#boy x

[i-had-a-bad-feeling]

Next time you move on

Like I know you do

Tell me you won't treat her like you did with me and you

When she falls hard

And a little too soon

Promise you won't promise things you know just won't come true.

[carry-on-my-wayward-sammy]

Bitter Taste~J2

Little!Jensen x Jared (non-sexual)

Word Count - 541

I know this is really short but it's my first one-shot so bear with me they'll get better (hopefully).

   Jared woke up with a jolt, immediate panic overwhelming his brain at the garbled noises of distress coming from the off-white baby monitor on his nightstand. He quickly sat up and swung his long legs over the side of the bed, grabbing a t-shirt off the gray hardwood floor and throwing it on. He stood and jogged out of his room and down the hall, ignoring the almost-pain that came with having hardwood floors in the winter. Upon reaching the second bedroom, he stopped slowly opened the too-light wooden door, cringing at the loud squealing noise it made. 

   “Jensen? Baby?” Jared half-whispered, not wanting to startle him. “Are you okay?” Jensen rolled over in his bed, red, puffy eyes and tear-stained cheeks revealed by the light seeping in through his door from the hall. "Oh baby..." Jared muttered, rushing across the room to Jensen's side. "What's wrong sweetheart?" he asked softly, checking Jensen’s forehead for a fever. Shit, he’s burning up. I need to get medicine in him, now. 

   “My stomach hurts really bad...” Jensen replied, his scratchy throat causing his voice to break. 

  “Okay, we’re gonna go in the bathroom and get you some medicine.” Jared explained, in the tone he only used when he was really worried. He scooped Jensen up and carried him to their shared bathroom, sitting him on the concrete counter and opening up the black, mirrored medicine cabinet. He quickly scanned the white shelves searching for a fever reducer of some sort. When he found some, he grabbed the bottle, removing the measuring cup and lid, tipping the bottle and pouring medicine into the measuring cup. Jared lifted the measuring cup and held it up in front of Jensen. 

   “Open,” he said simply, wiggling the cup of medicine in front of his face. 

   Jensen shook his head, “Nuh-uh.” he said as he formed his lips into a pout.

   "Come on, you need to take it to feel better.” Jared said, rubbing his hand up and down Jensen’s arm. Jensen shook his head again, this time turning his head away from Jared. "How about this. You take the medicine, I let you sleep in my bed."

   Jensen reluctantly looked back at Jared, took the cup from his hand, and downed the medicine. His face twisted into a sour expression, but it passed after only a moment.

  "See? It's not that bad." Jared said, with an unintentional 'I told you so' tone. Jensen just shook his head, lifting his arms, waiting for Jared to pick him up. Jared complied, picking him up and carrying him to Jared's bedroom, and laying him down on the plain black comforter. Before getting under the covers, he pulled his shirt off and tossed it on a random part of the floor.

   As he got under, he held the blanket up so Jensen could get under as well. When Jensen got under the covers, he immediately pressed his back to Jared's chest, tangling their legs together. Jared responded by draping his over Jensen protectively and nuzzling his face into the other's neck.

   "I love you." Jensen muttered, a small smile on his face.

   "I love you too baby," Jared replied, adoration obvious in his voice, "more than you'll ever know."

[sammy9links]

MP3: Tate McRae - boy x

MP3: Tate McRae – boy x

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[habitual-irony]

Nell — “Boy-X” English lyrics

Because a dog like me is listening To words not even fit for dogs, I’m in a bad mood. The only thoughts that come up Are unspeakably bad. I cannot breathe. This song’s for you. This song’s for you. This song’s for you.

The unqualified politician Has no interest in the ailing and weak. Strike three and you’re out. The unqualified revolutionary Is the number one bored armchair activist. Strike three and you’re out.

For whom and for what Those prayers and devotion were intended Have probably been forgotten. Just taking steps and rising up, They probably can’t see beyond that. I’m in a bad mood. This song’s for you. This song’s for you. This song’s for you.

The unqualified politician Has no interest in the ailing and weak. Strike three and you’re out. The unqualified revolutionary Is the number one bored armchair activist. Strike three and you’re out.

The unqualified educator Is the murderer of many dreamers. Strike three and you’re out. The unqualified believer, The compline crucifix is like a swastika. Strike three, yes, you’re out. You’re out. You’re out. You’re out. You’re out. Yes, you’re out.

(The unqualified artist)