#made it really vague on purpose but maybe...

[thatonegrimm]

Hello Grimm !

It’s a pleasure send you an ask for the first time, if I’m not writing this right, feel free to tell me.

I wanted to request a one shot (or whatever it’s called, I’m not used to these terms, sorry) with the Saja Boys (separately) with a reader who is always innocent and sweet and then the boys find out that they write really dark stories, like thrillers with morally gray characters and that go highly philosophical about the corruption and hypocrisy of humanity, you can write them dating the reader or not dating them but crushing on them, whichever you’re comfortable with !

I hope it was okay and that this made sense lol, have a good day/evening/night !

Hello, and welcome!! 💌 You absolutely nailed the ask — it was clear, thoughtful, and gave me everything I needed to work with! This one leans romantic-crush-adjacent, so you can read it as dating or just tension building — whatever feels right for you. It’s written as a drabble set, with each-reacting separately. Hope you enjoy!

"What Sweet People Don’t Say Out Loud"

Summary: The Saja Boys find out their sunshine might have a darker mind than expected.

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

🧿 Jinu

Jinu finds your writing by accident. You'd left your laptop open to a document titled “Cured By Fire: A Moral Treatise on Manufactured Innocence” while you stepped away to make tea.

He’d only meant to close the screen — honestly. But curiosity got the better of him. The title alone didn’t match the person who giggles at animal memes and says “oopsies” when they trip over a pillow.

A few scrolls in, he forgets about the tea.

The story unravels like a slow-burning reckoning. Government corruption, religious rot, and a protagonist who justifies arson as “a cleansing act in a city that won’t admit it’s already ash.”

When you return, he’s sitting rigidly upright, eyes wide behind his glasses. He looks… lost.

“Everything okay?” “You… wrote this?” “Uh. Yeah. Is it… bad?” “No, no, it’s—” He gestures vaguely. “It’s just… disturbingly good?” He pauses. “How long have you been thinking about the illusion of free will?” “Since middle school.” “Oh. Huh.”

He doesn’t touch his tea for an hour. You catch him rereading the ending later, brows furrowed.

“I think your villain might be right,” he mumbles, almost sheepish. Then softer, like it snuck up on him: “You’re… kind of brilliant.”

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

💪 Abby

You print your story out for him — all 17 pages — and hand it over like it’s fragile. You're smiling nervously, chewing your lip.

“Be nice?” “Always.”

He’s expecting poetry. Something light. Maybe a whimsical fairytale about cats.

What he gets is a psychological thriller about a prison warden who slowly manipulates both inmates and guards into losing track of who’s imprisoned who. The tone is cold. Surgical. Inescapably brilliant.

By the time he finishes, he’s still staring at the final paragraph like it called him out personally.

“...Did you just make me root for a guy who drowns his boss in a koi pond?” “A little bit.” “I’m scared of you. In the best way.”

He sets the story down, still processing.

Then looks at you with open awe.

“You hide this whole part of yourself behind cute sweaters and sunny playlists, huh?” “...Maybe.” “That’s wild. I love it.”

He throws an arm around your shoulder, pulls you into his side, and presses a kiss to your temple like it’s instinct.

“Just remind me not to piss you off too bad. I’d like to stay above water.”

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

📚 Mystery

You hadn’t meant for anyone to read it.

You keep your darker writing tucked away in a leather-bound notebook, usually hidden under your pillow. But Mystery finds it while you’re asleep — not on purpose, just straightening the blankets after you passed out reading.

He flips it open absently. Stops flipping five seconds later.

The story is unlike anything he’s read — a first-person monologue from a vigilante priest who sees sins as carvings, both literal and metaphorical. The prose is lyrical. Unnerving. Devastating.

He reads it in silence, unmoving. The kind of stillness he only slips into when something truly grips him.

When you wake up, you find him sitting on the edge of the bed, notebook in his lap, expression unreadable.

“Did you dream this?” “No... I wrote it a few weeks ago.” “It reads like it hurt.”

You wait for him to laugh. Or be weirded out. But he just closes the notebook gently and places it beside you.

“Everyone sees you as light.” He looks at you. “But you write like someone who understands what darkness actually costs.”

He lies beside you after, shoulder to shoulder, silent. But when he presses his forehead to yours, there’s reverence in it.

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

💋 Romance

It’s open mic night. Romance volunteers to read your piece out loud without looking it over first — he says he wants to be surprised.

He is.

The story is a sleek, cutting piece about a world where people wear masks that reflect their social status — and the one character who dares to shatter their own. It reads like a manifesto in disguise, full of quiet rage and philosophical tension.

By the end, the audience is dead silent. Romance lowers the paper slowly.

“So.” He clears his throat. “This was not about bunnies.” You nod. “And you wrote this?” “Yup.” “This explains… so much.”

Later, once the adrenaline wears off, you find him leaning against the hallway wall backstage, still holding the pages like they’re made of fire.

“You wrote this like a scalpel,” he says. “Soft hands. Sharp intent.” He laughs, shakes his head. “You had me out here baring your philosophical teeth to a full room. I’ve never been prouder.”

He leans in, nose brushing yours.

“Sweet, dangerous, and literary. What a combination.”

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

🔥 Baby

He finds your notebook in his backpack two days after you borrowed it. He flips it open thinking it’s a to-do list or grocery note.

Instead, he finds this:

“They call me innocent because I smile in public. But no one ever asks why the monsters in my stories look like men in suits.”

He stops chewing his gum.

Turns the page.

Keeps reading.

And then, at 2:12 AM, you get this:

baby🖕: wtf baby🖕: ur a menace baby🖕: u write like ur planning a quiet revolution and i’d probably help

When you see him the next morning, he tosses the notebook at you and crosses his arms.

“You have no right being that nice and also writing like this.” “You didn’t like it?” “Are you kidding? I read it three times. I might be in love with your brain.”

He grabs your face, thumb brushing your cheek, gaze intense.

“You’re soft and terrifying. That’s hot.” Then he smirks. “Just don’t ever base a villain on me, okay?”

You don’t answer. You definitely already did.

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

M-List

[lila-lou]

✨Nanny Call - Pt. 1/2✨

Summary: You weren’t expecting much when Jared Padalecki called. And definitely not to end up living with Jensen Ackles and his three chaos-loving kids. But now you’re in deeper than you planned, balancing bedtime battles and forbidden tension with a man you were never supposed to want.

-requested-

Pairing: Jensen x Reader

Warnings: Language

Word Count: 5944

DISCLAIMER: Everything is purely fiction. I do not intend to attack or hurt anyone. The story is, of course, entirely made up and meant for entertainment purposes. I love them all.

You weren’t expecting much when Jared Padalecki called. Maybe a short congratulatory text for graduating college. What you didn’t expect was to be thrown headfirst into the life of Jensen Ackles.

“I swear, you’d be perfect for this”, Jared had said over the phone, voice light but insistent. “Jensen’s drowning a little. He’s got the kids alone for the next few months, and the show’s shooting schedule is brutal. He needs someone he can trust. And you’re great with kids”.

You hesitated. Sure, you loved kids. And sure, you’d babysat a lot during high school. But Jensen Ackles? That was a whole different universe. You’d grown up hearing about him through your older brother, one of Jared’s longtime friends, and of course, you’d seen Supernatural. He was larger than life. A celebrity. A dad.

But somehow, Jared talked you into it. You told yourself it was just temporary. Just until Jensen got his footing or found a full-time nanny. No pressure.

The first meeting was at Jensen’s temporary place in Vancouver, where he’d be staying for the next few months while filming season sixteen of Supernatural. It was tucked into a quiet neighborhood just outside the city, a rental that looked nice enough from the outside, but already showed signs of life within. Toys peeked out from behind the curtains, and a little pair of sneakers sat abandoned on the porch.

You tugged at your sweater as you walked up the steps, heart thudding harder than you liked to admit. This wasn’t just a gig, it was Jensen Ackles. And his kids.

Before you could knock, the door swung open, and there he was.

Jensen looked… exhausted. Comfortable, though. Barefoot, in joggers and a faded Texas Rangers t-shirt, his hair still damp from a rushed shower. He leaned against the doorframe like he'd forgotten how to stand still, his expression caught somewhere between curiosity and mild regret.

“You’re Y/N?”, he asked, eyebrows raising slightly as he gave you a once-over.

You nodded, offering a smile that felt steadier than you expected. “Yep. Jared sent me”.

He exhaled through his nose, not quite a sigh, but close. “Yeah. He did”.

There was a pause, just long enough to be uncomfortable. You weren’t sure what you expected, but it wasn’t the faint frown that tugged at the corner of his mouth, or the way he looked past you like he was still debating something.

“I gotta be honest”, he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “I wasn’t really sold on this”.

You blinked. “Oh”.

“It’s nothing personal. You’re just…”. He motioned vaguely, trying to find a polite word. “Young”.

You bit your tongue to keep from saying something defensive. Because yeah, you were young. Fresh out of college. But you weren’t stupid. And you weren’t unqualified.

“And inexperienced”, he added, just twisting the knife a little deeper.

You shifted your weight and crossed your arms, lifting a brow. “I worked with kids through all of college. Daycares, summer camps, tutoring, kind of the whole shebang”.

He nodded slowly, but his eyes still held that wary edge. “Jared said you were great. He practically wouldn’t shut up about it. Said you were mature. Reliable. Said you’d be good for them”.

“And you don’t believe him?”.

“I believe Jared believes it”, he said. “But I’ve got three kids, a full-time shooting schedule, and not a lot of margin for error. I just…”. He trailed off, sighing again. “I need help. I just don’t know if this is the right kind”.

You let the silence settle for a beat before speaking. “Look. If it doesn’t work, it doesn’t work. But give me one day. Let me show you I’m not just some college kid who can’t tell a diaper from a juice box”.

That finally cracked something in him, a smile, small and dry, but genuine.

“Alright”, he said. “One day”.

Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, “But if one of them ends up on the roof again, it’s on you”.

You blinked. “Again?”.

But he was already stepping aside to let you in, muttering, “You’ll see”.

You’d barely stepped into the living room when a voice floated down the hallway, sharp and matter-of-fact.

“Dad. Zeppelin’s drinking maple syrup. Again”.

Jensen closed his eyes like this was a recurring battle he had long since lost. “JJ”, he called back, “can you grab it from him before he chugs the whole bottle?”.

“I’m eleven, not a miracle worker”, she replied, though you could hear her footsteps heading toward the kitchen anyway.

A few seconds later, she appeared, tall for her age and already carrying herself with the weariness of someone twice it. Her long hair was pulled back into a slightly lopsided ponytail, and she eyed you with a quiet, measuring gaze as she handed Jensen a half-empty syrup bottle.

“That’s JJ”, he said. “My little general”.

JJ gave a small shrug. “Hi”. Then, to you, flatly: “Are you the new sitter or just here for the interview?”.

“Guess we’ll see by the end of the day”, you answered with a smile.

JJ’s eyes narrowed slightly, like she was deciding whether to like you or not. She didn’t answer, but she didn’t walk away either, which felt like a tiny win.

Then came the thundering footsteps, real ones this time. Zeppelin burst around the corner, shirt on backwards, sockless, and grinning like he’d just committed a heist and gotten away with it.

“Hi! Are you the new mom?”.

“Zepp!”, Jensen’s voice cracked in disbelief. “No—no one is the new mom”.

Zeppelin blinked at you. “Oh. Okay. Are you gonna live here?”.

“I’m just the babysitter… maybe”, you said quickly, kneeling down to his eye level. “But thanks for the enthusiasm”.

Zepp nodded, then turned around and yelled, “Arrow! She’s not the new mom! You owe me five bucks!”.

Jensen pinched the bridge of his nose.

Just as Zeppelin’s yell echoed through the house, Arrow appeared like a storm in mid-formation, arms flailing, one sock halfway off, and a suspicious smear of glitter across her cheek. Her eyes locked on you like a hawk spotting prey.

“You’re the babysitter?”, she asked, marching right up to you. “You look like a teenager”.

“Technically not anymore”, you said, trying not to laugh.

“Do you know how to cook? Because Dad burns everything”.

“Hey!”, Jensen called from the kitchen. “I make great grilled cheese”.

“You burned it twice last week!”, Arrow shouted back. “The toaster still smells like smoke and sadness!”.

You glanced at Jensen, who was muttering to himself as he refilled his coffee. He looked seconds away from either laughing or walking directly into traffic.

Arrow turned back to you, eyes narrowed. “Do you let kids swear?”.

“Depends”, you said slowly. “What kind of swearing are we talking?”.

She beamed. “Like, ass and crap, but also sometimes Zeppelin says shit when he’s mad and I like it”.

Zepp gasped from across the room, clutching his chest like she’d betrayed him.

Jensen groaned. “Arrow…”.

“I didn’t say I said it. I appreciate the intensity”.

You bit your lip, struggling not to break. “Appreciated intensity. Got it”.

Arrow tilted her head. “Are you cool? Because if you’re not cool, we can tell. JJ’s like, a people scanner. And Zeppelin’s too dumb to lie, so he always ruins it anyway”.

“Hey!”, Zepp protested.

“I’m cool”, you said, smiling. “But I’m also not afraid to put toys in timeout”.

Arrow’s eyes lit up. “You’re bluffing”.

“Wanna bet?”.

She stared at you. You stared right back.

Jensen, now watching with a fresh mug of coffee, leaned against the counter and said under his breath, “That’s the face she makes right before she sets something on fire”.

You believed him.

After a moment, Arrow broke first. She huffed, muttered something under her breath that might have been another swear word, then plopped down cross-legged in the middle of the floor.

“She likes you”, JJ said quietly beside you, like she was admitting to something grudgingly earned.

“Yeah?”, you asked, a little surprised.

JJ nodded. “She didn’t bite you”.

“That’s… comforting”.

Zeppelin came over and leaned against your side like he’d known you forever. “I bit a sub once. Got kicked out of class. They said it wasn’t ‘normal behavior’”.

Arrow grinned. “It was funny though”.

Jensen let out a long, slow breath. “So. Welcome to the circus”.

You looked around—Arrow whispering to her bunny, JJ pretending not to smile, Zeppelin braiding the fringe of your sweater like it was a sacred mission—and somehow, it already felt like you belonged.

“Thanks”, you said, looking back at Jensen with a smirk. “I’ve always wanted front-row seats”.

He shook his head, grinning despite himself. “Let’s see how you feel after bedtime”.

-

The house had finally gone still.

It had taken a full hour of negotiations, two bedtime stories, one lost toothbrush, and a dramatic meltdown over mismatched pajama pants, but the whirlwind trio was finally asleep, or at least quiet enough to fool you. You stood in the hallway for a moment, just breathing in the silence like it was oxygen.

Then you padded into the kitchen to find Jensen already there, leaning against the counter with the kind of posture that only came after surviving battle. His shoulders had relaxed, though, and when he looked up and saw you, something in his expression softened even more.

“You’re still here”, he said, reaching into the cabinet above him.

“Barely”, you said with a smile, sinking into one of the barstools. “I feel like I just ran a marathon. Blindfolded. In a thunderstorm. While carrying three feral raccoons”.

Jensen chuckled, pulling down two tumblers and a bottle of whiskey. “Then you had the full experience”.

He poured a generous splash into each glass and handed one to you. The rim felt cool in your hand, the amber liquid catching the soft glow of the under-cabinet lights.

“To surviving bedtime”, he said, raising his glass.

You clinked yours against his. “And to not getting bitten”.

He smirked. “A rare first-day win”.

You took a sip, smooth, smoky, warm going down. The kind of drink meant for winding down, not winding up. You let the silence stretch for a moment, comfortable now, not awkward like earlier.

“They’re great kids”, you said eventually. “Really. Just… a lot”.

Jensen nodded, staring into his glass. “Yeah. They didn’t use to be this… wound up. Not all the time. But things are different now. They know it, even when I try to keep things normal”.

You didn’t say anything right away. You just let him speak.

“Danneel and I, we tried. We really did”, he continued. “But when it got bad, we agreed not to let the kids be in the middle of it. So now we’re doing this thing—few months with me, then they go to her. It’s fair. But it doesn’t mean it’s easy”.

His voice was quiet, heavy in a way that made you feel like he wasn’t used to talking about this. Or maybe just not used to talking to someone who wasn’t already in his life.

-

Six weeks in, and you were convinced you’d aged at least a decade.

You hadn’t meant to become a live-in babysitter. It had started with a few overnights when Jensen’s call times stretched too late or started too early. Then one night turned into three. Then the guestroom slowly became yours—your phone charger on the nightstand, your sneakers by the door, your hoodie borrowed by JJ more times than you could count.

The kids had settled into the rhythm of you. Breakfast with you. School drop-offs. After-dinner dance parties. Bedtime battles that ended with Arrow curled in your lap, Zeppelin sleep-talking nonsense, and JJ quietly laying her head on your shoulder in the dark, just for a moment, before pretending she hadn’t.

But Jensen? They barely saw him.

The show was in full swing. Night shoots. Early calls. Script changes. You’d catch him in the mornings sometimes, half-awake and nursing a third cup of coffee while tugging on a hoodie and whispering goodbye to a sleeping Arrow. Or late at night, when you were cleaning up Lego landmines and found him sitting on the couch, too tired to even shower.

Tonight was one of those nights. It was nearly midnight when the front door finally creaked open.

You were curled into the corner of the couch, wrapped in the worn blanket Arrow insisted you “borrow forever”, the TV playing something you weren’t really watching. You’d made popcorn an hour ago and hadn’t touched it. Sleep felt impossible, like your mind refused to power down with so much of your heart stretched across a house that wasn’t technically yours.

Jensen stepped inside and paused, keys still in hand, like he was surprised to see the lights still on. His eyes found yours almost immediately.

“You’re up”, he said quietly, his voice rough around the edges from another fourteen-hour day.

You gave him a tired smile. “Couldn’t sleep”.

He didn’t answer right away. Just slipped his boots off and crossed the living room in socked feet, collapsing into the armchair across from you with a low groan. His head fell back, and he let out a long breath, one that sounded like it had been trapped in his chest for hours.

“Rough night?”, you asked.

He cracked an eye open. “Rough week”.

You nodded, tucking your legs underneath you. “The twins had a glitter explosion in the bathroom. I think Arrow tried to make soap out of toothpaste and hand sanitizer”.

He sighed, a smile tugging at his lips. “At least she’s creative”.

“She also called her teacher a ‘dictator in skinny jeans’”.

Jensen choked on a laugh, rubbing a hand over his face. “Geez”.

“I didn’t even punish her. I was too impressed”.

His smile faded slowly as he looked at you—really looked at you—and something in his expression shifted. A weight, maybe. Or a recognition.

You would’ve been lying if you said you weren’t attracted to him.

Of course you were. How could you not be? Jensen was Jensen. He was rugged and quietly kind, his tired eyes somehow still full of fire, and he carried himself with the weight of someone who loved too deeply and didn’t know how to put that love down, even when it hurt.

But attraction was dangerous. Especially here. Especially now.

This wasn’t the life you’d imagined for yourself. Playing second mom at twenty-something, falling asleep in a guest room that felt more like your own with every passing night, building a routine around three kids and a man who barely had time to breathe—this wasn’t what you had planned.

So you kept your distance. You held the line. Even if that line was getting harder and harder to see.

You sighed and rose from the couch, brushing the blanket off as you stretched. “I’ll heat something up. You probably haven’t eaten since noon”.

Your sleep shorts—tiny and soft and comfortable—rode up a little too high as you stood, and you reached to tug them down, not thinking much of it, until you turned, just a glance over your shoulder. And caught him.

Jensen’s eyes were locked on you. Not subtly. Not in passing. No flick of a gaze quickly averted. He was staring. Right at your ass.

For a second, he didn’t even seem to realize he’d been caught, his jaw slightly tight, one hand still resting on his knee. It was instinctual. Unfiltered. And when your eyes met his, something passed between you so fast and sharp it left the air between you charged like static after a storm.

His mouth parted just slightly. Your breath caught.

Then, slowly, his eyes dragged up to yours and he didn’t flinch. Didn’t look embarrassed. He didn’t pretend it hadn’t happened. He held your gaze. There was heat there. Interest. Hunger he wasn’t saying out loud.

You swallowed, pulse thudding in your ears. The room suddenly felt a few degrees warmer, like the silence itself had turned into something alive and watchful.

“I—uh—”, you said, breaking eye contact as you turned fully to the kitchen. “Pasta. Right. Shouldn’t take long”.

You busied yourself with the microwave, but your fingers fumbled more than once, and you hated the way your hands shook just slightly as you hit the buttons. You didn’t even know what you were flustered by more, being caught looking back at him, or the fact that part of you liked the way he’d looked at you.

The microwave hummed to life behind you. You kept your eyes down, heart racing.

Then his voice—low, measured—cut through the silence. “I’m sorry”.

You froze, turning to face him again. “For what?”, you asked.

Jensen rubbed a hand across his jaw, rough with a day’s worth of stubble. He didn’t look at you right away. Instead, he stared down at the plate you’d just handed him like it held some kind of moral compass.

“For… ”, he muttered. “The staring. It’s been a long night. Hell, it’s been a long year. And I haven’t…”. He trailed off, then shook his head. “It’s been a while since I’ve even looked at someone like that. It wasn’t appropriate. You work here. You take care of my kids. You’re younger. Too young”.

You leaned back against the counter, arms crossed loosely, not defensive, just… trying to hold something inside you still.

“I didn’t mind”, you said quietly.

That made him look up.

“I mean…”, you hesitated, cheeks burning, forcing yourself to keep your voice even. “I noticed. Obviously. But I didn’t mind. It’s not like you were being gross about it. You just… looked. And honestly? You kind of caught me off guard”.

His brow furrowed, a question behind his eyes.

You gave a small, half-shy shrug. “I didn’t think you found me attractive”.

Jensen’s eyes darkened, the disbelief flickering behind them.

“Until a few minutes ago”, you added, voice softer now. “And look, I get it. You’re dealing with a lot. You have the kids, the show, the divorce still hanging in the air. But… I’m not naive, Jensen”.

He sat back slightly, his fork untouched, giving you his full attention now.

“I’m not looking to complicate your life… I’m not asking for anything serious”. You paused, then tilted your head slightly, meeting his eyes with quiet certainty. “But… if you want to blow off some steam, I’m not saying no”.

The words hung in the air like smoke, bold and unfiltered, the kind of honesty Jensen had come to expect from you. That was one of the things he liked most, how you never danced around your truth. No games. No pretending. Just you, direct and grounded, even when the stakes were quietly rising around both of you. But right now…

Jensen’s jaw tightened, his breath a little shallower now. He wasn’t expecting you to make it that easy. Or that real.

Because the truth? He’d been thinking about you. More than he should have. At first, it was small, quiet admiration. The way you moved through the house like you’d always belonged. The way you soothed the kids without forcing it, met chaos with calm, and met his exhaustion with understanding. It was comforting. Familiar.

Then it shifted.

It started the night you came into the kitchen in one of his t-shirts and bare legs and didn’t even notice the way his brain short-circuited. The night you laughed at something stupid he’d said and threw your head back and looked at him like he was someone worth laughing with.

It turned into late-night thoughts when he was too tired to sleep. Quiet, unspoken fantasies in the shower. Wondering what your skin felt like under those shorts. What your mouth would taste like if he just let go. It wasn’t just attraction. It was desire. Gnawing, growing. Dangerous.

And now? Now you were standing in front of him saying it out loud. Jensen let out a slow breath, his eyes tracing you like he couldn’t help himself. But even as his hand hovered near your waist—so close, so damn close—he didn’t touch you. Not yet.

His jaw clenched, and you could practically see the war going on behind his eyes.

“Damn it”, he muttered under his breath, stepping back just enough to break the moment, but not far enough to escape it. “This is such a bad idea”.

You stayed where you were, heart thudding hard, lips parted. “Because I work here?”.

He looked up, the corner of his mouth twitching with something like guilt. “Because you live here. Because you’re wrapped up in all of it—me, the kids, the mess I’m barely managing. I’ve already blurred so many lines, I don’t even know what’s safe anymore”.

You nodded, trying to steady your voice even as your body buzzed from the almost of it all. “I’m not asking you to marry me, Jensen. I’m just saying you don’t have to be alone tonight”.

“I should be alone”, he said, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck like it might shake sense into him. “Because if I start this with you—even if it’s just physical—it won’t be simple. Nothing in my life ever is”.

You gave him a small, understanding smile. “You think I don’t know that? I’ve lived with you six weeks”.

That shut him up for a moment.

You stepped a little closer now, careful but deliberate. “I’m not fragile, Jensen. I knew what I was walking into. And I know this is messy. But you’ve been trying so hard to do the right thing, you’re forgetting you’re allowed to want something for you”.

Jensen was quiet, but his eyes burned into yours like he was holding onto your words, trying to find the flaw in them and failing. The conflict in his expression softened, just slightly—like the fight in him was losing ground to something warmer, deeper. Need.

“And you’re okay with this being just…”, he began, but the words trailed off.

You nodded. “Just physical. I’m not asking for more than that”.

He searched your face for a long moment, and you let him. You didn’t flinch or backtrack. You let him see the certainty in you, the steadiness, the want.

And something in him cracked.

His hand found your waist again, more confident this time. The heat of his palm burned through the thin fabric of your shirt, grounding and possessive all at once. You sucked in a breath, and before you could say anything else, he dipped his head and kissed you—really kissed you.

It wasn’t hesitant anymore. It was heat, and pressure, and pent-up hunger finally breaking loose.

You answered it with equal fire, your fingers finding the hem of his shirt, dragging it up as his mouth moved against yours like he couldn’t get enough. His hands were everywhere—your waist, your thighs, your lower back, like he was mapping the parts of you he’d only thought about before tonight. You tugged at his shirt until he broke the kiss just long enough to pull it over his head and toss it to the floor.

The moment his skin met yours, it got harder to breathe.

He lifted you effortlessly onto the counter again, your legs parting to let him step between them like he belonged there. Like he knew he did. Your fingers tangled in his hair as his mouth dropped to your neck, his stubble scraping gently against your skin, sending sparks down your spine.

You gasped when his teeth grazed your collarbone, a shiver running down your spine. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, anchoring yourself to the moment, hot and real and finally.

Jensen pulled back just enough to breathe, his forehead resting against yours as his chest rose and fell against yours.

“no one can know about this”, he murmured, his voice gravel and restraint.

You looked up at him through heavy lashes, breathless but still steady. “I figured”.

“I mean it”, he said more firmly, like he needed to say it before he lost all grip on logic. “Not the kids. Not Jared. Not a soul. This doesn’t leave this room”.

You smirked, tugging gently at the back of his hair, leaning in just close enough that your lips almost brushed his again. “Relax, I’m not planning to live-stream it”.

Jensen exhaled a half-laugh, half-groan.

You tilted your head, grin teasing, voice a little breathy but still playful. “Besides… I’ve already been working here six weeks. I know most of your dirty little secrets already”.

That made his eyes narrow, curious and amused, suspicious in that half-scolding dad way he did with the kids, but a whole lot darker when it was directed at you.

“Like?”, he challenged.

You let your nails drag lightly down his chest, just to feel the way he tensed under your touch. “Well”, you drawled, like you were ticking off items on a mental list, “I know you only ever jerk off in the shower. And only at night. After the kids are asleep. Like clockwork”.

His mouth dropped open just slightly, stunned into silence.

You leaned in, voice near his ear now, wicked and warm. “You’re quiet, but not that quiet. The pipes in this house are ancient. And sometimes I’m doing laundry late”.

He stared at you, deadpan for a beat. Then shook his head slowly, grinning in disbelief. “You are such a little brat”.

You gave him your most innocent look. “You hired me”.

“I must’ve been out of my goddamn mind”.

You kissed the corner of his mouth. “You’re definitely out of your clothes”.

He groaned, then pulled you in harder, his hands gripping your thighs as he pressed you back against the counter. “Say it again”, he growled, low and amused and barely holding back.

“What?”, you teased, breath catching.

“That you don’t want anything serious”.

You bit your lip, eyes dancing. “Just something to blow off steam… remember?”.

Jensen's mouth was still on yours when his hands slid under your thighs, lifting you off the counter in one smooth—but slightly breathless—motion. You instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist, arms looping around his neck as he steadied you against him.

You smiled against his lips, the kiss breaking just long enough to whisper, “You sure you’ve got me?”.

He let out a low grunt, adjusting his grip with a quiet, “Barely”.

You laughed, nuzzling against his jaw. “Wow. All that muscle and you're winded already?”.

“I just filmed fight scenes for twelve hours”, he muttered, huffing slightly as he started down the hallway with you clinging to him. “Cut me some slack”.

You bit your lip to keep from smiling too wide. “I don’t know… you were acting like such a big, strong guy back there in the kitchen”.

He gave you a pointed look, but didn’t stop. “You’re lucky I like mouthy”.

“I know you like mouthy”, you whispered near his ear, your breath hot against his skin. “You wouldn’t be hauling me to your bedroom right now if you didn’t”.

Jensen huffed a laugh—half aroused, half exasperated—as he kicked open his door with his foot and stumbled just slightly when the edge of the bed bumped his shin.

“You okay there, old man?”, you teased, one brow lifting as he finally dropped you onto the mattress with a soft thud.

“You’re enjoying this way too much”.

You stretched out beneath him, legs still bent around his hips, your shirt riding up dangerously high. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m just enjoying watching you work for it”.

He braced himself over you, staring down with a smirk tugging at one corner of his mouth, his hair slightly tousled and his chest rising and falling faster than before.

“You keep running that mouth”, he said, voice low and thick with warning, “and I’m not gonna be so nice”.

You tilted your head, smirking back. “Good”.

And that was all it took.

He leaned down again, and this time the kiss was rougher, more urgent. The heat between you burning past the banter, curling into something heady and consuming as you finally gave into everything you’d both been holding back.

Jensen was shirtless above you, skin warm and solid, every muscle under your palms tensing with anticipation. You were still fully clothed, your shirt rumpled from where he’d gripped your waist.

Then his hand slipped lower. Beneath the waistband of your panties.

And when his fingers found just how soaked you already were, he pulled back from the kiss with a low, guttural groan, rough and broken, like the sound had been ripped from his throat.

“Fuck”, he muttered against your neck, his breath hot, his voice wrecked. “You’re—fuck, you’re soaked”.

You couldn’t even find words, you just arched into him slightly, pulse thundering in your ears, your fingers curling in the back of his hair as his thumb teased a little more pressure.

Just then, somewhere down the hallway a door had shut. Hard. Both of you froze

Your entire body went rigid beneath him as your eyes snapped open. Jensen’s face hovered above yours, blinking like his brain was sprinting to catch up with reality.

Then he sat up fast, his hand disappearing from your waistband like he’d been burned.

“Shit”, he breathed. “Shit. That was a bedroom door”.

“Kid?”, you whispered, sitting up, your heart racing now for a whole new reason.

He was already standing, grabbing his t-shirt off the floor and yanking it over his head while padding to the bedroom door. He pressed his ear to it for a second, then opened it slowly, peeking out into the dark hallway.

Nothing.

He turned back to you, his voice low and urgent. “Stay here”.

You nodded, your hands tugging your panties back into place as the moment dissolved into adrenaline. You could still feel the ghost of his touch—warm and slow and so close—and now it clashed violently with the sudden fear of a kid standing in a hallway… or worse, hearing something they shouldn’t have.

You listened from the bed, heart still racing, as Jensen’s footsteps padded down the hallway. The house had gone quiet, but not for long. You heard the creak of a door, followed by a soft murmur, Jensen’s voice, low and tired.

Then, faint and groggy: “Dad?”.

You sat up straighter, instinctively still, every nerve in your body on edge, not from fear now, but anticipation. The heat of what had nearly happened still pulsed in your skin, but reality was pulling everything else into sharp focus.

“It’s okay, Zepp”, Jensen said softly. “Did you have a nightmare?”.

There was a rustle, a sleepy sniffle. “Yeah. It was about the spiders again. They were on the ceiling and one fell on Arrow and she turned into one and started hissing at me”.

You smiled despite yourself, rubbing your hand over your face.

Then came Zeppelin’s quiet plea: “Can I sleep in your bed tonight?”.

A pause.

You could feel the hesitation in Jensen’s silence, even from the hallway. Then a low sigh, weary but gentle.

“Yeah, bud. Come on”.

You climbed off the bed, heart still thudding in your chest, and tugged your clothes back into place. You barely had time to smooth your hair before Jensen returned, carrying Zeppelin, arms and legs dangling awkwardly as he did his best not to drop the very solid, very eight-year-old boy in his arms.

It clearly wasn’t effortless.

“Damn buddy”, Jensen muttered under his breath as he nudged the door open with his foot. “You gotta stop growing”.

Zeppelin’s head rested on his dad’s shoulder, blinking blearily at you through one half-open eye before mumbling, “Hey”.

“Hey, bud”, you whispered, offering him a soft smile.

Jensen eased him onto the bed with a quiet groan, adjusting the blanket around him as Zeppelin immediately curled toward the pillow, grabbing it like it might float away without him.

You stayed quiet, stepping back to give them space, the earlier fire now buried under layers of real life.

Jensen lingered for a moment, watching his son’s breathing even out. Then he slowly turned back to you, his expression caught somewhere between frustration and fondness, the weight of the night pressing heavily between you.

“I know”, you said gently. “It’s fine. I should go anyway”.

He didn’t argue. Just nodded, slowly.

You gave him a faint, tired smile—one that said we’ll talk later without actually promising anything—and then you turned, stepping lightly toward the door.

Your feet were almost silent on the hardwood, but the room still felt thick with sound. With breath. With everything left unsaid.

Zeppelin had already drifted off, his soft snoring the only noise as you slipped out into the hallway, closing the door behind you with a gentle click.

The second it shut, your shoulders sagged.

Your body was still humming, still burning from the weight of his hands on your skin, the heat of his mouth on yours. But it had faded now, muted by guilt, by timing, by the steady presence of a scared little boy who needed comfort more than you needed release.

You walked down the hall, barefoot and half-dazed, the house quiet in that eerie, late-night way. The kind of quiet that comes after tension, not peace. You opened the door to your guest room and stepped inside, the cool air making you shiver now that everything had settled.

You dropped onto the bed, not even bothering with a change of clothes. The sheets still smelled like your shampoo and the lavender laundry detergent Arrow insisted on helping you pick out at the store. You stared at the ceiling for a while, the shadows from the window playing across the drywall like slow-moving ghosts.

You could still feel the way Jensen had looked at you. Still hear his groan when he touched you. Still feel the sharp stop in your chest the second that door slammed, and everything real rushed in to remind you, this wasn’t a fantasy. This was his life. And now, it was yours too. In some unspoken way.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰 

-

Part 2

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Taglist: @blackcherrywhiskey @baby19sthings @suckitands33 @spnfamily-j2 @lyarr24 @deans-baby-momma @reignsboy19 @kawaii-arfid-memes @mekkencspony @lovziy @artemys-ackles @fitxgrld @libby99hb @lovelyvirtualperson @a-lil-pr1ncess @nancymcl @the-last-ry @spndeanwinchesterlvr @hobby27 @themarebarroww @kr804573 @impala67rollingthroughtown @deans-queen @deadlymistletoe @selfdestructionandrhum @utyblyn @winchesterwild78 @jackles010378 @chirazsstuff @foxyjwls007 @smoothdogsgirl @woooonau @whimsyfinny @freyabear @laaadygisbooornex3 @quietgirll75 @perpetualabsurdity @pughsexual @berryblues46 @deanwinchestersgirl8734 @kr804573 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @barnes70stark @roseblue373 @shanimallina87 @ascarriel @deanwinchesters67impala @thebiggerbear @quietgirll75 @barnes70stark @kellyls04 @spxideyver @ralilda @americanvenom13 @ozwriterchick @lmg14

[envys-tma-rp-blog]

"Alright." Myra took a deep breath.

"I was told by a friend that I should submit my experience to your institute. As you can see, I have gladly taken the opportunity, but I can't help but feel as though it somewhat disrespects both the nature of my experience, and that of your organization. You see, I view what happened to me as a religious experience more than anything else.

I suppose I'll explain. I've felt very deeply connected to the Earth for a long time - being raised in an animal-rights household with pagan undertones will do that. Call it Gaia, if you want. It's what saved me, I think - the beauty of the universe, of sprawling fields and the crashing sea and the wide open sky, it's so perfect. How could I succumb to nihilism when there's all those miles and miles of endless beauty all around us? You just have to get somewhere high enough, and then you can really see just how big it is, and all for us, for me. Some people find that overwhelming, but I don't.

On the actual experience itself, I was hiking last week - Sunday, I believe. I could never actually go mountain-climbing, in the wilderness, but there are some tall hills one can get to the top of fairly easily. And that's where I was when it happened, on a cliff close to the top of one of those mountain trails. I'd taken my lunch and supplies up to one of the trails I hadn't yet been to, planning to do a little prayer ritual.

I remember setting up my candles and food a safe distance away from the ledge, maybe fifteen feet away. For all I talk about how beautiful the view from these places can be, I'm actually quite scared of heights, and something about the place felt odd. The clouds that day were in that odd formation where they mottle the sky simultaneously dark and light, and it smelled like a storm even though I'd checked the forecast three times before making the journey to confirm it would be dry.

I don't know why, but I zoned out somehow. The next thing I knew I'd abandoned my half-finished prayer circle and was standing much closer to the edge, perhaps five feet away. I didn't know how I'd gotten there, and it unnerved me for only a moment. I could feel my feet moving, dragging slowly on the ground, but I was not moving on purpose. I felt slow, but also… Calm. And all of a sudden, I knew exactly what was going to happen, what could only happen.

I jumped. Well, fell was probably a better word. I simply walked off the edge of the cliff, and I still maintain that it was the best decision I had ever made. I fell, eyes closed at first, and oddly enough I didn't feel afraid, or at least not to the degree one normally would - it felt muted, like it wasn't really that important. I dimly wondered if this was the end, but I wasn't cognizant enough to fully comprehend that thought. I only felt a vague sense of sadness for it.

But it didn't end. I opened my eyes after a while, and it seemed for all the world like the ground was just… gone. All I could see were clouds, endless clouds, forever. Sunlight seemed to still illuminate them, but I couldn't see where it was coming from. I swore I saw a glint of water for a moment, but it was soon gone again, and besides, there had been no water anywhere near the hill I was climbing. I should've been scared, I know I should've - but I wasn't.

It was beautiful, you must understand, like the very inside of my soul had been taken out and splattered all over the canvas that was reality. I'm not ashamed to say that I cried as I was falling, partially for the beauty of it, partially for my sense coming back to me and reminding me that I was still going to die when I inevitably hit the ground, and partially for the cosmic cruelty that was the fact that I was a guest here, in this beautiful, impossible world of endless sky.

I'm not sure how long I was there, falling and falling. I don't know how long I cried with fear and love and yearning and the traitorous fear again. I cried out to the sky, to the world, to take me into it properly, to make me an angel or something equivalent, to let me stay forever in the beautiful embrace of nothing. But it said no, not yet. It said I couldn't, not right then and there. I wasn't ready yet.

And somehow, somewhen, I woke up lying on my apartment building’s rooftop. I have no idea how I got there - nobody saw me climb, and I certainly have no memory of it. I climbed down and went to ask my roommates what had happened. Apparently I had been gone for seven hours, which left four of them unaccounted for in my memory. But, here I was, so nobody saw any reason to make a big deal out of it.

I want to go back. I cried myself to sleep that night and dreamed of that endless sky, and I have no doubt that I'll dream of it every night until I find a way to go back. I haven't slept in weeks, I only just showered and changed to be polite coming here. My partner has been very protective over me since I confided this in him and our friend group, and won't let me go near any ledges. But I feel different now, in a way I can't quite quantify - especially when I look up. "

He seemed to go into a daze for a moment, just staring off into the distance. Then he jolted back.

"Er, yes. Thank you for taking my statement. I apologize if it's not quite what you usually look for; my friends wanted me to report it, even if it's not really spooky at all. I hope you can make some use of it nonetheless. I believe one of your associates told me it might have something to do with some sort of… deity of open spaces? I really don't know. I hope it's useful, in any case." He cleared his throat. "That's it, I guess..."

There was a knock on the office door. A young man in his early twenties stood outside, with fiery red hair in a ponytail and a perfectly pressed polo shirt. "Are you the Archivist?" he asked, hands clasped behind his back. "I'm here to give a statement, if you have time." His tone was calm in an unreadable, slightly ominous, yet generally amicable way.

@envys-tma-rp-blog

"That would be me.. did you get a visitors badge from reception?" He hummed. He was on edge but he didnt immediately seem too startled. He'd seen a lot already.

[reblog-house]

Would characters actually react that way or is that just my biases? If I had different, or previous, biases, would I say something different? And... Does it really matter?

[daily-xisuma]

[025] I memorized the enochian characters for use as a cipher :-)

[lord-squiggletits]

What is the Tarnma penpals au? I've seen you mention it a couple times and am super curious about it!

Hiiii

So the Pen Pals AU is an idea that I got a couple of weeks ago. Kind of self-explanatory by the name, but the idea is it's a post-war scenario with a diplomatic ending b/t the Autobots and Decepticons. One of the many efforts to normalize relations is a pen pals program that's set up to pair Autobots with Decepticons under randomized pseudonyms. The goal is to try and create positive relationships based only on these letters and not any preconceived notions based on faction or identity. (Also it's pre-Earth which means it's pre-Delphi for Pharma, so his normal non-traumatized personality features.)

Pharma and Tarn naturally get paired up under this program, and the first part of the AU/fic (yes I'm going to write it eventually) is them basically having their pen pals relationship turn from friendship to heavily implied mutual romantic attachment. Their individual daily lives are also shown bc each of them is dealing with their own identity-related crisis: Tarn struggling with depression and addiction in the aftermath of all the things he did for the DJD and confusion over why Megatron just had them change so suddenly. Pharma with the realization that his whole life has just been defined by his accomplishments and he's lived his life in a way where he's oft-respected and admired, but never loved for who he is as a person rather than what he does.

The whole AU was originally meant to be fluffy and slice-of-life-esque (there was even an arranged marriage component in the very first conception of the idea), but as I fleshed out the setting more, I realized I wanted to actually delve deep into the implications of a post-war setting. So the Pen Pals AU has taken a darker turn recently; not darker as in fluffy romance to dead dove, but it's more like, the fluffy romance develops and then the past/war comes back to haunt Tarn and Pharma's relationship in a way that's very (re)traumatizing, both for them individually and their chances of being able to stay together as a couple.

So the fact that Tarn was in the DJD/oversaw Grindcore and did countless atrocities is very much an element of the story that's explored rather than shied away from. At first he deals with it on his own, and for a while he lives in blissful ignorance knowing that his pen pal is the one relationship he has with a "normal person" (he knows that his pen pal is a doctor, aka not a hardened soldier and criminal). Unfortunately things get complicated when his pen pal asks to meet IRL because he wants them to be more than friends, and Tarn realizes that he can't move forward with this new, blooming relationship without being honest about who he is. On Pharma's end, he has to grapple with the idea of choosing love over reputation, following his heart rather than his fear of social rejection/ostracization. Especially when the consequences of continuing to date Tarn could go from just "people judging him" to.... well, that's what me eventually writing the fic is meant to reveal. :)

TLDR: Tarn and Pharma meet as anonymous pen pals, end up having a lot of shared issues re: loneliness and isolated public personas, help each other solve their personal problems, share a mutual love of music, and fall in love, then realize who the other is. Complications ensue.

[ghostieblotts]

Okay it's not the au that I've been losing it over tonight but I have also recently been thinking about a potential Portal au for saf but I just cannot nail down the casting. There are so many fun possibilities. I think it could be really cool to do something with Tatiana and Barb being prominent. But then I can't stop thinking about just how much Owen could fit as GLaDOS, thereby probably making Curt the Chell in this paradigm (could do something funky with their backstories too) (also. Still Alive, Want You Gone, and also You Wouldn't Know have such Owen vibes it's unreal). But then also I remember Atlas and P-Body:

Like. Look at them.

[nbclover]

Idk why all these chicory arts are making me embarrassed about how I did in the game

[elainemorisi]

the ubiquitous impulse to mirror mostly-accurate (afaik) rhetoric re: trans genders onto cis genders is just... so bad, I'm gonna be honest. yes, cis people should have an affirmative sense of their own gender, that's probably good practice for all people. no, I really don't think the specifics/experience of that affirmation is... remotely... similar... actually. I'm actually pretty sure the experiences are meaningfully different

[bentreznor]

why on earth do you even want a fe4 remake if you dont want anything to change just go play the original game.

[calypso-rt]

bookworm

-> bookworm pt. II

-> rafe x bookworm!reader

The bell above the bookstore door jingled sharply, and you looked up just in time to see a tall, very damp stranger step inside, shaking the rain from his jacket.

He looked out of place: broad-shouldered and golden-haired, like he belonged on a yacht instead of standing in the doorway of your tiny shop, dripping onto the hardwood floor.

You arched a brow. “You’re getting water on my first editions.”

The guy, Rafe Cameron, you recognized now, glanced down at the puddle forming around his expensive-looking sneakers. “Shit—uh, my bad.” He took a dramatic step to the side, as if that somehow fixed it, then ran a hand through his rain-soaked hair. “I, uh, wasn’t planning on coming in. Just—y’know. Rain.”

You resisted the urge to smile. “Yes, I do know rain.”

Rafe exhaled, half-laughing, like he wasn’t used to people talking to him like this. He glanced around, taking in the towering bookshelves, the warm glow of the reading lamps. “So… what kinda place is this? Coffee shop? Library?”

“Bookstore.”

“Right. That’s what I meant.”

You leaned your elbows on the counter, tilting your head. “Not much of a reader, are you?”

“Uh—” He looked vaguely offended. “I mean, I’ve read, like… some books.”

“Name one.”

His jaw tightened. “Do magazines count?”

You laughed and Rafe looked half annoyed, half intrigued. “Not unless they have plotlines and character development.”

He hesitated, shifting his weight like he was debating whether to leave or stay. Then, as if making a split-second decision, he cleared his throat. “Alright. Sell me a book, then.”

Your eyes widened slightly. “What, right now?”

“Yeah.” He crossed his arms. “Something I’d like.”

You eyed him, taking in the expensive watch, the cocky smirk he was trying to suppress, the slight impatience in the way he tapped his fingers against his bicep. Then, without a word, you turned, plucked a book from the shelf, and set it down in front of him.

Rafe squinted at the cover. The Great Gatsby.

He snorted. “You picked this ‘cause I’m rich, didn’t you?”

You just smiled, chin propped in your palm. “I picked it because it’s about a man who has everything… except the one thing he really wants.”

That shut him up.

For the first time since he walked in, Rafe didn’t have a witty retort. Instead, he just looked at you like he wasn’t sure what to make of you. Then, after a moment, he picked up the book, flipping it over in his hands.

“Alright,” he said, voice softer than before. “Guess I’ll give it a shot.”

And just like that, a golden-haired, rain-drenched Kook walked into your quiet little world, and, much to your surprise, didn’t seem in any hurry to leave.

...

The next time Rafe Cameron strolled into your bookstore, the weather was perfectly dry. No convenient rainstorm forcing him inside. Which meant he was here on purpose.

You glanced up from your desk, hiding a smile as he beelined straight for the shelves, hands in his pockets, exuding casual confidence... except for the way his eyes flicked toward you every few seconds, like he was making sure you noticed him.

He stopped in front of the classics section, squinting at the titles, then, rather dramatically, pulled out the thickest book he could find.

“War and Peace,” you read off the spine, eyebrows raising.

Rafe nodded, flipping it open like he knew exactly what he was doing. “Yep. I’m thinking… light weekend read.”

You leaned on the counter, amusement bubbling in your chest. “You do know that book is, like, twelve hundred pages, right?”

Rafe smirked. “Yeah. I like a challenge.”

You folded your arms. “Do you even know what it’s about?”

He hesitated for just a second, just long enough for you to tell he absolutely did not, before shrugging. “War. And… peace.”

You bit back a laugh. “Brilliant deduction, Tolstoy.”

He made a face. “Okay, whatever, maybe I just like big books. What, I’m supposed to pick some tiny little paperback?”

“Size isn’t everything, Rafe.”

His bit back a grin like he was fighting off some very Rafe-like response to that statement. Instead, he cleared his throat and flipped to a random page. “I’ll prove it,” he declared. “I’ll read the whole thing.”

You tilted your head, amused. “All of War and Peace?”

“All of War and Peace.” He looked very proud of himself, like he’d just announced he was climbing Mount Everest. “And then I’ll come back and tell you all about it.”

You rested your chin in your palm, eyes twinkling. “I’m holding you to that.”

“Good.” Rafe closed the book with a satisfying thud and tucked it under his arm like a trophy. He turned to leave but then, almost as an afterthought, glanced back at you, smirking.

“Bet you’ll be impressed when I finish.”

You grinned, shaking your head. “I’ll be shocked if you finish.”

Rafe just gave you a wink, pushing out the door, head held high like he’d just won something.

You bit your lip, watching him go.

Oh, this was going to be fun.

...

“You have a predilection for making a mess,” you mused, watching as Rafe leaned back in his chair at the counter, arms crossed, an empty coffee cup in front of him: his third of the morning.

Rafe blinked. “A what?”

“A predilection.”

He squinted at you. “Is that, like… a disease?”

You pressed your lips together, trying not to laugh. “No, it means you have a habit of doing something. A preference.”

“Oh.” Rafe nodded, like he totally got it. He absolutely did not get it.

Moments like these happened all the time. You’d say something, something perfectly normal, in your opinion, and he’d look at you like you were speaking ancient Latin.

Last week, you told him his posture was lackadaisical, and he spent the next three hours trying to pronounce it. Yesterday, you mentioned that his tendency to linger in your store was beguiling, and he just stared at you for a solid five seconds before muttering, “Yeah, well, you’re beguiling too.”

But today? Today was different. Today, Rafe had come prepared.

“I actually knew that,” he lied, shifting in his seat. “I, uh… I absconded that word earlier.”

You blinked. “You what?”

“Absconded,” he repeated, looking oddly proud of himself.

You bit your lip, trying so, so hard not to laugh. “Do you mean absorbed?”

Rafe’s smirk faltered. “…Yeah, that one.”

You let out a giggle, and Rafe groaned, rubbing a hand down his face. “I knew I was gonna mess that up.”

“No, no,” you teased, leaning forward on your elbows. “Please, continue. What else have you absconded (definition: leave hurriedly and secretly, typically to avoid detection of or arrest for an unlawful action such as theft) lately?”

He shot you a look, then, without missing a beat, grabbed his empty coffee cup and stood. “I’m absconding out of here.”

You let out a full laugh, and he grinned as he turned toward the door.

Before he left, though, he paused, glancing back at you with that cocky, boyish smirk.

“By the way, I predilect you.”

You shook your head, utterly endeared. “That’s not... never mind.”

Rafe just winked. “Knew it.”

A/N: mindless self indulgence

[aquaholicsanonymousworld]

The Pitts

Pairing: Dr. Whitaker x Surgeon!Reader

Summary: Dr. Whitaker has never been a problem for her. That is until he becomes the problem. A top surgeon, known for her cool-headed precision and unshakable confidence, suddenly finds herself an absolute disaster whenever he's around. Her usual Casanova charm? Gone. Her composure? Nonexistent.

Author's Note: Normally pathetic wimpy white guys make my skin crawl but there's something about Dr. Whitaker. Leave me alone in a trauma room with that man and he'll crawl out.

The second Dr. Whitaker walked into the room, she felt it—that ridiculous, uncontrollable shift from composed and capable to absolute disaster.

Normally, she was unshakable. A top surgeon, one of the best in her field. She had the respect of her colleagues and the unwavering confidence that came with years of being at the top. She handled pressure like it was nothing, made life-and-death decisions daily, and never let anything rattle her.

But with him?

She was a train wreck.

It was like someone flipped a switch in her brain, and suddenly, she couldn't function. Her hands trembled, her words stumbled, and she found herself laughing at things that weren't remotely funny. Worse, everyone around her noticed. Everyone except him.

"Hey, nice scrubs today," she blurted out as Whitaker passed by.

He stopped, giving her a quizzical look before glancing down at himself. "Uh... thanks? They're just the standard ones."

She nodded far too eagerly. "Yeah, but, you know, you really make them work. These ones are really holding up!"

A beat of silence. Then, from behind her, someone choked on a laugh. She turned just in time to see Dr. Robby shaking his head, trying (and failing) to hide his smirk.

Whitaker, completely oblivious, just smiled politely. "Appreciate that, I guess."

As soon as he walked away, Robby leaned in. "Smooth."

She groaned, rubbing a hand down her face. "Don’t."

"Oh, I will," he said, thoroughly enjoying her downfall. "You’ve got it bad."

"I do not."

"Right. That’s why you’re out here complimenting a guy’s scrubs like he’s wearing designer."

She sighed, crossing her arms. "It’s not a big deal. It’s just... annoying. I’m a top surgeon, Robby. I perform complex procedures without breaking a sweat. And yet, one guy walks into a room, and I—"

"Turn into a bumbling idiot? Yeah, I’ve noticed."

She shot him a glare. "Not helping."

Robby chuckled. "Look, you’ve always been the one in control. Maybe the idea of someone making you lose that control freaks you out. But if you ask me? It’s kind of refreshing."

She frowned. "Refreshing?"

"Yeah. It means you actually care. And maybe, instead of fighting it, you should just... let it happen."

She opened her mouth to argue but found herself at a loss. Because deep down, she knew he was right. And yet, it was easier said than done.

Which was why she was completely caught off guard when, after yet another day of fumbling around Whitaker like an idiot, everything changed.

It happened so fast. One second, she was standing at the nurse’s station, and the next, Whitaker was walking toward her with purpose.

Then he stopped right in front of her, grabbed her face with both hands, and kissed her.

Her brain short-circuited. Somewhere in the background, she vaguely registered the sound of someone gasping, followed by another voice going, "Oh, finally."

When Whitaker pulled back, his expression was unreadable, but his touch lingered, his hands still cupping her face. "I, uh... just found out something interesting."

She swallowed hard, heart hammering against her ribs. "Yeah?"

He smiled—soft, amused, and just a little smug. "You like me."

Somewhere behind them, someone who was absolutely Dr. Robby muttered, "Took him long enough."

She wanted to die. But also? She really, really wanted him to kiss her again.

And judging by the look in his eyes, he absolutely was going to.

[dedfly]

Hii! I was wondering if I could request headcanons for Shadow milk cookie x reader? Just about how he would act when he realizes he loves you and how his actions and stuff changes when he starts to have a crush on you? <3

I can't believe i writing again. Requests are still closed(only writing related ones i still prefer drawing stuff.), I just couldn't help myself with this one. New trailer made me all nostalgic

Disclaimer:

This is about Shadow Milk, if we talking real people here rember if someone loves you they would not play mind games. They are not cookies of deciet, it's not their quirky trait. Your partner or friend should be clear with you from the start

Remember there always would be people who loves you. And you always deserve better

Cw: Mentiones of gaslighting

___________________________________

Shadow Milk cookie x reader

♪ Can't say it would be long realisation. Maybe few days not the love from first sight but not the slow burn you know?

♪ But it surely would be "Oh yeah... This one" with creepy ass smile

♪ Alright, let's go and look past his thick hair right into his messed up head.

♪ We still would see the same pragmatic cookie just this time all his schemes about making...no, actually

♪ He would not try and get out of his way to make you fall in love with him.

♪ Why would he? It's inevitable.

♪ All his "little" courtship focused on one simple thing - leaving an impression

♪ You will rember him and what's is most important

♪ All your little partners didn't bring you as much effort as he did

♪ And by efforts I mean focusing all his attention on you

♪ Making you speak more than he usually let anyone

♪ Doing his sweet voice while he speaking to you

♪ Gifting you flowers some flashy gifts with ribbons, but nothing too resembling of him...yet

♪ But I don't think he would change drastically it's still him. He would be lying and deciving feeding you with half truths just like everyone

♪ It's in his nature, really

♪ His flirting is fleeting with you. Blink and you miss it

♪You can say but he's a total flirt with Wind Archer and Pure Vanilla why not me?

♪ Well it's me who writing this okay? I think he just being annoying to them on purpose. It's not actual flirt he would use in a serious courtship

♪ Just kidding, he would act differently just to look how far your boundaries stretches

♪ I mean he's also a performer which is making it way worse

♪ He so dramatic and his courtship, he's too reminiscent of a bird

♪ You will notice his act in no time. His attitude to you would be special that's for sure

♪ You might think uh aren't you just contradict yourself? No why would I? :)

♪ His actions still making you doubt his intentions

♪ WORSE of all he would not be reassuring in a traditional way so it not helping. He's still vague about his true intentions

♪ Not in a tsundere way more like a "Me? Flirting with you? Hm... How odd. You sure my gesture of gratitude isn't messing with your head?" "What? Do YOU want it to be something more?" And more of the "Are you sure? I don't recall that"

♪ Oh yeah and it's all in a lovey dovey period... Don't think he would be the one confessing first.

♪ His attitude would draw you insane that's for sure

"Ah? Asking me out on a date??? Hm... Tsk tsk tsk. Took you long enough."

♪ His mask would quickly fall off as soon as you get in a relationship tho.

♪ You will choke on his love in the best way possible

___________

Okay I'm not surprised thr only cookie who made me want to sit down and write this there Shadow Milk

[woso-dreamzzz]

Nagging: Christmas

Barcelona Femení x Teen!Reader

Summary: Christmas with Mignon

"It's...a can," Alexia says blankly, turning over the present in her hand," Is this...Is this a French thing that I don't understand?"

"Don't look at me!" Vicky says quickly when her captain's eyes turn to her," I'm, very clearly, not French!"

"But you are y/n's friend," Alexia replies," Has she told you anything about this?"

Vicky shrugs as she hands the last wrapped can to Kika to open. "Just to hand them out to everyone, let you open the wrapping paper but not the actual cans."

They're not branded or anything, Alexia notes as she turns it around in her hands. There's no labels to give away what's inside and even shaking it doesn't help.

"Maybe..." Keira says as she rattles the can while holding it up to her ear," Maybe...it's beans?"

Aitana lets out a little titter of a laugh. "Not everyone is English, Keira. Not everyone likes beans."

"Yeah," Patri joins in," Besides, she's French! Aren't they known for their good food?"

Keira wrinkles her nose in disgust. "Yeah, their snails and their frogs legs. Hardly the most appetising. At least beans are versatile."

"It won't be beans," Frido says simply," And it won't be food. It'll be something else."

"Any idea what?"

Frido shrugs. "No food, is all I've got."

"Well can she hurry up?" Mapi says," Because it's cruel that she's making us wait."

Alexia rolls her eyes. "She's getting treatment right now. She can't exactly hurry that up."

Mapi groans, practically throwing herself back into her seat as she fiddles with the can in her hands. "She totally did this on purpose," She complains to no one in particular," I just know she did. She's trying to kill me."

"You just need to be patient."

"But I hate being patient! Patience is a scam!"

Alexia sighs. "Ingrid-"

"Nope. Not my problem when she's with the team. It's a shared responsibility."

Maybe you did choose to schedule your treatment just to screw with Mapi a bit but it was one of your greatest joys in life and Christmas was all about giving. You're sure Mapi enjoyed giving you her time as she was forced to wait around for you to appear to finally open the can you'd presented her.

You'd made sure to really stress how important this was to you, for nobody to open their cans before you'd arrived.

You'd insisted it was a present that the team would have to enjoy together.

Or else.

You'd left the 'or else' bit purposely vague just to keep everyone on their toes and, now, as you open the door to the locker room, you're happy to see that everyone had done as you told them.

"Finally!" Mapi complains, leaping to her feet from where she'd been laying on the bench with Ingrid's fingers gently carding through her hair. "You took ages!"

You grin. It's more of a smirk actually and you can hear Vicky snicker behind you as you shrug. "Just trying to keep on top of my health," You tell Mapi," My hamstring was feeling kind of tight. I wanted to get it massaged out. Who knows what would have happened if I hadn't? I might have torn it on the pitch."

Mapi pokes you right in the middle of the forehead. "And you couldn't have done that hours ago when you and Jana were fighting on the Playstation?"

"It's almost like, Mapi, that you want me to delay the can opening until later."

"Ingrid! Tell her to stop teasing me!"

Ingrid relaxes back in her cubby, completely at ease with herself as she scrolls through her phone to find the perfect Christmas gift for her nephew. "I'm not in charge of her."

"Keira-"

"Just because Lucy left doesn't mean-"

"Alexia!"

"One day," Alexia says to no one in particular," One normal day is all that I ask for."

You flash Mapi a grin.

She sighs. "Can we please open our presents now?"

"Why Mapi," You say with that smug smirk of yours," All you needed to do was ask!"

Mapi makes some annoyed noises at you, acutely aware that any kind of insult flung at you would end up in a lecture for her. She knew that you knew that too so settled on just making noise as you as you lingered in the doorway.

Honestly, staying in the doorway should have been their first clue that this present opening wouldn't be quite as normal as usual. Their second clue should have been the way that you were holding your phone, clearly set up to record their actions.

The third and final clue should have been the mischievous grin that you and Vicky exchanged as she tilted the can away from herself and towards the person standing next to her.

"Okay?" You say," Ready? Open!"

It's carnage immediately as the fake snakes spring from all of the can and the glitter you had paid more for went everywhere.

You high five Vicky before immediately sprinting out of there when Pina lunges at you.

You know she's running after you when the pounding of her feet reaches your ears and you know everyone else is following when the sound of the feet get louder and louder.

"Get back here!" Pina yells and you take a sharp corner through the corridors to the break room.

You come to a skidding stop in front of the tree, whipping around just in time to dodge the flailing hands of Kika as she tries to catch.

"Now," You says, laughing awkwardly as you scramble up onto the countertops," Would it make you happier to know that I've got you all non-joke, stuff-you'll-actually-like presents? Because I have!"

You gesture to the tree and, thankfully, most of the anger seems to melt from the others as they go about distributing them - though Mapi narrows her eyes and glares at you as she passes.

"It's very nice that you bought us proper presents," Alexia says, giving you a sideways hug," But you're going to get that locker room all cleaned up before everyone heads home."

You groan.

"No complaints," She cuts in with a laugh," That's the price you pay for playing pranks during Christmas."

[ilovolderman]

Fate's Design

Pairing: bucky barnes x reader

Summary: After months of silence, Bucky Barnes and you unexpectedly cross paths on a mission.

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: Some tension and angst (nothing too heavy); past relationships

A/N: It’s been a while since I last wrote anything, but this idea wouldn’t leave me alone, so I decided to give it a shot. Hope you like it! :)

The air was thick with tension. The mission was far from over, but it had already taken a toll. Bucky Barnes wiped the sweat from his brow, leaning against the cold concrete wall in the alley, his heartbeat still racing from the near-encounter with a heavily armed guard.

It had been a long few months since he’d last seen you. The fling you two had shared—no strings, no complications—was supposed to stay that way. But nothing in Bucky’s life ever seemed to go as planned.

The mission he was currently on was a black-ops job, high stakes, and high risk, which meant no one could afford distractions. But then, as if the universe had a sense of humor, he caught sight of you across the street, your eyes scanning the surroundings, waiting for the next move.

You were crouched beside a van, speaking quietly into an earpiece, blending in with the shadows of the night like a pro. Bucky hadn’t expected this. He didn’t even know you’d been assigned to this mission. But there you were.

His breath caught in his throat, his mind suddenly flooded with memories of the last night you two shared. He’d left in the early hours, never really explaining why, just a brief, vague text saying, “It was good, but we can’t do this.”

He'd made it clear that there was no room for anything that resembled affection in his life. And yet, here you were, the same spark in your eyes, as if you hadn’t been apart for months.

He hesitated for a moment, but it was futile. It was the inevitable: sooner or later, your paths were bound to cross again.

You were moving fast, as usual. No hesitation, no room for weakness. But when you finally turned your gaze in his direction, there was a brief flash of recognition.

Bucky’s breath caught in his throat as your eyes met. For a heartbeat, everything seemed to freeze—your surroundings faded into the background as he locked eyes with you. You didn’t smile, didn’t scowl. You just… observed. The coldness in your expression wasn’t new to him. It was something he had seen many times, but there was something different this time. It was sharper, more guarded.

He cleared his throat. "You’re on this mission?"

You didn’t reply immediately, just took a step closer, your posture a perfect blend of casual readiness. "Same as you," you said, your voice cool, though he detected the slightest edge of something buried deep within your tone. "I didn’t expect to see you here."

Bucky’s lips quirked upward for a second, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. "Didn’t expect to see you either," he said softly, his voice betraying a hint of regret. "It’s been a while."

"Yeah, it has," you said, your words sharp, though there was an unspoken layer beneath it. Something neither of you had addressed before, not that night, and not in the months since.

He could feel the weight of the silence between you, but he didn’t know how to bridge the gap. You had been an unexpected distraction back then, something that felt like a lifeline in the storm of his own mind. But things were different now. He had his mission, his purpose—and anything beyond that would only make things messier.

"So," you broke the silence, eyes narrowing slightly as you took in his state—his combat gear, his posture. "You here for the big prize, or just causing chaos?"

"Maybe both," Bucky replied. "You?"

You tilted your head, your eyes flicking to the shadows around you before returning to him. "Something like that."

There was an understanding between you now, unspoken but clear. The mission came first, always, and that meant no time for distractions. Not that either of you had room for distractions anyway, not after everything.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. But Bucky could feel the tension rise, the memory of what happened between you two like an undercurrent beneath every word. You both had kept it simple before, but the truth lingered there, unacknowledged. You had both wanted more, but neither of you had been willing to admit it.

"How’ve you been?" Bucky asked, a question he regretted the second it left his mouth.

Your eyes narrowed again, but this time, the edge was softer. "Been fine. Busy. You?"

The question wasn’t genuine, not really. It was a formality. Neither of you had time for heart-to-hearts when there were enemies to neutralize.

"Same," he muttered, looking past you to the dark streets ahead. "Look, we should focus—"

"I know," you interrupted, your eyes hardening as you pulled away from him, returning to your tactical mindset. "I don’t need a reminder."

There was a moment of silence again, but this time, it wasn’t as awkward. It felt… natural. Professional, even. You both knew how this worked. No time for personal nonsense.

Bucky felt his fingers twitch toward the gun at his hip. There was work to do, and right now, there was no room for anything else. No room for the burning curiosity in his chest, no room for the aching feeling that had started creeping in ever since you had walked into view.

He watched you move with precision, disappearing into the shadows once more. The familiar rhythm of your body—a memory that had never truly left him—was enough to knock the breath from his lungs.

And as the sounds of the mission grew closer, the two of you working as one, side by side yet separate, Bucky realized that no matter how hard he tried to bury the past, the feelings were still there. They never truly went away.

The mission would end, but he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to forget what he had lost.

And somehow, that was the most dangerous thing of all.

[iamgonnagetyouback]

SOMETHING ABOUT SIRIUS..?.⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ㅤㅤ●ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ J. POTTER

SUMMARY ৎ୭ james is losing his mind after you step outside with amos diggory for five minutes. when you come back, he acts like it’s been ten years—and he needs to know what diggory wanted

WARNINGS ಇ. james being insanely dramatic, jealous & pouty james, fluff overload, remus dealing with nonsense, a lot of eye-rolling, and excessive door-watching

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ᡣ𐭩 words.ᐟ 1,143

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ౨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

The Gryffindor common room was unusually quiet for a Saturday evening. Most students were milling about outside, taking advantage of the crisp autumn weather, but James Potter was perched stiffly on one of the armchairs by the fireplace, staring at the door as though it owed him an explanation.

Across from him, Remus Lupin was mid-rant, gesturing vaguely with a chocolate frog. "And so I told Sirius he couldn’t just charm the books to read themselves, because that defeats the entire purpose of studying, doesn’t it? But, of course, he—James, are you even listening to me?"

James, who hadn’t looked away from the door in at least five minutes, blinked. "What? Yeah, of course, I’m listening to you."

Remus raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Really? Then what did I just say?"

James scratched the back of his neck, his hazel eyes still glued to the door. "Uh… something about Sirius and… words?"

Remus let out a dramatic sigh, his cheeks flushing ever so slightly. "You know, I don’t always talk about Sirius, James. I have other topics."

James finally tore his gaze from the door to smirk at his friend. "Sure, Moony. And I’m totally listening to you and not, in any way, staring at the door and counting how long my lovely girlfriend’s been gone with Amos bloody Diggory."

Remus tilted his head, catching the light teasing in James’ tone but also noting the furrow of concern in his brows. "They’ve only been gone for five minutes, Prongs."

"Exactly!" James exclaimed, throwing his hands up. "What could they possibly need to discuss in private for that long? Private. Honestly." He made air quotes around the word as though it were the most ridiculous concept in the world.

"Maybe something private?" Remus suggested with a shrug.

James leaned back, crossing his arms and pouting like a child denied dessert. "You’re not helping, Moony. What could Diggory possibly want? He doesn’t even like books—probably doesn’t know what a book is. Did you see the way he walked her out of the common room? All confident, like he owns the place? Smug git."

Remus suppressed a smile. "You know, if you’re this worried, maybe you should just follow them next time."

"Don’t tempt me." James narrowed his eyes, the wheels clearly turning in his head.

James let out an indignant scoff, running a hand through his messy hair. “Why couldn’t he say it here, in front of everyone, where it’s safe?” His voice grew increasingly dramatic, and Remus could only watch, mildly horrified but also slightly entertained.

“James, I don’t think Diggory is plotting her demise,” Remus reasoned dryly.

“You don’t know that!” James hissed, glaring at the door again as though willing it to open. “He’s suspicious. I mean, why does he always have to be so—ugh—charming?” He spat the word like it physically hurt him. “It’s unnatural. What does he think he’s playing at, asking for ‘private’ time?!”

“You’re spiraling,” Remus pointed out, though his tone carried no real concern.

“Maybe I am spiraling!” James snapped. “Maybe spiraling is exactly what I should be doing when my girlfriend is out there—alone—with Amos Diggory. For TEN MINUTES.”

Before Remus could reply, the portrait swung open, and in walked you, looking perfectly content and completely unaware of the turmoil you’d left in your wake.

James bolted upright, all his previous indignation vanishing in an instant. "You’re back!" He practically sprinted to your side, his glasses slightly askew from the rush.

You blinked at him, startled by his sudden enthusiasm. "Uh, yeah. I was only gone for ten minutes."

"Ten minutes?!" James gasped, clutching his chest dramatically. "Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been? It felt like ten days! One minute feels like a day without you, darling!"

Remus groaned, muttering something about melodrama under his breath as he retreated to his chair.

You laughed, shaking your head. "James, you’re ridiculous."

"Ridiculously relieved you’re safe!" he quipped, his eyes softening as they roved over your face. "So… what did Diggory want to talk about? In private," he added, voice dripping with mockery.

You rolled your eyes. "He wanted me to tutor him in Charms."

James’ brow furrowed, jealousy bubbling up, though he masked it poorly with faux curiosity. "And you said…?"

"I said no, of course," you replied breezily. "He’s hopeless and creepy. I can live without that headache."

James’ face immediately brightened, his chest puffing out in pride. “That’s my girl,” he said with a smug grin, wrapping an arm around your waist. “Smart, talented, and way too good to waste her time on someone like Diggory.”

You rolled your eyes fondly. “Jealous, are we?”

“Who, me? Jealous?” James scoffed, though his ears turned pink. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Behind him, Remus coughed pointedly.

“Alright, maybe a little,” James admitted, pulling you closer. “But it’s only because I’m madly in love with you, and if Diggory thinks he can swoop in and—”

“James, I literally said no to him,” you interrupted, laughing. “He doesn’t stand a chance.”

“Damn right, he doesn’t,” James said, his jealousy melting into his usual cheeky grin. “Now, c’mon, I’ve been waiting forever to cuddle you.”

“Forever being ten minutes,” Remus quipped from his armchair.

James turned to him with a mock glare. “I don’t need your sass, Moony.”

“Of course you don’t,” Remus said with a sigh, hiding a smirk behind his book.

You raised an eyebrow at him. "Were you really that worried, Potter?"

"Not worried, per se," he replied, the smirk creeping back onto his face. "Just… concerned for your well-being. Diggory’s a creep. He could’ve tried something. And if he had, well…" He flexed his arms exaggeratedly. "I’d have to remind him why I’m Gryffindor’s best duelist and the Quidditch captain."

You burst into laughter, playfully shoving his shoulder. "Oh, James. You’re impossible."

"And yet, you love me," he said cheekily, stealing a quick kiss on your forehead.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ౨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

The Quidditch pitch was alive with the sound of beating wings and shouts as the Gryffindor team practiced. You sat on the stands, your eyes glued to James as he weaved through the air, golden and red robes fluttering behind him.

Next to you, Remus was trying to explain something—probably related to Sirius, as always—but you weren’t paying attention.

"And then, of course, Sirius said—Dove? Are you even listening to me?"

"Of course I am, Rem," you said absentmindedly, your gaze fixed on James as he executed a particularly sharp turn to dodge a bludger.

"Yeah? What was I talking about then?"

"Something about Sirius and… stuff?"

Remus groaned, his cheeks turning pink. “Why does everyone assume I’m always talking about Sirius?”

You didn’t answer, already back to watching James, who waved at you mid-air and nearly crashed into one of the goalposts. Remus sighed. “You and James are perfect for each other,” he muttered, shaking his head.

©iamgonnagetyouback౨ৎplease refrain from copying, translating, or reposting any of my work.