t believe that the Hutts are really that petty. Regrettably? They are.

Fett shifts beside you, his knee brushing yours, and you resist the urge to shove him away. You’re cranky right now, back stiff and stinging with the stitches.

And just when you’d started to dry out from the last afternoon thunder shower, here you are, soaking wet again.

Your head hurts too, most likely from dehydration and hunger, and you’re to the point where you just want to tear into something with your hands. Fett’s looking more and more like a solid target, especially if you have to keep sitting in close quarters like this.

“Something is jamming my fucking signal,” Fett says, breaking the silence. Slowly, you turn to look at him.

He shows you the same button on his wrist he was messing with when you climbed to the high point on the island. Once more, it blinks red twice, then shuts off.

“It’s not just dead?” you ask, unsure how it works.

“No, it’s not dead. This thing is meant to be used in emergencies. It’s powerful and can pick up any frequency. When it can connect. Even if there’s no one in the area, it should let me transmit something out, to be heard if someone gets near us.” You hear the unintentional emphasis on “if.” Not knowing exactly where you are in the galaxy makes this ten times harder.

For all you know, the two of you could be in the far reaches, where people rarely — if ever — make it.

“Have you been trying it out this whole time?” He gives you his signature side-eye, before slapping it a little harder.

“When I’ve been awake and able, yes. I’m not an idiot.” Your mouth opens of its own volition, the scathing reply poised to leap off your tongue, Fett unintentionally setting you up perfectly.

And just like that, it quits raining, saving you from most likely putting your foot in your mouth again and starting another fight with Fett.

The last remnants of rain drip down the branches of the trees, soaking into the ground, filling the jungle with a quiet hush. You peer into foliage, watching as a steamy mist rises up from the warm ground.

Now that the rain has stopped, it’s humid, everything around you clammy. Fett wastes no time brushing past you, slicking his hair back, the curls unruly and wet.

He peers into the jungle around you, eyes scanning the foliage.

“Does any of this look familiar?” he asks, and you’re tempted to say yes, just so he thinks you’re more useful than you currently are.

“No,” you say honestly. “I think we made a wrong turn.” Fett rolls his eyes.

“There is no ‘we’ in this. You got us lost.”

“Ehh,” you say, face screwing up. “Maybe technically, but really I told you from the beginning. I don’t know how I got there.” His scoff is filled with contempt, and he shoves your shoulder.

“That way. That’s the direction of the caves. We’ll try again tomorrow.” The prospect of spending another day hiking through the jungle in the broiling heat and inevitable rain does not fill you with joy, but you figure it’s in your best interest not to argue right now.

So you stomp forward, crashing through the foliage, generally being as loud as you can, because you’re learning that the creatures who inhabit this island dislike the noise and tend to run from it.

You round the corner of another large boulder, and freeze.

The tree.

In the misty steam rising from the jungle floor, it’s not as clear as it was the last time, but it’s definitely the tree, the same moss covering it as last time. There’s the pool beside it; you're unable to see the waterfall trickling down, but able to hear it in the hushed stillness all the same.

Fett rams into your back, nearly knocking you over, and you don’t even protest at the sudden sharp pain from your stitches.

You just keep staring at the tree, the mist moving all around, like another entity.

Your tongue sticks to the roof of your mouth, unwilling to break the silence, even to tell him this is it. The sun is still overhead, and if you look behind you, you can see it peeking through the trees. But in front of you, this tree and its little haven, remain shrouded in shadows.

Your eyes fall to the base of the tree, where you know the patch of grass rests, housing the long-forgotten bones.

You force your foot forward, having difficulty picking it up, like you’re slogging through layers of mud.

You shouldn’t be here.

The words come unbidden to your mind, whispered as clear as day, like someone spoke them into your ear. Fett hasn’t moved either, looking between you and the tree. He squints at something, resting on a root beside the tree. The dark shape looks familiar, and you’re fairly certain it wasn’t here last time.

A cold wind whistles through the trees above your head, stirring the mist and rushing over your arms, like two cold hands.

You back up a step, bumping into Fett again. Something is wrong here. You shouldn’t be here. There’s a pregnant pause, the anticipation nearly killing you, everything in your body telling you to run.

You blink. Once. Twice.

The mist fades away. Gradually, the sun seeps into the clearing, the cold wind replaced by the same balmy breeze everywhere else on the island.

In the absence of the mist, you can see what the shape is.

“Is that my fucking helmet?” Fett speaks first, disrupting the silence and causing you to jump. He charges forward before you can stop him, and you have no choice but to follow, feet no longer stuck to the ground.

He snatches it up and spins on you, finger pointed in accusation.

“Is this why you didn’t want to come here? Why you’ve been leading me in fucking circles? Real funny.” You’re shaking your head, genuinely afraid, but not of him. It feels like he’s disturbing something, being too loud when he should grab the helmet and get the hell out of here.

“I didn’t know,” you whisper. “It wasn’t here last time. I swear.” Your eyes fall to the patch of grass, the bright green almost unnatural against the dark moss.

Is there—? Yes, just there, the white of the bone. Only, it looks like it’s been rearranged, because you definitely left that thing sticking up more.

“Fett, we need to go,” you say softly, and he must hear something in your voice that your words are not saying, because he blinks and looks around for the first time.

The leaves brush together above you, sounding like a crowd whispering. Debating something. The sun shifts again, slipping out of the clearing, and you watch as the mist starts to swirl back up. The cold returns, and you take a quick step back, as shivers race up and down your spine.

Fett tugs his helmet on and reaches for a blaster.

“Don’t,” you risk calling. “Let’s go.” You take another step back, out of the clearing, into the sunny jungle. Fett looks back at the tree one more time, before he follows you.

Neither of you speak for the entire trek back to the cave.

When the sun sets, Fett tightens his grip on his blaster, and you notice the way he stokes the fire higher, until it lights up every corner of the cave.

[maybege]

may's candid and personal take on fandom

On a more candid note, I’d like to talk more about my experience as a writer in fandom. I spent a long time thinking about this (a better part of the last six months, on and off) as I am usually trying to keep my opinions to myself due to events that are long ago now.

I really need you all to be kinder to writers.

I have been here since sometime around May 2020 and I think it is telling that the fandom circles around the same problems again and again and nothing ever changes.

Interaction is really low and I am not the first writer to lament this, nor will I be the last one but maybe I have this naïve hope that if enough people read the same thing again and again, it will finally stick. I know I haven’t put out content on a regular basis for a long time now but while it is not directly related to the level of interactions these works get, that rhythm will for sure not improve if interaction stays as low as it is. It can be really disheartening to know you have over a thousand followers and the reblogs/comments on your works do not even exceed 50.

Obviously, the way tiktok and fast paced social media work have influenced how we interact with things on all kinds of platforms. But I really need you all to understand that a like on tumblr does not count the way it does on Instagram or maybe even tiktok. That is a bookmark at best. Do I mind if you serial like an entire series of mine? Of course not, I am happy to see that someone is actively reading something of mind and enjoying it. But please have the courtesy to maybe comment on the masterlist or the most recent part.

Fandom is taking and giving and I think it is unfair that it is somehow is expected of writers to pump out story after story without having to give them something (comments, asks, reblogs) for it. And when someone complains about it, suddenly we are deemed as ungrateful to the few that actually read our stuff.  

Back in lockdown, there was more of a balance for obvious reasons. But now that I see that writers cannot post as much due to real life or maybe other reasons, it is like the number of notes has diminished across the board. Writers in fandom are people who are not (and cannot be) paid for their works. (Side note: If you accept fanfiction commissions or money for fanfiction, I will find you quicker than the mouse mafia because you will not ruin this for us.) On one hand, the expectation seems to be that writers should update ever single week without fail. On the other hand, it seems too big an ask of readers to actually comment/reblog the things that they read.

(Waiting for a new chapter for weeks, months, hell, even years, was never unusual in fandom spaces and I need this to be more common knowledge.)

Then again, the negativity in fandom has really fucking increased. It comes and goes in wavesand I will not pretend to be affected because I was so inactive this last year. (This is simply a side note but it is something that I think needs more attention: The way I see poc creators treated is despicable and while I do not write for PP characters anymore because of all the drama, people really need to reflect how they see Pedro Pascal as a human being instead of a sex object.)

For me, personally, I have noticed that if I get genuinely angry at something happening on tumblr, it is time for me to log off and really focus on real life and I think it is something that we all should take to heart. Sadly, the more time passes, the more I am convinced that this fandom might not even be worth it anymore and I genuinely understand many creators who decide to leave permanently. It often feels like people are just there to create drama or to vague or that important and serious posts about how we should treat each other and the actors we admire are simply ignored in favour of the “I don’t like drama.” line. Which, like, one is drama and one is not. (Spoiler alert: Discussions on fandom inclusion and racism within fandom are not drama.)

Anyway, Readers need to be more mindful of the power they have over writers and if you want to complain that so many creators have deactivated or become inactive, I would like to ask that you reflect on when was the last time that you commented on someone’s fic.

[vespersposts]

Reap what you sow

Hello everyone!

It's been ages, but I wanted to update this story, hoping it will continue to be an enjoyable read. A hug to all, V.

-> more knb stories here 🏀

"So?" 

She comes running into the classroom, her long hair pulled back in a ponytail, her smile warm as she hands you a can of coffee and opens hers.

"He said it's OK" you reply, pulling a bag of pretty, hand-wrapped chocolates from your backpack. The ones you'd bought at the trendy restaurant you ate at last night, just waiting for this moment.

"I knew it!" she exults, choosing the cherry liqueur one, "Dai-chan never lets me down!" she concludes, smiling so warmly at you and at the goodness of the chocolate that you don't have the heart to point out the boy's true feelings again.

"So now you will be seen together in public and..." she continues, lost in her romantic fantasy made of waiting outside classrooms, public kisses and dinner dates with her and Tetsu. 

As if this charade were a real thing.

"No, for God's sake!" you exclaim, fiddling with the tin "For now Kuri will only know that there is a girl he's in contact with, so she can make herself even more pathetic" you smile back at her.

" Last night was so funny, seeing him so embarrassed and that nickname... A masterstroke" Momoi confides, moving her face closer to your ear as the princess enters the classroom.

" I had to play hard to get, your friend and I have nothing in common!" you tell her as you uncork the can under her gloating gaze.

"You just need to take a little time with your relationship, Dai-chan is a lot of fun once you get to know him a bit!" she tells you mischievously, laughing in satisfaction at the desperate look on your face.

Kuri, for her part, must have a radar that alerts her when anybody in the world talks about her beloved Aomine, because she goes to Satsuki to ask for useless information about league games.

" I'd like to get good seats and support the team" she explains, looking down disdainfully at the remains of your snack.

" I can always ask Sensei Shun if he has time, so maybe you can apologise to him in person" you reply ironically, once again pointing out what would have been the right thing to do, but which the champion of morality continues to ignore.

Satsuki's lips twitch briefly, you know she would like to smile but cannot, so she decides to show her sympathy in another way.

" Kuri's right, we need all the support we can get now that Dai-chan is so distracted by his private life" she hints quietly, then turns to you as if you didn't know "Last night he was so strange... Always on his phone, so moody! Then a text came in and everything was fine, right?" she asks, turning her wide eyes to those of Kuri, who suddenly becomes very serious.

" Something about his family, perhaps? He told me that he hears from his parents every night after training," the class leader suggests, so sure of her appeal to the boy that it's almost touching.

"I doubt it" the analyst smiles mischievously and nods at you both, before revealing the secret with a half-hearted voice: "He saved the sender as 'pretty', I saw it with my eyes! So it's definitely a girl!" she giggles, staring at you so that you say something, but Kuri is quicker. 

"Momoi-chan, you really don't know anything about this, do you?" she asks her in a sharp tone, so different from the usual sugary version she offers her.

" Since you're so curious, why don't you ask him directly? Then you would finally have a good reason to spend the whole afternoon glued to his back!" you interject, returning the not-so-subtle accusation to the sender. 

Once again you are saved by the beginning of the lesson.

Even though you think you've done quite well, there's something about Satsuki's expression that doesn't sit well with you.

She often looks at you and smiles, a half-smile you only understand when, sure there are no prying ears, she reveals it verbally.

"It may all be an act, but I'm really glad you've nailed the role" she comments, turning the pencil in her hands.

" You're no fun! " is the only thing you can say as you open your notebook and decide to give your full attention to the lesson. There is no point in explaining, clarifying or talking. Momoi has no idea that everything you do, you are also doing for her, to give her a chance to finally realise that she is the girl Dai-chan has been looking for all his life. She doesn't mean to, but her stubborn positivity will test you, because she's living proof that she doesn't notice you or how you feel. For her, it would be the fulfilment of a dream if you and her best friend became a couple, while you just want her to be true to herself to the core.

What you told Daiki in his living room the night before is exactly what you think, but also what you fear.

You just don't want your friend to realise too late that she's lost the man of her life because she still believes in the infallible nature of first love. After seeing their photos together, after he almost attacks you to claim his right to love her, after seeing how his face changes when he talks about her, you can only ask yourself one thing: why shouldn't Daiki be Momoi's soul mate?

You are distracted from these thoughts when the pink-haired girl's fingertips brush against your elbow and place a note under your nose, a torn corner of her notebook with a single word written on it.

"Sorry."

[cedarandstories]

Stale

James:

Do you ever wish that the bonds you form throughout life would turn stale quicker? I do not mean in the sense of getting worse, or becoming something that is a chore. I hope for my relationships to become comfortable. When the fear that you will mess it all up will settle. That the voice in the back of your head saying you do not deserve this person will subside. 

There’s always this pang of anxiety and guilt when I first meet someone. The idea that I am effectively damaged goods and always have been. And the greatest fear of all is that the person I meet will notice it too. They’ll see through my facade and realize that I am no good. That being around me is a chore. That my existence is not worthy. That I mean nothing. 

I always have noticed that it takes me time to adjust to the idea of someone staying. It’s a very foreign feeling to be wanted. Not sure if I ever realized that it was something attainable for me until a few years ago. It took a long time to come to terms with this. Sometimes we are so desperate to see ourselves as worthless we ignore the voices of all of those who are outside of our own head. Ironically, those are the people that actually exist and see us in a way untainted by what our minds may believe. Yet, we choose to believe them the least.

Those first few conversations often feel like bricks laid on top of my chest while I struggle underfoot. It’s like being buried alive. Everything sticks out and worries me. 

Read 9:36 am

“Oh…”

Silence. 

It feels like a heightened and painful state of existence. I try my best to remember that we are all people with our lives and things going on. But, in a bit of a selfish act, my anxiety won’t let me. I wonder why I am so afraid of this. So afraid to cause someone to leave, and then I remember. If my own mother would leave in a fit of frustration at me for 6 hours in the dead of night and come back to a crying 15 year old to tell them to stop crying and go to bed, why would a stranger stick around? What the fuck do we owe one another? 

Then it really hits me, everytime, without fail. We are owed nothing. Zilch. Nada. Instead, it’s the privilege to be able to meet someone new. To see a new beautiful soul. All of the intricacies can bear themselves over time. Some parts of the soul glow a bright blue or orange, glowing and teeming with life. This is my favorite part. Seeing the joys, passions, and ideas that make us who we are fills my heart with joy, and that orange hue lights up my own heart just the same. Sometimes, there'd be bits of matte black sticking out in the soul. The pain, the suffering, trauma. What we’d prefer the strangers do not see. Yet, we sometimes do see it. Maybe we see it in their writing. In their flinches at touch. In their words. In their eyes. In them. Some people think this makes them less worthy of love, but I couldn’t disagree more. The balance of it, how we cope with what occurred and also find joy in the here and now is how we move forward. It’s how we connect with the other beautiful souls in our lives. If a soul was too bright it may blind and overwhelm. Too dim, it will never shine through to others. 

I welcome the stale. I welcome it when we sit at dinner for the 60th time, sipping diner coffee brewed by a lovely old lady who says “sweetheart” to us both as we recount the latest life adventures only to find us out of things to say because we’ve already gone through everything else in life. That silence may be deafening to those who do not know us, but to us, it’s the ultimate comfort. 

I cannot wait for things to get stale with more lovely, beautiful souls. 

Yours, 

Daniel

[edenatday]

I’ve been chatting on Reddit about aphansasia and someone shared this essay with me. (Below is a screenshot that stood out)

I relate to about 90% of what he’s shared of his experience.

One thing has been vexing me when it comes to accepting that I have a very poor ability to visualise - and certainly my former friend wanted to use as a valid example to disprove I have no visual imagination. I can imagine, make up, play with lots of things in my brain. I have a rich inner world. How do I make @stupidlittledoodles if I can’t visualise?

This is how…

Milk voice = the neutral voice in your head that reminds you to buy milk. Do the dishes. Etc.

The doodles are visual mad libs. I don’t imagine images and go ooh I should draw that. I don’t see the doodle in my head as it is seen on the page. I experience concepts.

Me in my head:

- lol i bet a reverse mermaid but it’s a bloke and has a human penis would look funny.

- Lol remember that time my partner ran around the house with his dick and balls out the top of his jeans and I called it a blep and we found it hilarious.

- my cat is such a slut. She needs an only fans. Oh wait what if there was an only fans for cats. What would it be called?? Only Felines. She’d do some camming. She’d need a laptop…

They’re simple so I DONT have to spend time looking for a reference. A few are traced so I can make them quickly without too much effort to communicate the concept easily, and the touch of realism adds to the lols. I use my iPad like an accessibility tool bc it’s quicker to edit as I go than analogue sketching. They’re not meant to look realistic on the whole.

It’s interesting to me that I started these doodles as a way to move away from perfectionism & let go of realism, because all I have is realism. I can only see what’s real when I open my eyes. I cannot picture surrealism. I can gather references for the concepts of surrealism, or specific artistic techniques, or styles of artistic greats, and years of study mean I can replicate these things into creating something uniquely mine. But I don’t see the image. I judge each stroke as I go. It’s like pulling a thread.

Problem is, with stupid little doodles, my brain isn’t able to mad lib like that all the time. The ideas I get are sparked by quips in conversations, random bits between friends, jokes, maybe even vocalised visual randomness from other peoples brains, that I’m able to illustrate. I live a very solitary life these days so im not exposed to these moments often, and I miss that creativity. It only happens when I’m bouncing off other people. I’ve sat with this feeling of personal failure for a while, why don’t I do them anymore? I really love creating them. They’re like a dopamine button for me too! Maybe I’ll figure out ways to spark this part of my brain again. For now I’m choosing to focus elsewhere.

A lot of my creativity comes this way. A solitary life suits me, but doesn’t suit my creativity. I have to externalise a lot of my brain to function, so lot of my ideas are externally generated through my unique perspective human experience. I’m not sure how to describe this process entirely yet. But it’s been on my mind for a while. In order to make art I need to go out in the world and have experiences, but there’s people and things out there, so I stay in.

I’ll get back to the world soon I hope. Burnout is a bitch.

[talldarkanddominant]

LOOK ME IN THE EYES

He comes home to find his little pup spending her day off by curling up in their bed together — naked and losing herself to the world resting open in her free hand.

The book slumps out of her hand as she fixes those fae-like eyes to his. Under the blazing afternoon light filtering in through the blinds the green they normally are glisten like uncovered Amber.

A wicked idea comes to him.

‘Don’t stop playing on account of me. Why don’t you read aloud for me, you horny thing — I want to hear why you couldn’t wait for my permission. I want to see how you like to play with yourself.’

He stands in the doorway and watches as she turns the page and begins to play.

For herself.

For him.

A cadence forms in her adorable business-voice. He knows the one. He hears it through the walls when they work from home together in their respective offices. The cutest thing is in the tiniest details. How the rise-and-fall gives way to the push-me-pull-me rhythm of her moans.

Dialogue comes out in a breathy stammer, hanging on a syllable for dear life as her needy ass gives in to the pleasure momentarily.

He almost loses himself in the moment, watching her hands glide under the covers. His mouth waters and he has to remind his own needy ass to tell her to slow down. She cannot come yet, only edge to that delightful edge of sanity.

The flustered state she’s in is just as rewarding as anything they’ve done together. Hearing her stutter, moan through the dialogue of the book, take a break between sentences to not-so-successfully curse under her breath.

She’s unraveling before his eyes.

And he can’t help himself.

The ache in his pants is too strong.

He reaches down, dulls it with a squeeze.

It works…for the moment.

It won’t last.

He’ll need to breed her cute little ass.

It’s always fucking wonderful to see the mess he’s made of her dripping out of her beautiful pussy.

Fuck. He’s started stroking himself.

Focus.

But he can’t help it.

Watching her grind her hips up to fuck her fingers.

Seeing just how much she likes to brutalize her own nipples.

Fuck.

Her moans come quicker now.

‘Stop. Start again.’

‘What?? But come on, I just-‘

‘Nope. Take as long as you need to but stop and start again.’

Her half-lidded eyes seem to whine and beg as much as the feral, mewling noise that comes out of her.

The cutest fucking thing.

He’s got the thread and he wants to pull it till she’s gone.

The second time he tells her to stop and start again, her face turns a deep shade of red. She actually hits the bed out of pure frustration.

One might say she smacks the chuckle right out of him.

‘Can I cum? Oh please can I cum?’

‘Please hold.’

‘Fuck!’

This she spits out.

But she keeps going.

And going.

The room is a sauna.

Sweat beads along her one exposed thigh.

She kicks off the sheets and shows him exactly how soaked she is.

And how frantic she plays.

The sounds of her soaked ass just makes him want to pound her.

Everywhere.

Sympathy strikes him hard in the chest.

‘All right. You can come.’

Thank you, she stammers.

Over and over.

Words spill out like water in a bursting dam.

All of a sudden she’s a record caught in a loop.

Trying so hard to get through the sentence even as her delicious orgasm comes over her

‘…part of…p-p-paaaaaarrr…’

He watches her body spasm, watches her eyes roll, watches the book smack against her tits.

A fleeting thought comes — he hopes that hurts her. He files it away.

Closes the gap between them just as a spray shoots across the edge of the bed.

Guttural cries.

Trembling thighs.

Sun-soaked tits.

Her favourite pink toy slips from her slit and falls against her clit.

He lays down beside her.

Rests his hand over hers as she holds it still on her.

‘Look at me.’ He says softly.

She does.

Her eyes wide and eager.

Barely holding it together.

Fuck, he’s barely holding it together himself.

For now he waits.

Watches the colour of her hand gripping the sheets drain white.

Feels another spray shoot across his thighs.

Pool down around his legs.

His adorable fucking mess.

[lemonboyfest]

reminders

reminders for 2024:

You’re not dead yet. Get the fuck up. Drag your corpse kicking and screaming into tomorrow. One day you will stop surviving and start living

more studying, more walks, more reading, more skill-based hobbies, more experimenting w pretty fits and hairstyles, more gym, more exploring new things in general, more whole foods/healthy recipes, more financial literacy, more time management, more time off the phone, more being out the loop. nothing else matters

hrmm. well hold on now ive been filled with a sudden joy and whimsy for the world

Glowing kind of love

fuck beauty standards. someone looking at you with love in their eyes is the most beautiful thing in the world.

as a girl who is literally just a girl i am always yearning. always longing always missing always wearing my heart on my sleeve. always feeling like my heart is on the verge of exploding. the sight of the sun makes me cry. anyway

i hope that when i die there will be an apartment with everyone i’ve ever loved in it and we are together always

read a lot and read everything

film and art and music are what builds ur soul

be outside

love and romance will not come to you any quicker if you are focused on it constantly

possessions don't improve things

movement does improve things

university is <4 years of the rest of your life - make the most of it

find the pleasure in hard work

lose the pleasure in scrolling

creation is essential

joy, love & intelligence are the tenets of life

stagnation isn't inevitable. no person is in a fixed state. you can always change

i love listening to someone’s favorite song its like im mentally holding their hand

you just had an epiphany about your sexuality? just own it. you like this unpopular thing your friends don’t like? just own it. you’re trans? just own it. you’re doing something unconventional? just own it. you’re completely free to share your reasons, but you don’t have to justify why you made the decisions you made. if you disclose something and a friend makes a face, okay well that’s too bad bc that’s who you are. they’re free to leave if what makes you a person doesn’t sit right w them. you don’t need to explain the why and the how and the when as if you’re trying to outrun their disapproval. be confident enough in yourself that you don’t feel the need to owe anyone an explanation. you’re you and that’s that.

what im learning is that you cannot avoid your way into a life you enjoy

i have the opposite of that “everyone is an npc” mentality people have embraced where i’m instead like. the person next to me in line has someone they can’t wait to go home to, the person picking up their mail has felt devastation before, everyone in this grocery store is doing their sunday shopping, maybe the person that just honked at me is having the worst day of their life, my neighbor has doctors appointments and favorite foods and a song they can’t stand to hear anymore… you are all fully realized complex people and that is overwhelming me on a spiritual level…

"omg you'll post 'i need him' on the most average men" "she's mid" most of us are average and it's good that we can find beauty and desire in average people .... on god FELT. i really need to start practicing this though. i get so complacent in my complacence i listen to my friends and i try so hard to fit in i insult people for no reason there is so much more to them than their aesthetics and if i do not find them attractive then what is to say someone else doesn't why do i feel the need to invalidate why am i rude ? people are all beautiful i need to remind myself . changing

[soir-rouges-esprit]

xx11.d: The River, He walks over to the large Dead Oak and rests his hand over some scribbles in the bark ... I follow him standing just behind him looking over his shoulder. "*sigh* We … this … cannot continue … this struggle … it's the whole reason he died in the first place. Never forever one … dead … and everyone of us, each and every shade believes us to be him, the true last living idol. But … it's all … a lie." He removed his hand revealing the name "Red" … I walk up to the tree and stare in disbelief … What? Wait … what? What is this Hope? "The City … existed before … us … before you. Before Wrath. But … in the past … it was filled with people of different faces, different shades and colors of the full spectrum … people … people who cared for us and our well being … not just … us" This can't be true … you … you're a lying grifter! A bitch! And I won't be swindled by your fucking illusion! "Stop … just … stop. If you or anyone was the … Original … why would any other shade be able to effect you? To control you? Because you and they and I … aren't him … at least not any longer. It's time to accept that, and I know … you as I did at one point … will not accept that, because I … He would never die. But he did … and the only thing left … is his Shattered Memory." … … … How … how am I supposed to accept this? I go and sit on a large root exposed from the Dead Oak. I stare deadly straight into the ground. "You won't be able to immediately … It's hard … but once you understand that … the quicker you can become the new, Red." I've this whole time been trying to piece myself back together … back to who I was … but now you're telling me I'm not that person … and that the person I thought I was … is dead. What point is there … who … am I? "You are who you are … don't live in any shadow of another … something he would have said. It's not impossible I think … to return to the person you want to be … but not revive him from the dead. Because as he'd say … " Life is for the living … " … correct … He's gone … sometimes, the best thing to do is to forget who you were … because in truth … it just wasn't working … he knew that … and let himself die … in a gamble that when he shattered … that one of those shards would be able to piece it all back together … and be … a new Red … a better … Red" This is all so fucked "Yeah … unfortunately" I stand and look directly into his eyes and say. So what then? What's the next action needed to piece us back together Hope? "I knew you were the one … we lost long ago … our ability to allow others into The City. Allowing them to populate our mind and fill the space and silence … fill the jobs we needed … allow us to stop this depression and finally start to grow, once again." Ok, so what are you suggesting? "Come on, follow me" We walk out into the large barren waste rock, among the many bridge ashes … He goes into a large ash pile and he collapses to his knees “Now Red … We sift and sift and sift … Until … we find it” Find what? “Start … Sifting! Just fucking run your hands everywhere until you feel something … and when you do … pull it from the depths of the dead … just as you were” he said with a serious face and a slight angry tinge. He went straight back to hunching over on his knees and sifting. Ok … ok Hope … I will sift … I wish you’d tell me what I was at least looking for but fine. I go to a separate pile of ash … and what I find sifting through it all was memories … trinkets … an amulet of silver casing and a core of amethyst. An earring in the shape of a crescent moon with small cats on the sides, and finally a golden sewing needle. To another ash pile. I find a coin bag filled to the brim. A small Walkman titled D.A. with yellow tape, and a white Bishop chess piece. Once again another ash pile and another and another and … this goes on for sometime. I yell over at Hope. HEYYYY When are we done here? I mean what the fuck are we doing here Hope? There is … NOTHING. Whatever the fuck is here ain’t worth the time … [To Be Continued]

[childrensbread]

Learning Patience

Unity and Maturity in the Body of Christ

💜 As a prisoner for the Lord, then, I urge you to live a life worthy of the calling you have received.

Be completely humble and gentle; be patient, bearing with one another in love.

Make every effort to keep the unity of the Spirit through the bond of peace.

There is one body and one Spirit, just as you were called to one hope when you were called; one Lord, one faith, one baptism; one God and Father of all, who is over all and through all and in all.

~Ephesians 4:1-6 ✝️

Devotional

Impatience is a defining mark of our culture.

A poll of 2,000 adults, conducted in the UK in 2021, revealed our modern hatred for waiting. Nearly half of the study's participants considered themselves as having an "I want it now" attitude, blaming advances in technology. Slow walkers, transport delays and waiting for the internet were particularly condemned as clear annoyances.

Wherever you're based today, the picture is probably similar. There's no denying it: We live in an age of instant gratification. We want everything and we want it now. Do you feel the hurry?

While our culture's obsession with speed is at times advantageous, problems arise in the soul-level, more relational areas of life: The things that ultimately matter in eternity. Such "deeper works" rarely come quickly. Instead, they require time, nurturing and commitment. Any attempts to create shortcuts only result in counterfeit versions of the real thing. Consequently, we feel consistently unfulfilled.

Love is a profound example. It's a virtue that's impossible to rush. Love and impatience do not go together. They cannot.

Impatience is a corruptor of love. It undermines everything love tries to achieve. By pursuing its own gratification, impatience relegates the welfare of others. It pushes people away rather than drawing them close. Impatience is quick to anger and quicker to give up. It resents sacrifice and constantly shifts blame. In truth, impatient love is barely love at all.

We've all probably experienced impatient "love" and, being real, we've all probably loved others impatiently. That's ok. Today isn't about condemning ourselves or others. It's about recalibrating and moving forward differently. It's also about remembering that this imperfect, worldly love is not Christ's love. Impatient love is an impostor. It's not how God treats us.

Jesus' love is defined by patience. It's faithful and everlasting. This is the love Paul encourages us to practice in today's passage. Patient love bears with others, even when they've frustrated or disappointed us. It takes the long way round and commits to the whole journey, whatever it takes. Patient love lasts forever.

Pause and reflect.

When have you experienced patient love? How did it make you feel? What would it look like to slow your pace down for long enough to love well today?

If you want to grow in love, you have to grow in patience. It's a hard truth but it's real. You have to resist your urge for instant gratification. You have to slow down.

Hear it again: You have to slow down. Create some margin.

True love, patient love, builds deep. The payoff, though, is huge: It establishes relationships that last forever.

Today, commit to Jesus' radical revolution of patience. Resist the culture and embrace waiting instead.

As you return to your day, breathe deep and say this with me: "Jesus is patient with me." "I will be patient with others."

Resolve to play the long game of love today. 🙂🙏💜

Source: Glorify App

Image: KCIS 630

My Glorify Referral Link: https://share.glorify-app.com/MRSPINO777 ✝️

[benyhw]

An immense sense of loss

Today’s feelings of loss is coloured by feelings of guilt. In many ways, regardless of my situations, I hurt her by failing to acknowledge her feelings, for gaslighting her and frequently attributing it to her insecurities, being defensive during arguments when all she wanted was to be heard, failing to communicate my needs and fall short of supporting her because I did not make it clear my capacities. I made her deviate from her values as she compromised to accommodate me. Soon she found herself coming to dislike who she was when she was with me and that was probably the last straw. I would hate that for her too.

Now that I have lost her, all I have left to my name is this panging sense of guilt, loss, regret and the desire for change that is all too late. Steps were taken and there have been improvement in both of us as we have both acknowledged but the damage is done and this still came too late. What we had now, and how long it will take for me to grow, were reasons that led her to end things with me. She needs her space to re-align back to herself and to grow. She deserves to be happy and to love herself when in love. I have thus far failed to provide both.

There is hence a large sense of guilt here. I have no one to blame but myself for this current outcome. I regret not realising earlier, yet I also acknowledge we all grow at our own pace, with possible impetus required. Still, I lament that I did not grow any quicker. That I did not do enough to make her stay. That I wasn’t able to realise my worth enough to state my needs, draw boundaries and communicate effectively with her. That I allowed my initially avoidant and then subsequently anxious attachment style impair my communication and bring forth potentially hurtful words. I cannot make her love me now, neither can I make her choose me now. I can only work on myself and hope she chooses to return some day.

I want to repent and seek forgiveness. I want to be reassured that even if slim, there is still hope for me in the future. I want to know that the wounds I have left, can be healed from. I want to make amends and make up to her for those wounds. I want forgiveness and I am remorseful deep to my soul. I want to show that change is possible and that growth has begun.

Maybe that some day may be too late yet again. No one knows the future. I just need to persist so that that day may perhaps happen. In dreams, I hope to be by her side again one day. In reality, I know it is not that simple. Time and love waits for no one and neither should she.

I want her to be happy. I hope my love for her will prevail against my selfishness. Sometimes, her happiness may mean my sacrifice. I may not be the one for her in the end. Only time will tell.

I have sacrificed much over the last 1.5 years, going through hurt in kind. Yet they were also plenty of blissful times, with memories made that I would not give up for anything.

Once again, I am experiencing loss. Loss of another person I love. Another person I cannot have yet helplessly wishing I could keep in my life. I wonder how the others I have lost are doing. I hope they are happy. I hope they are at peace.

[talldarkandroguesome]

19th of Sun’s Dawn, Sundas

Two more full days of Luayl diving into my each and every memory. Another two days of prying into the reasons behind. He seems to think that there are part of my past that have festered in forgotten memories.

As if it was not painful and embarrassing enough as it was, now he has made me write down my dreams for him to look at later. As if I needed one more thing to take my time! And worst of all, it wakes me up even more to have to grasp and fumble for the ink pot and parchment in the dark and light up a candle to sit there and put it all down before I forget.

Poor Avon has not been enjoying it whatsoever. The light wakes him about half of the time.

Of course, I am still in these endless introduction meetings. The faces of all the ladies have begun to run together. Even with taking notes, I am starting to have issues recalling which one was which. Not sleeping is certainly not helping.

The one light in all of this was a short letter from Tel. Apparently the gifts they brought back with them were quite the event in the barracks. Tel opened them to find many more things then they realized I had gotten for them and has been receiving no end of teasing about my intentions towards them. They are beginning to believe I may be trying to court them. It is all rather amusing, given the irony of my being n the middle of being pursued by so many on my own.

I much prefer sending Tel gifts over sitting through all of this pointless courting procedure. Meeting with the family, meeting with the lady, meeting with the family again. So many conversations of what is to be gained through a union or the frivolous mundane chatter about hobbies and interests. All for nothing.

I cannot wait to be out of the city again.

Luckily, tomorrow I will be going to Davon’s Watch. There were complaints, but I said I would not neglect any parts of my duties and insisted on checking on the family tomb.

I have only enough time to do a very quick survey of things at the manor and crypt and then to head to the Harborage and see how things fair with the Nest.

Bloody hell, I also need to speak with Zethith. I need them to let me know if we can contact Leythen. Get his soul or body. Something. I desperately need to know if it is even possible. And if it is....

If it is then... then... then I must get him back.

I do not even know what that means. But I must do what I can for him. I know there is no reviving him from death’s grip, not without that horrible art of necromancy, which I would never subject his beautiful body to. Besides, I do not want him to come back... wrong. Necromancy is one of those hideous evils that does not respect the wishes of the deceased and mutates them in ways that are unnatural. I would never do something to one I respect so much.

That said... I have to do something! He gave his life in part for my success. If I had just been quicker. Stronger. Better.

If only it had not been him. Fetching Darien could have taken his place. Either of the other vestiges. 

Veya. How I hope she has no afterlife at all. Or if she does, that it be as horrible and painful as that which she put us through.

Maybe the Four Corners play with her for eternity! That she could hurt Naryu so. That she was someone I saw myself in and mentored, albeit briefly, knowing how she turned it to the worst possible outcome, it sickens me. She would have unmade all of Nirn simply because she was not allowed the freedom to kill whomever she pleased without repercussions. To take all the secret knowledge of the Morag Tong and then to just turn her back on our Prince!

The pain and heartbreak still remains. It is Luayl’s fault for bringing it back to the fore like this!

I will write no more. I will commit the last of my evening to soothing these feelings with a bottle of something strong and dry.