sqvalors
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If there’s a way you’re supposed to react when you realize your brother’s jerking off while on the phone with you, Dean’s sure as hell stumped as to what it might be.
Bookmarked by sqvalors
15 Oct 2025
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“My brother. Where is he? He - he was with me when I went to sleep. What have you done with him?” Sam can feel the panic starting to claw up his throat, thinking about what might have happened to Dean, making his hands sweat - “And where are we? Where have you brought me?”
“Sam?” the man says again and man, it’s like a broken record, “Sam what the fuck,” and this is a waste of time, they’ve already established the man knows Sam’s name. Sam glances at the door, wonders if he can make a run for it. The man mutters something under his breath that sounds a lot like ‘you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.’
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Sam wakes up aged 9 and with zero clue who the weird man in the bed next to his is. They deal.
Bookmarked by sqvalors
12 Apr 2021
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Sirius’s thoughts are a slow-moving, impending disaster. How he wants to pin Remus up against the cupboards, to crowd him into a corner; how he wants to intertwine their fingers, to brush his lips against Remus’s forehead, his jaw. Instead, he settles for ducking his head and sliding a finger through the belt loop of Remus's jeans—a ridiculous gesture so utterly intimate, even for the pair of them, that he only allows it because he’s just drunk enough.
“Stop stealing my bloody clothes, Lupin.” He says, very quietly.
Remus looks up at him, eyes dark, and murmurs pleasantly: “Better learn to do your own laundry then, Black. Consider it my fee.”
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It was an impossible thing, living with Remus Lupin--but Sirius was doing it anyway.
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Bookmarked by sqvalors
04 Jan 2021
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How Fragile We Are, Between the Few Good Moments by emergencymanagement
Fandoms: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
27 Oct 2020
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By the time it’s dark, there’s a fire crackling before them. The tent is set up. There are two chairs propped up by the fire. They have cooked and eaten dinner, and they are sitting in silence. It reminds Sirius of the dinners at home after he got sorted into Gryffindor, or after his mother found the letters from his friends, or lately, whenever he dares to show his face around the house at all. What lives in that space isn’t actually silence. Silence is absence. This thing that hangs between him and his mother, now between him and Remus, is the presence of something suffocating and cutting. It doesn’t serve as a placeholder for noise, it serves as a punishment. It cleaves him to the bone, flays him until he wants to cry. The soft, knotting feeling in his chest he feels when he wants to let tears out but can’t is rising in him. Sirius doesn’t know how to kill it except to hiss, “Well if you’re mad at me just fucking say so.”
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Bookmarked by sqvalors
17 Dec 2020
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Bookmarked by sqvalors
17 Jan 2020