#alma beers

[every-character-ever-poll]

ALMA BEERS - Brokeback Mountain

PROPAGANDA:

Look, Alma is great and she did not deserve what Ennis put her through. The fandom should give her more love.

[flwjdk]

my fav screenshot on the internet but make it about brokeback mountain

og

[quynnns]

I love cinematic parallels 🥰

[overlyobsessedoddity]

Recently watched Brokeback Mountain 🏔️ and I just had a wackass dream where Alma sees her husband kissing Jack and is just super into it

She then spends the rest of the movie trying to have a threesome without scaring her husband off/letting him know she knows and that accidentally turns into a poly relationship???

I’ve been searching desperately for an hour to see if anyone else sees my vision but the answer appears to be no😭

ITS TIME FOR ME TO BE THE CHANGE I WANT TO SEE IN THE WORLD

[btggf-ale]

college football stresses me the fuck out.

[javistg]

Old tradition. New location.

Alma Music Festival. Barcelona.

Summer is here!

[coco-loco-nut]

Miss Americana

Pairing: Lando Norris x American!Reader

Summary: Moments with Lando and his silly, American, girlfriend

TW: AMERICA! RAHH🦅

a/n: i wrote this super quick bc the ideas were bombarding me at work and it is not proofread. it’s also silly and stupid as an apology for my last oneshot which seemed to break y’all.

requests are open! masterlist part two

—————————————————

Lando didn’t mind you were American, in fact, that might be why he loved you. You poked fun at his britishness, even trying to copy his accent. It’s almost like a joke with you two.

“Baby, where are you?” Lando whines from his gaming chair, needing attention, having texted you a minute ago asking you for cuddles.

“I’m declaring my independence!” You yell back, your voice coming from outside. He pauses his game and trudges towards your voice. The two of you are spending time in your American residence, near Miami. He spots you near the pool, holding something out.

“Baby, what are you doing?” He spots your camera recording.

“Happy December 16th!” You grin, dropping a box of tea into the pool. Lando’s brows furrow, thinking back to the book he read about the Revolutionary War. Needing to have some sort of reference for your jokes, he bought a book with the basics to read on the flights to races.

“Oh… I get it. Babe, we aren’t even IN Boston,” Lando says after a minute, and after you start laughing, he does too. Lando quickly grabs your phone and pushes you in the water too.

“Rude,” you huff, grabbing the tea box and climbing out of the pool. If it weren’t for your grin, Lando would be running away. You grab your phone and Logan pops out from behind the bushes as Lando’s phone dings.

“Wait, I thought you were recording,” Lando says, his eyes narrowing at Logan.

“Nope,” you pop the p and walk inside, the video quickly going viral and spreading around the drivers group chats. Logan makes his quick escape, leaving Lando to wonder why he agreed to associate with Americans.

———

“GO GO GO GO! YES! TOUCHDOWN!” You yell, seemingly oblivious to the cold. Lando surprised you with a trip to your alma mater’s biggest football game of the season. He asked Logan for help with the surprise, but the Floridian didn’t mention, well, how much of a cult the school was.

“Logan said it was going to be cold, but not this cold,” Lando grumbles, taking a cute pic of you cheering.

“Babe, he has terrible taste in schools, why would you take his advice? Also, this is the northeast, it’s obviously going to be way colder than Austin will be next week,” You snort before joining in on a chant. Lando was only slightly regretting choosing seats right beside the student section, however, he could get behind the drinking. Especially tailgating. When you drug him out of his nice warm bed to hang outside the stadium at 9am with your old college friends, he was skeptical. All it took was one freshly grilled meal and a beer to turn that around. He is planning on creating an American tailgate for the race next week in Austin.

“American universities are... something else,” Lando smiles at you. Seeing as you are only one year removed from college, you had plans for the weekend.

“Just wait until we go to the bars later. Oh! And the frat party tomorrow, it’s family weekend and my cousin is getting us in,” you smile back at him. It was indeed a long, drunk, weekend, but Lando couldn’t help but admit that he would be more than happy to come back for more games throughout the year.

———

Austin was something else the next weekend. You and Logan were quick to jump on board with Lando’s idea for a tailgate, and you all gathered at the Airbnb that you rented the night before the race, right after qualifying. The team’s socials loved the idea as well as the Formula One social media team, so you paid for nothing as the drivers and friends gathered at the Airbnb for your and Logan’s tailgate. You made sure there were multiple coolers full of alcohol, soda, and water while Logan manned the grill. You wore a NFL football jersey while Logan repped a Miami Dolphins jersey.

“Why are those two arguing,” Max asks Lando, observing you and Logan fight about whose team is better.

“Either college football or pro football,”

“American football, mate,” George says, standing on the other side of Max.

“All I’m saying is that you have TERRIBLE taste in teams!” You huff in Logan’s direction. He rolls his eyes, turning his focus to the grill as you grab a beer. Lando, who is sporting your alma mater’s football jersey, walks over to the two of you.

“She’s not wrong, Logan,” Lando chuckles as the blonde boy throws his arms up in the air in frustration. Honestly, the only thing that can top the bickering between the both of you is when you pull out the jell-o shots and people start grabbing food.

Half an hour later, you turn on the projector to the screen, a Disney logo behind you. You take position in front of the screen, remote in hand as a microphone. The crowd turns their attention to you. Lando’s lips twitch up in amusement.

“I just got three things to say. God bless our troops. God bless America. AND GENTLEMEN. START YOUR ENGINES!” You yell as you hit play on the remote.

“Okay, focus. Speed. I. Am. Speed.” The voice says over the screen. You and Logan decided to culture everyone, making the end of the tailgate partly a movie night. Eventually, everyone finds a seat in the lawn chairs scattered in front of the screen. Lando grabs your hand and kisses the back of it when you sit down.

“I love you, y/n,” he smiles softly as he nurses his beer.

“Love you more, Lan, but not as much as America,” you chuckle, teasing him. He playfully rolls his eyes, knowing you are jesting.

“Are you always so… American?” Daniel laughs as he sits in the open chair beside you.

“Shut up before she drunkenly sings the national anthem,” Lando hisses, cringing at the time he mistakenly took you to a karaoke pub in London on July 4th. Honestly, he should’ve known better.

“I hate you all,”

[petitemistletoe]

Mamma Mia

Pairing: James Potter x Reader, Sirius Black x Reader, Remus Lupin x Reader

Warnings: smut!

Word Count: 4.2K+

A/N: Basically Marauders Mamma Mia

Massachusetts

“I’m going to find myself,” you said, examining the items in your trunk before nodding and slamming it shut.

“That’s not a proper response to the question ‘where are you going?’” Your cousin, Lily, was lying on her stomach on your bed, thumbing through the latest edition of a British newspaper. 

“Yeah,” Mary said with a shrug of her shoulders, popping another piece of your maple candy in her mouth.

“Don’t eat all the sweets!” Marlene said with an indignant huff, handing you her remember-ball. 

“Thanks Marls,” you said, popping open your trunk again and wrapping the ball in one of your sweaters. 

“What kind of sweet is this again?” Lily asked, leaning over and grabbing a piece of maple candy from the box in Mary’s arms. 

“It’s maple candy. They make it up in Vermont.” You said with a shrug. Your trio of British friends always appreciated your American candies. Lily had introduced you all during a summer excursion and the girls had decided to move to America to attend a post-graduate certification program at your alma mater, Ilvermorny alongside you. You had finished a year ahead of the other girls since you were able to combine your NEWTs with introductory courses to the program. You had been living in an apartment, you insisted to the girls that it was an apartment not a flat, with the girls for over a year. You thought about entering the workforce after graduating, but you decided that you wanted to take a three month long trip to ‘find yourself’. 

“Are we close to Vermont?” Mary asked. 

“Yeah, it’s right above us.” You nodded, drumming your fingers on your chin. 

“What are you thinking about?” Marlene looked up at you. 

“Do you think I’ll be able to find a place in the train station to exchange my dragots for gallons?” You hummed. 

“Galleons, love, and no. You’ll have to go to Diagon Alley. It’s in London, not too far from the station. I’ll draw you a map.” Lily said, summoning a piece of parchment. 

“No Lily,” you held your hand up, “that defeats the whole purpose of what I’m doing. I’m going to travel across a few countries in Europe and find my way myself.” You shut your trunk again and nodded. 

“Is it time?” Mary asked, setting down the candies. 

“Okay,” you said with a sad smile, “no tears! It’s only three months! I’ll be back at the end of the summer.” The girls are wrapped their arms around you, hugging you tightly and placing kisses on the top of your head. 

“Good luck, darling.” Lily smiled. 

“Be safe!” Marlene called. 

“Have lots of hot sex!” Mary laughed. You laughed and gave a small wave before taking a deep breath and apparating to the center of London. 

London

It was the middle of June in London. You had packed dresses, and skirts, and shorts, and tank tops, and tops that barely covered your midriff. But it was the middle of June in London, so it was pouring rain and it was very chilly. Within a few minutes of you being outside, you were soaking wet. You were wiping the rain from your eyes and scanning for somewhere to duck into when you saw a sign that said: The Leaky Cauldron. Somewhere, in the deep recesses of your mind, you could vaguely remember Mary mentioning something about having a pasty and a pint at the Leaky Cauldron. You never could remember what the hell a pasty was, but you figured any magical place with beer was a good place to start.

You ran into the bar and seemed to attract the attention of everyone inside. You sent everyone a small smile before taking a few wet, sopping footsteps to the bar and pulling yourself onto a barstool, your trunk at your feet. 

“What can I get ya, love?” The bartender asked, quirking an eyebrow at your appearance.

“I know I must look kinda crazy,” you said, raking a hand through your wet hair, “this is my first time in London. I wasn’t prepared for rain.”

“Happens to the best of us,” the bartender shrugged, “fancy a pint to warm up?”

“Sounds good. I’ve heard Guinness is popular here.”

“It is. A pint of that then?”

“Yes thank you! Oh, I heard that you might be able to change my American money.” You said, digging around in your wallet. 

“Sure. You have one of those green dollar bills?” The bartender asked. You placed a dragot on the table. 

“Can you change that for a galleon?” You asked. The bartender released a huff of respect. 

“An American witch? Welcome to Diagon Alley.” He winked and you suddenly became far more aware of the other witches, wizards, and magical folk in the bar. “We have rooms upstairs. Fancy to stay a night or two? We can send your bags up and you can warm up by the fire with a nice glass of firewhiskey.” 

“Thanks. I’ll meet you over by the hearth then.” You said with a wink, taking a moment to wave your wand and dry yourself before snuggling into a chair with a thick blanket. The bartender floated over your drink and you held it up to him in thanks before taking a large sip. You thumbed through a volume of Quidditch through the Ages that had been lying on an empty table. Quidditch had always fascinated you. It wasn’t very common in the states, Quadpot being the more popular sport. 

“You are reading my absolute favorite book in the world.” A man said, sitting on the plush seat in front of you. 

“Oh is it?” You asked, setting your book down and taking in the sight of the man in front of you. Although Mary had been a little crass, you had every intention of riding around Europe…and you weren’t only talking about the trains. Your first candidate was an incredibly promising one to boot, he was tall, with messy dark hair, warm brown eyes, and a pair of round glasses. 

“You really have no idea who I am, do you?” The boy gestured to the bartender for another firewhiskey. 

“Am I supposed to?” You asked with an easy chuckle. The boy leaned in close and flashed you a smile. 

“I’m kind of a big deal.”

“What makes you such a big deal?” 

“I’m the chaser for the Ballycastle Bats.” The boy looked at you expectantly, waiting for you to swoon. But you didn’t. 

“Oh!” It hit you, “Oh! That’s a quidditch position! Right?” You thumbed through your book until you found the page that described all the positions. 

“You really don’t know anything about quidditch?” The boy quirked an eyebrow. 

“I’m American,” you shrugged, “I’m more of a quadpot girl.”

“Well, Miss America,” the boy leaned in closer so his nose was practically touching yours, “I’m James, consider me your guide to Diagon Alley for the foreseeable future.”

“James, I have a question for you.” You said, tucking one of James’s unruly dark locks behind his ear. 

“Anything love,” James’s voice sounded breathy.

“Do quidditch players fuck better than quadpot players?” You said with a grin. James nodded and matched your smile. 

“Why don’t we find out.”

You realized at some point later that James had never paid for his drink but you really didn’t care because James had taken you up to your hotel room and was deep inside you while rubbing your clit. You were on your back, his face close to yours as your right hand rested on his sharp jawline and your left hand was gripping his bicep. You didn’t cast a silencing spell and you were sure the other patrons of the Leaky Cauldron were cursing your name because you were screaming so loud. The firewhiskey was a warm blanket across your skin and your cheeks were hot as James pounded into mercilessly. 

“Godric, you’re so fucking hot.” James said, his glasses foggy and his hair sticking to his forehead. 

“Keep rubbing my clit,” you moaned as you jacked your leg higher and James was able to hit a deeper angle inside you. James connected his lips with yours and you moaned loudly into his mouth as you came. You squeezed tightly around him and James came a little after, burying his head in the crook of your neck and whimpering as he came, hot white ribbons inside you. 

The two of you talked for hours after, he tried to explain the rules of Quidditch to you and you would just laugh. James made good on his promise, too, he gave you a tour of Diagon Alley and wizard London before you apparated up to Scotland. 

The Scottish Highlands

The girls told you all about the quaint village next to their school in the highlands. You spent your days traveling the highlands, sitting in sweet cafes with a scone and a mug of milky tea, reading on a boat on Loch Ness, and visiting all the historic and gorgeous castles. You were going to spend your final day in Hogsmeade before making your way to your next destination. You spent the day wandering Hogsmeade, dipping in and out of sweet shops, joke shops, and little book stores. You settled yourself in a pub called the Three Broomsticks and sipped on a hot butterbeer while reading a book that you had found at Tomes and Scrolls: The New Edition of the Patronus Spellbook. 

“That’s a great book you’re reading,” a voice said, disrupting you from your thoughts. You rolled your eyes. Did all British wizards use the same pick up lines?

“Oh really?” You were sort of tired after all the days of apparating around Scotland and wanted a quiet night in the corner of the pub. 

“Yes. It’s one of my favorites.” The stranger said, sitting next to you. You looked up at him finally and took him in. He was tall, skinny, with thin light scars on his face and hands. He was wearing a knitted sweater and a very worn in pair of trousers. 

“Why’s that?” You asked, still uninterested. 

“I wrote the forward.” He said with an easy shrug, “Remus Lupin. Nice to meet you.” 

“Oh wow,” you were interested now, “it’s a pleasure.”

“I didn’t mean to disturb your reading, I was just a bit excited. The new edition came out yesterday, I was just nipping to the shops to purchase a copy for myself and have a drink to celebrate.” 

“So Remus, do you do other things besides writing forewords?” You asked, asking for another drink from the barkeep for Remus.

“Ah thank you,” Remus accepted the pint and took a long sip, “I am a professor at Hogwarts, I teach Defense Against the Dark Arts.”

“Oh, so you’re Professor Lupin then, aren’t you?” You said, leaning in. Remus looked down at you and gave you a wolffish grin. 

“That I am.” 

You had many, many more drinks with Remus as he told you all about his first few years of working as a professor and the various difficulties that came with it. He talked all about his new patronus research until patronus didn’t sound like a real word anymore. 

“I have a confession for you, Professor.” You said, a goofy smile on your face.

“Anything love.” Remus rested his hand on your thigh. 

“I have a fantasy,” you said, leaning in so your nose was practically touching his, “about fucking a professor in his office.”

You and Remus stumbled back on the path that lead from the village to the school. It was a gorgeous, gargantuan castle that was unlike anything you had ever seen before. You made a mental note to tease your cousin about her downplaying her school. He had a gorgeous office, with high ceilings, books and bars of chocolate strewn about various tables. There was a large wardrobe and about three cups of discarded tea resting on a nearby trunk.

“This is a gorgeous office,” you said, sitting on the corner of one of the large trunks. Your fingers ran over a long skeleton candle that rested on his desk. 

“Thank you,” Remus said, setting his book down and standing so his body was between your legs, “can I get you a cup of tea?”

“You could get me something else,” you pulled Remus down by the collar of his sweater until his face was level with yours and you kissed him hard. He kissed you back, pulling at the hem of your shirt until it was up and over your head. You stood and had to extend your neck all the way to account for the distance between you and him. His large hands went down to cup your breasts, gently. You realized that his hands were shaking. You pulled back and gave Remus a small smile. 

“We don’t have to,” you said, softly, “if you don’t want to.”

“No,” Remus said with a light shake of his head, “I do want to. I’m just a bit nervous. You’re so beautiful.”

“Oh Professor Lupin,” you said, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips, “you are quite a charmer.”

Remus lifted your head with his finger and kissed you again. You helped him out of his sweater this time and saw the long, thin pale scars that traced around his chest like the ones on his face. You kissed along Remus’s jawline and down his neck to his chest. Remus threw his head back and exhaled a soft moan. 

You kissed down Remus’s chest until your nose bumped against his belt buckle. He looked down and you and gave you a small nod. You unbuckled his belt and kissed up and down his length. Remus released a strangled moan and you placed a bit of pressure on his balls. 

“You can be loud for me,” you said before taking a deep breath and taking as much of him as you could into your mouth. 

“Oh fuck,” Remus gasped, gripping the edge of his desk. You continued blowing him until Remus’s breathing picked up and you pulled off. Remus whimpered softly and looked at you as you stood and slipped out of your own pants. You moved Remus so he was standing over you while you had your back to the desk and you hoisted yourself on, spreading your legs wide and dropping your panties to the floor. 

“Come on Professor Lupin,” you said with a smile, “dive right in.” 

Remus grabbed you by the waist and spun you around, pushing your front into the desk harshly. You felt him rubbing the head of his cock against your folds before pushing in deeply. You moaned and grasped for purchase on the desk. Remus’s fingers dug into your hips as he snapped his hips against you, again and again and again. 

His lips attached themselves to your neck and one of his large hands left your hip to grasp harshly at your tit. 

“Rub your clit,” he rasped. You started rubbing your clit rapidly, your moans jumping off the cavernous walls. Remus came and you came after moaning and sweating. Remus stayed inside you, resting his head against your shoulder. 

Remus left for a moment to nip to the toilets and you tried to apparate out of his office and back to your room in Hogsmeade but couldn’t. You didn’t feel that drunk, why couldn’t you apparate?

“You can’t apparate inside Hogwarts, so stop trying. You look like you’re going to pop a blood vessel.” Remus said, walking back in and holding a bar of chocolate out to you. 

“Thanks,” you took a bite from the chocolate and smiled at Remus. He walked you back to Hogsmeade and left you standing in front of your tavern with a lingering kiss and a bar of chocolate. 

Paris 

Everyone had always talked about dirty Paris was and you had honestly considered cutting it from your program altogether. Sitting on Rue Victor Hugo at a cafe with a croissant and the deepest, creamiest hot chocolate you had ever tasted as you took in the sights and sounds of the French capital, you were very happy that you decided to keep Paris on your list. You were even happier to watch the various European men make their way to and from work and pass by the cafe in their tailored suits, finely pressed trousers, smart sweaters, and loafers. You looked around you for a moment before snapping your fingers to light your joint. You waved your hand a second time to disguise your joint as a cigarette-a trick you had learned from one of your friends at Ilvermorny.  Lily would have had a cow had she known that you were smoking weed in public, but she what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.

“Une autre chocolat chaud s’il vous plait,” another hot chocolate please you gestured at the waitress. She came around with a fresh cup and you set your sights on a very attractive man who looked a bit out of place. He had rode up on a motorcycle and took his helmet off, securing it to the bike. His ran a slender, ring covered hand through his long dark and shook his head as he got off the bike. He was wearing an expensive looking leather jacket with a thin dark t-shirt underneath, a pair of distressed looking jeans, and a pair of Doc Martens. He took his jacket off to reveal thin, winding tattoos on his arms and chest. You hoped he would cross the street and take one of the seats at the cafe. He was digging around in his jean pockets for a cigarette when another boy turned the corner onto the street of the cafe. The other boy looked quite a bit like the motorcycle boy but…cleaner. He was wearing a tailored pair of trousers, a crisp white button down, and a smart jacket. His dark curls were nicely styled and his thin, long fingers gestured down quickly so the cigarette between the motorcycle boy’s fingers fell to the ground. One of the second boy’s crisp loafers stamped on the cigarette and he pursed his lips. 

“Sirius, what are you doing?” The second boy shook his head.

“Shove off Reg,” motorcycle boy, Sirius, said, raking a hand through his hair. 

“Don’t call me that. My name is Regulus, you know that. You can’t keep running, Sirius. It isn’t sustainable.” Regulus looked at Sirius with an expression of pity.

“I just…I don’t care about it, Reg. I don’t care about any of it. You’re better at this anyway. You can deal with all that family stuff better than I can. Just let me grab a coffee and a cigarette and I’ll see you later.” Sirius did not wait for Regulus to respond. He marched across the street to the cafe you were at and you had to force yourself to pretend you were very interested in your menu. Regulus sighed and threw his hands in the air before coming back the way he came. 

“Madame, un cafe. Merci.” Ma’am, a coffee. Thanks. Sirius barked at the waitress. 

“Oui Monsieur.” Yes sir. The waitress responded, rolling her eyes. 

“Do you always eavesdrop?” Sirius asked, taking a seat at the table next to yours. 

“Sorry,” you shrugged, “you and that other guy put on quite a show.”

“Oh my brother Regulus? Yes we’re quite the pair.” Sirius rolled his eyes as the waitress set down his coffee. He took a sip and then paused. 

“Something wrong with your coffee?” You asked.

“You’re smoking weed.” He said, sniffing in your direction. 

“How do you know that?” You asked. 

“You’re a witch, aren’t you.” Sirius grinned at you.

“So you must be a wizard then.” You laughed. 

“You have to teach me that trick,” Sirius moved his chair so it was close to yours. You ran your tongue the bottoms of your front teeth.

“I bet I could teach you a lot.” 

Turns out that Sirius got off on pissing off his family so in hindsight it wasn’t all that surprising that he took you back to his family’s chateau in the middle of the afternoon. They were gone, out, at some event but Sirius pulled you to the middle of the drawing room in front of a roaring fireplace. You sat down on the rug and took in the warmth and glow of the fire. 

“So you’re a rich boy, then?” You said teasingly as Sirius pulled off his shirt and laid down in front of the fireplace with you. 

“Filthy rich,” Sirius responded, pulling you close to him and connecting his lips with yours. You did not break apart as he laid you down in front of the fire, pulling off your clothes with an animalistic intensity. Sirius was devouring you, his teeth and tongue all over your face, neck, and tits. He barely prepared you at all, just pushing in without warning. Your nails pressed into his shoulder blades as you looked at him, ready to snap about his hasty action when his thumb began rubbing hard on your clit. You had your legs wrapped around him as you were biting his collarbone to keep from moaning. 

Sirius pulled out of you and flipped you over so you were on top and he turned you so you were facing away from him. 

“Get loud baby. Use me,” he said, his hands planted firmly on your hips as you sunk down on him. You were moaning intensely as you moved up and down, the new position providing a new angle for you. You came hard, your fingers searching for purchase on the rug as Sirius fucked you through your orgasm. 

“Are you close?” You turned back to look at Sirius. He looked gorgeous, his sweaty curls plastered in his forehead and his hands heavy on your waist, a look of concentration in his eyes. 

“Uh, not yet.” He barked out, a vein popping in his forehead. 

“Spread your legs a little further,” You said, pushing at Sirius’s ankles. He did what you said and you sucked on your finger for a moment before pushing it between his cheeks and into his asshole. Sirius was moaning loudly now. It sounded like a name or something, he was moaning “Moony” over and over again. He was so loud that you didn’t hear the door open and notice people entering the house until Sirius was cumming intensely inside you as Regulus and a woman who could have only been Sirius’s mother were glaring down at you. You gathered your clothes quickly and apparated out before Sirius had finished lighting his cigarette. 

Massachusetts 

You were exhausted and thoroughly ready to sleep in your own bed by the time you arrived back home. You threw your trunk by the front door and called out, 

“I’m back witches!” 

Lily, Marlene, and Mary swarmed you, peppering you with hugs and kisses and beginning to hear all about your travels and see the souvenirs you brought back for them. You filled them in and by the time you were talking about your escapades with the athlete, the professor, and the heir, you were even more ready for bed. 

“Well have a good night darling. Also I’m so sorry but I used the last tampon a few hours ago, I’m going to nip to the shops in the morning,” Mary said. 

“Leave it to Mary to use the last period product in this house knowing full well that we’ve all been synced for the past few years.” Marlene playfully tossed a pillow at Mary. 

“Wait,” something dropped in your stomach, “you’re all on your period? Right now?” 

“Yeah, started two days ago. Why? You haven’t started yours?” Lily asked. 

“No. No I haven’t.” You started chewing your lip, “Anyone have a pregnancy test?”

“In the last drawer of the bathroom,” Mary pointed out as you shot up out of your seat to take the test. Your leg bounced anxiously as you waited to see the results of the test.

“Okay love, I’m sure your period is just all messy from traveling and-oh my…” Lily’s jaw dropped as she looked at your positive test,

“Who’s the father?” Marlene asked. 

“I…uh…I have no idea.” You said as you thought back to the athlete, the professor, and the heir.

[octuscle]

Welcome to Overland!

Overland Park in Kansas. I really had to google it first. Where the hell did my father get the idea that I would really study here? I mean, I have offers from Stanford and Cambridge. I'm not going to Overland Park. Kansas! Sure, it might have been a good fit for my dad. My dad is the prototypical corn-fed athlete. He looks dazzling for his 42 years, still a cross so wide that my two younger brothers and I can hide behind it. His mullet is a bit of a show-off, if you ask me. But he seems to go down well with his customers. His car dealership is the biggest in the state. My two younger brothers both have petrol in their blood. They both want to get their MBAs at Overland Park. But I'm much more interested in law. And Harvard would be my dream for that.

Anyway, my father gave me a car for my 18th birthday. A super impractical Dodge RAM. Doesn't suit me at all. And the car came with a gas voucher and a voucher for a mall around the corner. Well, I hope they'll have a Brooks Brothers store. But I'm quietly guessing that they'll only have cowboy boots and plaid shirts… Okay, not to be ungrateful, I'm making the trip to Overland Park in the monster car. I'll also attend his alma mater's orientation event if I absolutely have to. But I'll sign up over my dead body!

The drive to Kansas wasn't so bad. I admit that the car is really huge and comfortable. But the closer I got to the Midwest, the less comfortable I felt. Guys with arms thicker than my legs asked me about the car at gas stations and rest stops. I have no idea how much horsepower it has… I'm not interested either. But here you're obviously only defined by your car. And most of the muscular rednecks here made no secret of the fact that they didn't begrudge me this car. It got even worse when I parked the car in front of the hotel in Overland Park… The valet service looked almost sympathetic when I got out of the car. Tomorrow I'd better take the bus to the information day at the university.

It's incredible how many people are interested in this pathetic campus. It's pretty full in the auditorium. The dean gives a speech that is as boring as the landscape here. And the faculty members either all look like they're coaches of the football team or gardeners on campus. Hillbillies. All of them! The professors introducing each faculty call on the potential juniors who have signed up on the list for that faculty. I didn't put a cross anywhere. All uninteresting for me. And so the auditorium empties out with each professor dragging a train of high school seniors behind him. And at some point, the auditorium is empty. Only three people are still sitting here. A redhead who spends the whole time reading a book. A skinny guy playing with his cell phone and me. I speak to the skinny guy. "No desire to go to Overland Park either?" "Not on your life. I'm not studying thousands of miles from the nearest decent opera." The redhead interjects, "And pretty much everything else you'd call civilization." We laugh and introduce ourselves. Erik, the redhead (how appropriate, I'm not joking), the skinny one is Brayden and I'm Callan. We start talking. Somehow we all have a similar fate. Either our fathers or our brothers studied here. We all have more artistic than sporting interests. We all want to study either in California or New England. Erik suggests that we go out and sit on campus. The weather is nice. It's a good idea. We're sitting in the sun talking when we suddenly hear a voice.

"Hey squad! Finally found you, fam! I've been straight up grinding and hunting all over this place to link up with my homies!" Towards us comes the epitome of everything I loathe about university. An unkempt muscleman, his greasy mullet tamed with a baseball cap on backwards, in a sweaty tank top. Four bottles of beer in his hand. He hands each of us a bottle and says "Yo, yo, yo, what up fam! The name's Ryder, my professor homie spilled the tea that there are three total bros up in here who ain't about that study life, and guess what? Yours truly got the task of keepin' it real with y'all. Haha, I'm the king of slacking off, ain't nobody got time for studying and whatnot. Let's kick back and chill, my dudes!" Ryder stinks of sweat. Disgusting. But somehow also hypnotizing. He opens his bottle and says "Cheers". As if in a trance, we open our bottles and say "cheers".

"Yo, fam, check it out, I'm gonna give you a lit tour of the campus, but not that lame-o typical stuff. Like, forget about the snooze-fest library or whatever. Bro, regular dudes walk in there and walk out looking like they just stepped out of a nerd convention with their thick glasses and wack sweaters. Let's bounce and hit up the real vibes, ya feel me?" Ryder almost chokes with laughter at his own joke, which Erik counters with a fist bump. What the…? "Yo, peep that cafeteria comin' up! It's legit crucial for gettin' in that dank protein intake, ya feel me? And bro, protein is like, the holy grail of gainz. That's the fuel for them epic protein farts, man! Rock on, get that fuel, unleash the beast!" As if on cue, he lets out a fart. Shit, that stinks. Erik laughs. And farts too. Shit, didn't he actually want to study piano? At the conservatory in Boston? Strange behavior for a pianist….

Ryder tells us to wait a minute. He runs into the cafeteria and comes back with four fresh cold bottles of beer. Shit, yes, the beer tastes good. I take a deep swig. And…. BUUUUURP! Ryder and Erik are laughing uproariously. Brayden looks irritated. And I reply ""Yo, it's gonna be, like, forever until those protein farts are unleashed. So, a real dude just gotta let out a mega burp, bro!" Erik and Ryder give me a high five. And Ryder says that he's about to lead us to the source of all protein farts.

You can smell the gym changing rooms before you see them. Erik and I take a deep breath. Brayden holds the sleeve of his jacket in front of his nose. "Yo, bro, it looks like we're getting closer to your second home, huh, Ryder? Watch out for the vibes!" says Erik. Ryder does a double bicep pose and says that Erik can fucking take it. Poor Brayden is standing right next to Ryder. His nose is basically right in the sweaty bush in Ryder's armpit. "Dang, I forgot my gear for the gym! I'm totally itching to pump some iron, man." comes out of his mouth. "Dude, no worries, at our next stop we'll totally score something way cooler for you to rock." says Ryder. "Yo, dude, spit it again - what's your name, pumpin' pal?" Braydon copies Ryder's double bicep pose. I didn't think he had muscles like that. "Yo, my dudes, I'm Beau, like, duh, isn't it obvious? I mean, come on, who else could it be, right? Beau in the hizzouse, representin' like a boss!" The two of them do a chest bump. Erik and I actually look at each other a little enviously. I mean, everyone wants to be best mates with Ryder, the hottest guy on campus.

"Yo, dudes, head to the most lit spot on the whole campus. And watch out! If you think it already smells like sweat and musk, you haven't seen anything yet!" We walk across the student parking lot towards the football field. Past my baby. Ryder raises his eyebrows appreciatively and says that you rarely see cars this cool here. I pose proudly: "Geez, check out this 410 horsepower beast with eight cylinders and 581 Newton meters of torque! My 6.7-liter monster needs that kind of power too. Rocking full leather interior, a massive 12-inch touchscreen infotainment system, and a killer 750-watt sound system with 17 Harman Kardon speakers. Damn, could never roll in a hybrid after this!" Ryder gives me a chest bump too. Shit, I'm in the club!

Erik thaws out when we're finally in the changing rooms of the football stadium. He takes a deep breath. "Yo, peeps! You feelin' me on this? This smell is like pure home vibes, amirite?" he says. Ryder points to the pile of dirty laundry in the corner. "Yo, dudes, wanna toss some balls around? Let's get our sporty vibes on and slay the game with our rad skills! Let's flex our muscles and show off our mad throwing game. Let's get that adrenaline pumping and have a blast on the field. It's gonna be lit, so don't miss out, fam! Let's do this!" He really doesn't have to say that twice. In no time at all, we're undressed and rummaging naked through our clothes for something to pass. Erik deliberately lets his cock swing for a very long time before putting it into an XXL urine and cum yellow jockstrap. Dude, that boy would make horses jealous! And he can impress Ryder. Out onto the pitch and with a well-directed throw he chases the ball the length of the pitch through the goal. Four-chest bump! Shit, we all can't wait to play for the college team!

"Yo homies, any more burning questions for your boy? The sickest crew on campus is definitely mine - Alpha Phi Alpha, baby! Don't stress, you guys are total Alpha bros, so of course you'll get in. If you're down, we're throwing a lit party at the frat house tonight. Crash on the couch if you want, solo, duo, trio… whatever floats your boat. Just remember, never make eye contact, that's like, no homo!" Beau asks where he can get a cold beer now. Rick has a mega boner. And I can't wait to suck him off right away. Unless Ryder beats me to it. Shit, I'm so proud to be a business major at the University of Kansas on the Overland campus. My dad will be even prouder.

"Yo, so you wanna join the sickest crew of all the raddest universities in the damn USA?" I love the information days on campus. Lots of hot fresh meat. And the premium meat belongs to Alpha Phi Alpha, just like us! "Yo, peep this dude with the sickest Mullet ever, that's my bro Beau. And check out the fiery buff dude over there, that's Rick, the top quarterback of the football squad for real. I'm Cletus, and we 'bout to show y'all the raddest spots on campus. But first, in honor of the hottest dude to ever grace this campus, let's crack open a cold one." We take a big sip. And burp "Ryder" loudly!

[cringefaecompilation]

fearne had to be excused from alma's midwifery because she wouldn't stop holding the newborn baby halflings with one hand like she was holding a beer can

[almayver]

Holy fuck alma. I’m back and I thought about it hard (havent stopped since i saw your post about hanahaki but semantics)

LISTEN. I mentioned that Phum coughs again in the scene where they kiss thrice. I like to think that he holds off then. He coughs but he doesn’t let a single petal slip because Peem is right there, worried sick and trying to make Phum stop.

Oh the devastating gentleness of that scene. There wouldn’t be the iconic kisses, not with what’s happening to Phum. But he would still be half on top of Peem, trying to calm his breathing while Peem cradles his face with quivery fingers and whispers, “What’s happening to you?”

Phum would write it off as a cold, because even though he knows Beer told him he needs to have a talk, he can’t do it like this. He doesn’t even know how to initiate such a talk. How do you tell your crush “I’m coughing my love for you out, because I feel like you don’t feel the same?”

Talk about pressure.

SO. SO IMAGINE. Imagine the scene of the night when Phum confessed, in the show. The circumstances. Imagine how much worse it would be if instead of confessing, Phum has the biggest coughing fit in front of all their friends, flowers blood and all.

Because. That night Peem stood up to confess. Yet he didn’t. Because of insecurities, because of overthinking, because of something. And maybe Phum looked forward to it, maybe Phum wanted it so very badly. Even if there is undercurrent thought that Peem likes him back, hanahaki does require a spoken confession of love to recede.

So when Phum brings attention to himself after Peem fumbles his confession, still with the intention of doing it himself— of confessing to Peem that he likes him (because maybe then Peem will say it back, and his sickness will finally begin to fade) he doesn’t succeed.

Because as soon as he says, “Peem—“

The coughing starts, triggered by faint pang of dissapointment that Peem didn’t end up confessing first. It starts so hard that Phum ends up folding over the table between them, blood spilling like a river between the fingers pushing against this lips, petals flooding his mouth.

Peem’s backyard becomes a chaos of cries and shock and worry and Peem is absolutely horrified and Fang (who still didn’t know) is over Phum, hyperventilating because what the fuck is happening to his brother—

Only Beer is aware. And he’s the only one bolting to action. Taking hold of Phum’s shoulders and telling him to spit all the petals because if he doesn’t the coughing doesn’t stop.

And that’s the reveal. That night doesn’t end up with a confession (or maybe it does), but with a pale Phum on Peem’s bed, looking blankly at the ceiling while his brother and friends and Peem hover and fuss over him.

Imagine if the angst stretches because Fang comes up to Beer and demands to know what the fuck is happening, Peem on his tail because he’s also anxious and wants to know and Phum refuses to tell them anything yet. Merely shakes his head and burrows his face harder in Peem’s pillow.

And Beer stares at them defeatedly and tells them that he has hanahaki, an infliction that usually manifests when the one you like doesn’t like you back. He doesn’t say more because it’s not his place.

IMAGINE Fang and Peem are both dumbstruck and devastated, but for two different reasons— Fang, because he knows the whole deal. Knows the one next to him is causing it unwittingly. And Peem…

Peem because he thinks Phum likes someone, and it might not be him after all. Because this someone and his disinterest for Phum is actively harming Phum.

And it can’t be him, right? He’s accepted that he likes Phum since before camp. Had said it to his plushie, even. It can’t be him, right?

I like to imagine that Fang might want confront Peem about it, because his brother had such a painful episode and enough is enough. He takes half an hour to think about it— what Phum might say or how upset he’ll be if he interferes without his consent. But Fang just witnessed him nearly coughing his lungs out so???

But he doesn’t get the chance because Peem has already rushed up to his room to have his own confrontation with Phum.

Just. Peem sitting next to Phum’s dazed figure, feeling so unsteady inside, and softly asking, “Who’s the one hurting you like this?”

It took a lot to get it out, but the fears if it remains unanswered or unsaid is worse.

This conversation has to be crazy. So many outcomes. AaaGhhhhhh AGHHS ALMA ALMAAA

Does Phum admit that it’s Peem, when Peem is looking at him with such pain on his face, such unstable fear? Can he? CAN HE ADMIT IT?

And what if Peem has had this little thought that it might be himself after all? What if his biggest fear is that he made Phum think he didn’t like him at all, and caused all this? What if he’s proven right? Where do they go from there?

Phum would tell him that it’s not his fault. Because it’s not. Because love cannot be controlled by anyone, least of all Peem and Phum.

The Peem angst has to be crazy, because he’s just this guy who has made people around him feel so comfortable and loved all this life, and indirectly he caused Phum pain. It has to be so fucked up for him, for his gentle soul. He has to go through it hard.

I have many thoughts about all this. I rambled so much to you, alma. Alma I want this as a fic so badly. Alma what do I do. What do WE do.

I want slow burn and angst and happy ending. I want suffering but also comfort and I want whump. And a lot of stuff. AHHHSJEJDKSKS

I smiled like a mad man during this whole thing because YES. YEEEEEES. THIS IS EVERYTHING I WANTED

The ANGST. Baby the ANGST. It would go so fucking hard. Oh one of my favorite Hanahaki tropes is the person finding out and trying to help while being sure it's not them. The LAYERS. THE DRAMA.

But having Peem be there and not knowing what would be worse? If Phum loves someone else (and he loves them this hard) or if it's him and he is the one hurting him?

And the thing about phrasing it like that is, Phum would never say it's Peem. Because he might be dying but Peem has never hurt him. So I think he wouldn't admit it. He would just stay quiet. Still a little dazed, maybe slowly caressing Peem's cheeks, trying to understand why they are a little wet.

And so they move on. Except no one does but Phum. Everyone else keeps looking at him like he is about to keel over at any point and Fang is in between throttling him and wanting to bundle him up in his favorite blanket with his plushies and keep him safe. Beer is in a similar state.

And of course. You know how I am Cole. You know my agenda

Q going up to him, grabbing him and taking him to a secluded corner and just going "Tell him". Because Q is not blind, because he can't bear that Toey is going crazy from worry for his brother, because he hates seeing Peem so devastated, because he will not admit it under pain of death but he cares about Phum and hates to see him suffering every time he coughs.

And Phum. Phum can't. And let's add one of my favorite versions of Hanahaki here. And it's that what you need more than the confession, is to accept it. (Which!!! Would work so fucking nicely with them theme of the show about part of love is accepting that love. "Thanks for letting me be an important person in your life. Thanks for letting me love you. Etc etc ETC!")

So Phum, Phum knows Peem has feelings for him. He does. He is a mess of insecurities and pain and fear but objectively? He knows. He had an inkling before but seeing Peem lately it's getting kind of hard to deny.

The problem is that he doesn't think he deserves those feelings! He literally can't accept the idea of Peem loving him. Someone so messed up and repressed that he got fucking flowers growing in his lungs. So yeah Peem has feelings for him but he shouldn't. He has feelings for Phum but ... It will pass. Because Peem deserves better than him

And because we need a trigger let's bring the annoyance back. Let's have Kluen being unaware of the situation (because he bothered me but I don't think he is an asshole). And we get the scene in the café, except Phum is there. Because nowadays Phum kind of really lives there because Peem refuses to let him out of his sight and keeps making him tea to soothe his throat.

And so Kluen is there (again) and he is so calm and nice (he is better than Phum) , and that's what sends him into a really bad coughing fit. Like bad bad, with the thorns and stuff. And maybe he ran to Peem's bedroom before it got really bad. So he is just sitting there in the middle of the room, surrounded by blood and petals and thorns. And roses. Not the ones in his lungs but the ones Peem still keeps and...the ones in the painting.

And Peem comes rushing in and just, his heart is on the floor. And he cleans the mess up while Phum is still sitting there. Just staring at the painting. And then Peem sits in front of him and grabs his face and forces him to look at him. And Peem is crying. Crying because the boy he loves is in so much pain and crying because yeah. It's him isn't it. Unless Phum has the weirdest crush ever on Kluen.

And he just grabs his face and kisses him softly on his forehead, and his cheeks and his nose all while softly muttering "you dumbass. You buffalo. It's me isn't it?"

And Phum is devastated but also says in the most helplessly broken voice "Of course it's you. Who else could it be" and now Phum is also crying and trying to move away and shaking his head because "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. You deserve better"

And Peem is crying harder while also smiling and he leans forward and lets their foreheads rest together and "Who could be better than you? Huh?"

And that's it folks I don't have more. COLE HELP THIS IS GOING TO HAUNT ME FOREVER. Cole I also need this as a fic. And maybe as a movie too.

The first person to write hanahaki for We are is legally obligated to tag me. I need that

[honestsycrets]

Amor y Respeto II: Corazón [Miguel O'Hara x Reader]

chapter I: mi alma

❛ pairing | miguel o’hara x reader

❛ type | continuation of one shot.

❛ summary | you're trying to forget miguel with hobie's help on the field. but miguel isn't quite ready to let go.

❛ tags | jealousy, latina reader, slightly nsfw (only nudity), spanish is not translated, some mention of blood and wounds, violence, some paranoia, miguel is not pleased, an attempt was made at british slang, some creative liberties.

❛ sy’s notes | gif credit to aehanse. a little reference to gilgamesh with a golden bull in this chapter because i wanted a simple anomaly and for some reason a golden bull just makes me giggle a bit.

Miguel only left Nueva York for very important reasons. Very important reasons usually entailed a little stress relief at the end of a very stressful day. Very important reasons like your gentle fingertips running over his sweaty chest. Very important reasons like your plush lips wrapped around his--

“No chance,” Lyla chittered in his ear. “There’s the whole ‘I don’t love you’ thing. And that kiss?” 

A headache was brewing: everything twinkled, glistened, and refracted light.

“I was there, Lyla. Could do without the reminder.” 

“Really because--” 

“I can fix it,” Miguel growled, clawing past the tall buildings rife with beautiful flowers. It was your favorite time of year. The perfect time to go to the balcony and wait for him to follow behind, to pick off the yellow pollen that dusted his burnt umber hair.

When he finally breached your plant-filled balcony, the window was open despite his warnings to keep it closed. You loved the light and drew the blinds open day by day to let in the bright light of the day. In contrast, he could have done without the bright light streaming in during his early morning visits. That wasn’t wholly the issue. The issue was anyone who wanted to watch you sleep in your love-rustled sheets could. He could.

Miguel’s hands hooked on his slender hips. He glanced at the offensive presence of a singular powdery pink rose in a vividly graffitied cup that he hadn’t given you. He didn't need to guess to know who had. As your shorthair cat trotted into your bedroom, he realized that the rest of the apartment was empty. He wouldn’t be mewing at him if you were singing in the kitchen and making cookies that he shouldn’t eat. It's little, you would guilt him and squish a bite-sized morsel in his mouth. 

Miguel jerked his head to the side and threw a look at Lyla. She threw up her hands in response. They came to the same conclusion. “The roof?” 

There wasn't a worse time to climb the last few floors of your apartment. Light battered his senses as the sun crested past the rooftops of your city and emitted pastel crystal hues. Soon, the night would fall on your busy city and cloak it in darkness. In the darkness, problems always arose.

"Se dice-- never mind, it's a pastellio," you brushed off the small chunks of crystal that nipped at your forearms and picked a chunk up off of a paper-thin napkin. The crumbly remnants held their own memories. Memories of your fingers sealing pastry dough over a cool picadillo, arguing about the quality of HQ cafeteria’s empanadas all by yourself despite knowing that he liked them. They didn’t taste the same lately.

“Tastes like a meat pie,” Hobie waggled a crusty corner. “Must be a meat pie.” 

You brought the rim of an opaque brown glass bottle to your lips. The malt drink coursed down your throat slowly, leaving your throat cool and refreshed. Just the way you wanted to feel after a long day of work. “If that’s a meat pie, this is beer.” 

Hobie-- Miguel sneered. There had some alternative, impure reason he was here. Maybe it was to piss him off, to distract him from the work really at hand. If that was it, he lamented, he was doing a good job. Why else would he be here?

“A kiddy beer,” he flicked over one of his empty beer bottles. “Listen. You coming to see the concert?” 

“Whose?” 

“Mines, who else?” he answered. “Gwen’ll be there.” 

“It’s not really my scene, Hobie,” you said. “Don't you think I’m a bit old for that sort of thing?” 

“Old?” Hobie chirped after you. You swayed under the force of his playful punch to your shoulder and returned one to his willowy arm. Your eyes turned back to the crystalized sun dipping beneath the horizon. He sucked his tongue against the roof of his tongue. “Letting that muppet shoot his cum in ya is the only thing that’s gonna make you old. Complicit. You wanna be complicit?” 

“¡Fo! Gross, stop,” you dropped your drink to the side and flopped back onto the unforgiving concrete roof. But he had a point, your palm migrated over your belly. His spunk was probably still wiggling around in your stomach. Miguel simpered in the shadows.

“You never see these autocrats for who they are," he lamented.

“It has nothing to do with… Hobie. Hobie, my love isn’t politic--”

“Everything is political.” 

“Hobie, I take care of him-- them,” you motioned to your city, glittering in the fading sunlight. “For love and laughter. That’s what we all deserve. Love and laughter. Miguel wants it too, he’s just,” Incapable or unwilling, you suppressed. “Complicated.” 

“Complicated,” Hobie spat out as though it offended him. “It ain't complicated to me. He don’t love you. Half the time he don’t even like you.” 

“But I love him.” 

“His love? It ain’t enough.” 

“It matters to me.” 

A low growl emanated from his deep chest. It was enough to cause your heads to wrack around in his direction. Miguel steeled his body against the wall he dangled from, shielded in the dark crystally shadows of a mural.

“Should we--” you stared at the wall, eyes narrowing.

Fuck.

“Ain’t nothing to be worried about. Probably a rat— a big rat,” Hobie lurched over your body. His long and lanky arms caged your body beneath him. It was a universe apart from Miguel’s well-corded arms, broad and strong. Arms that, at the moment, Miguel used not to spring off the wall.

“It’s his muscles.”

“¡Ay cállate! Why is it always his muscles?” You ruptured into laughter and reached up to push him away by his thick wicks. You crawled out from underneath Hobie and stretched out your arms behind your back. Tension unwound from Miguel with an exhale of stale air from his lungs.

“You got a type,” Hobie lazed his elbow over his knee. 

“You don’t know any of my exes, Hobie,” you swept up your trash and covered your head with your rebozo-like cowl. At that exact moment, your watch blared. “And you ain’t know mine, either.”

“Vente, Corazón. I have a call.”

Corazón?

“Can’t handle it yourself?” Hobie hopped up and adjusted his guitar, slouching off his shoulder. 

“Just because I can, doesn't mean I have to,” you took a step to the edge of the rooftop. You turned your hands up. “C'mon, I’ll even make you cookies.” 

Make him cookies. You would change out of your blood-smattered outfit into a little slip to make Hobie, a man that you knew he had a very poor opinion of, cookies. A man that was reckless in life, reckless in HQ, and would not take orders that didn’t benefit his perception of the world. His breathing hitched, heavy and sharp, to keep his rage in check. If you respected him, you would never invite Hobie anywhere near your apartment. Especially not at night. What were you thinking? 

“That your way of keeping me for the night?” Hobie asked. “Think I’ll get lucky?”

“Is it working?” 

You looked Hobie over once, starting at his boots and ending at Hobie’s pierced lip. Your lips budded in a terrible smile. A look that Miguel did not like, not at all. You turned and stepped off the building, out of his field of vision. Hobie followed soon after.

The sun faded far past the horizon, cloaking Miguel in solitary indigo darkness. His fingers teased the ochre face of his watch-- he had things to do.

You didn’t need backup. 

You crawled out of the rubble of one of your favorite flower shops. Bits of lavender crystal embedded in your arm drew blood down your arm. As of late, it felt as though you couldn’t do anything right. Hobie was a consistent fixture in your life and fixed the amateur mistakes you were making day by day without mentioning your incompetence. He was good to you.

This time was different. You recognized this anomaly from another time, but not another place. It was here, at the intersection of Cereza and Trini, that months ago that Miguel and you-- No, you did not need backup. You didn’t need him.

The thick, muscular leg of the stupid bull stormed by. The thing was comically obnoxious. Just as obnoxious as the ache in your chest every morning when you woke up alone in your bed with Miguel visiting… not even once in the past few days. You wondered if he even thought of you.

“Miss Spider lady, are you okay?” a little girl with thick brown pom-pom puff hair and the warmest caramel eyes asked. Usually, she sold singular flowers at the cash register of her parent’s shop. You hated to think what hardship would come to them because of your inadequacy. If you could control your emotions, as Miguel rang true, this never would have happened.

“Si, si, Zaniah,” your head spun with the pain radiating from your side. You broke something, and of course, it wasn’t healing. You blamed him. Your feet stumbled forward in a line. You didn’t want to see the headlines of this one. Most spiders dealt with villains worth the name, villains with prowess. You? A shiny fucking bull from heaven. “No te preocupes, go, go.” 

“Mami, mami!” the little girl shrieked and bolted, her flowy purple cape dissipated as she disappeared into the back. You felt bad for the mother that would have to deal with that for the next few days as you broke into a run, flexing your wrist for webbing. 

If you could just-- trip the damn thing. Then, somehow, with enough time you could… oh, you didn’t know, bind its legs? Or bind its legs first then tip? But where would you even tip without casualties? Maybe, if you were lucky, you could lure it to the river-- but that was on the outskirts of town. You were running out of time. You had to deal with it. Had to. What would that little girl think? What would Miguel think? 

“You sure you don’t need backup?” Lyla asked, her gilded frame bending at the waist. "Because you look like you need backup."

“Si,” you hissed. “I am sure, Lyla. I don’t need anyone. And I especially don't need Miguel. I got this.” 

Your red boots connected with its fuzzy back. Its great, golden chain skid across the concrete floor, emitting an awful hissing noise. You seized its collar and jammed your heels into its back to try and force the thing to heel. It wasn’t. Despite your strength, you weren’t strong enough to do it on your own. The pressure on the side of your rib cage was becoming immense. Breathing became a chore. 

“No you don’t,” she sang. 

It was moments later that the bull howled pitifully. It slid on its side, crunching old cars and taking out rusty street lamps under its thick muscle. Despite digging your heels in, the damn thing whirled you off like a children’s dreidel. The force of the impact thrust you off its back and into a rusty tow truck. The pain burned low in your back. Hobie: to the rescue again. At some point, you were going to have to give him something better than cookies.

“Get up,” rasped your backup, cloaked in vast dark blue and red. Not Hobie, then. Your hazy eyes were playing tricks on you. You heaved out rattly breaths as you obeyed, or tried to obey the dumb big man in your life.

It felt wrong. Everything felt wrong. Heavy and hard, your limbs fought the attempt to move. Before you could complain a minute further about how fucking infuriating it was to have him run to your aid, your world eclipsed into the darkness. 

You woke up with a pulsing headache and the very unwelcome sight of Jess. Through her yellowy glasses, you recognized her colorful kaleidoscope of emotions: annoyance, derision, and eventually… relief. It wasn’t the infirmary. The bed was too comfortable for that. You quickly realized that you were in his room with nothing but one of his annoying tech bandages mummified to your chest. You knew from that alone that you were in for it-- if not for her face becoming increasingly more stoic. They should have been siblings.

“You needed backup,” her arms encircled her belly. “Didn’t you?” 

Your eyes fell to the soft sheets that tickled your skin. Breathing was still hard, harder with the anxiety of knowing a lecture was headed your way. You couldn’t lie to Jess. Tears pricked your cheeks and you tried to steel your heart from them.

It was impossible. His room overwhelmed you: from his rich scent that perfumed the sheets you laid on to the air you breathed. He was close by. That alone was more stress than you could handle.

“I know Jess. I needed backup. Pero, the anomaly, it was-- I thought I could handle it.” 

“Pero nothing,” she held a gloved hand up. “Girl, I don’t need your excuses.” 

“But I’ve called Hobie too much this week.” 

“Is Hobie the only one here? You could have called me. Or-- and I’m just being crazy here. Miguel? Your man?” she rolled her head toward the back of the room. She must not have heard. You followed her gaze to where he stood, his uniform flopped unceremoniously about his waist. Your heart strummed and skipped a beat. With her words, Miguel turned his eyes up from the wound at his waist-- to your eyes. They pierced your heart in the darkness. He would have come.

“You know what? I’ll just leave you two alone.” 

“No, no, no Jess, por favor--” She left without another word. Punishment in its own right. Your hand approached your chest, covering your cleavage from his sight. His hand swayed over the pad to lock the door shut. 

Your head dropped back on his flat pillows. Whether it was the bundles of discomfort at his presence or actual shots of pain, the awkward silence was growing increasingly too much for you to handle. He brought you here, into his bed, for a reason you couldn’t understand. You both were done. Finished. Miguel didn’t seem to think so.

“You act as if I haven’t seen you naked before.”

Maybe, he had seen you naked before. He had no right to anymore. You opened your eyes to look at him, noting the strong scent of sweat permeating his skin and the warm sheen that dusted his chest. You had your increased senses to thank for that. You swallowed air in forceful gulps and burrowed painful shockwaves in your chest. If nothing else, you could at least swallow pain with some honor.

Everything that Miguel did had a purpose. You couldn’t help but eye the way his thumbs looped around his waistband to draw his pants lower, freeing his swarthy skin from indigo fabric. Your eyes fell on his flaccid cock that sat on a tuffet of his thick black pubic hair, chased the curve sight of his shapely ass, and settled on his strong rideable thighs. It was the least egregious sight to stare at. He slipped the suit over his shoulder, raising his brown brows in unison. 

“And as if you haven’t seen me naked before, either.” 

“It… it’s been a while.” Your eyes darted past his figure to the door. You were sure it was locked.

"Has it really?" Miguel threw out as he disappeared into his bathroom. For a moment, you debated running. Your heart ached with the knowledge that he would just come to find you. He left knowing that you would not disobey him because, after everything, you respected his wishes. 

What Miguel's wishes were today was up for debate. The only thing you were sure of was the gentle pitter-patter of water droplets, the steam that emanated from the bath, and his lofty figure swaying in the distance. The warm certainty that filled your body knowing that he would come back to bed. Because that’s what Miguel did when you were hurt: he paid attention. 

He came back into the room nude, ruffling his hair with a fluffy towel. You couldn’t convince yourself to act as if you were asleep. His presence shattered any illusion of ignoring him, even with the expressionless way he considered you tonight. He was utterly intolerable.

After an eternity boxed in with your thoughts, reality came as Miguel, a smooth wall of muscle, clambered into the bed. The bed shifted under Miguel’s weight. Just as you predicted, the warmth of his chest was against your slight back and his large palm was flat against your stomach. 

You broke up with him for a reason, you broke up with him for a reason— Miguel didn’t seem to care about those delicate details. He caressed your neck with his nose. His lips dragged over your unmarked skin. As certain as a clock was to click, your body became slick with anticipation. You knew he could tell. 

You were weak. Weak out there. Weak in here. Weak everywhere.

“You smell… different.”

“Miguel, por favor,” you breathed, thready and thin. “It’s just Hobie.”

“Hobie?” he growled. Miguel’s hand encompassed the large space of your belly. Your legs shifted as Miguel held you a little firmer. You expected his hand to move lower, but he didn’t.

“Hm. Why would it be Hobie?” he asked, his voice dripping dangerously low. “Is there something I should know, Corazón?”

“No, I, no,” you stammered. He knew. Though you said the words, they felt cut off from what you were saying. As though the threat of his rejection took over all the confidence in your world. "You were watching?"

You turned in his arms to face him. His forehead creased in disapproval. You opted to press your forehead against his, running your nose against his, breath puffing his lips.

"You thought I wouldn't," he said. His eyes spun with sharpness, searching your face for evidence of the truth. As though he were asking if you’d been unfaithful despite the breakup. Your face was always pitifully easy to read. Even with the breakup, he could read your intentions as clearly as the words on his lab screens.

"I didn't think you cared."

You were used to a Miguel who crept into your bedside window, slunk into your bed, and woke you up from your slumber with the weight of his body between your legs. A Miguel that only had time for brief moments of pleasure and successful results. This Miguel was different.

"You know I do."

And there it was. He pushed himself free of the bed in search of pants. You watched him pull them over his ass before he flopped into the one chair in the middle of his room, head in his hand. Lyla, he rumbled something under his breath you couldn’t quite hear. Your senses were dull, something you equated to the exhaustion and sleepiness that threatened to overtake you at any given moment. 

“Something is different. And it isn’t him,” he sneered. 

You missed the warmth of his body against yours. The ginger way he touched you just moments before. After days of being without his touch, you missed the simple things. Like the way he touched you. The way he focused on you alone in a room full of others. You hated yourself for craving it. You made a choice. Why couldn’t you stick with it? 

“What did I do wrong now?” Your tongue felt thick and heavy in your mouth. It was the very cottonmouth you feared you would have when telling Miguel about Gwen and Miles. Your mind was too hazy to rationalize what you possibly could have done this time. Miguel would always be an impenetrable castle, one you could admire from afar but never enter. 

“Nothing!” He snapped. You recoiled from the shrill in his voice. Miguel ran his hand through his hair, easing his tone down to a murmur. He threw you a small, bittersweet glance. Almost a smile. “Muñeca, you did nothing wrong. Get some rest.” 

He sat there a moment longer. A frown grew on his lips as Miguel stood up and walked toward the door. After one, two, then three attempts to open the door, his closed fist slammed a hole into the siding. It finally whirled open and allowed him to exit. It left you in the sea of silence that was his dark room. You never liked waking up in his room alone. It was bare, too bare, for anyone to live in. You worried that his mind was just like that.

“Lyla? Lyla, I want to go home.” 

It was a long time-- too long-- before she answered. “You should sleep.” 

And though she advised that, it was a restless night.

[mickandmusings]

brotherly advice

pairing: professor au!sam winchester x TA! fem! reader

word count: 1.3k

summary: when breakout attorney sam winchester decided to leave his life of law to teach at his alma mater, nearly everyone in his life thought he had made a mistake. sometimes your biggest 'mistake' can lead to the happiest of consequences.

based on this request! (so sorry, I saw your request and my mind ran with this idea. it's probably not exactly the idea you had in mind.)

warnings: fluff, age gap relationship (sam is in his 30s, reader is in her 20s), au from supernatural tv show, sam and dean are still close because I refuse to believe they wouldn't be in any other universe, probably incorrect law terms/knowledge (author has little law knowledge), probably incorrect college knowledge (author was never a ta)

-

When Sam Winchester-up and coming, breakout young attorney-announced his early quits of practicing law to return to his alma mater to teach, everyone had called him crazy.

Well, almost everyone.

The day Sam decided he wanted to quit, he sat in his older brother's garage, his tie untied and the sleeves of his formal shirt rolled up his arms, nursing a beer. Sam finally spilled his well-kept secret to Dean, awaiting another disappointed look and pleas for him to rethink this. Instead, Dean nodded, took a swig of his own beer and began working underneath the hood of the car between them.

"Good for you," Dean's rough voice came after a moment. "I don't think you're making a mistake at all, Sammy. You should go for it, that job is suckin' the life outta you."

Sam knew Dean was right, Dean had always been wise in his own way. A few weeks later, Sam had settled into a life of sweater vests and headaches induced by reading half-assed international law essays from freshmen. Sam had been hunched over the desk in his office, rubbing his temples with his eyes closed when the sound of his office door opening alerted him to someone entering the room. He sighed, not even looking up before he spoke.

"Office hours are on Mondays and Thursdays."

"Um, noted, but I'm not here for office hours. I'm Y/N, your new TA? You are Professor Winchester, right?"

Sam's green eyes popped open, looking up at the figure standing in front of his desk. Y/N stood in front of Sam's desk with a wide-eyed look, and Sam took in her appearance. She was dressed in a professional manner, a folder of papers in her arms and an unconvincing smile drawn across her face. Sam swallowed thickly as he felt embarrassment wash over him, he had completely forgotten about meeting his new TA today.

"Uh, right! Of course, I-It completely slipped my mind, it's been a long day already. And please, call me Sam."

Y/N chuckled slightly, sitting in the chair in front of his desk.

"It's alright, Sam, I get it."

Over the course of the first few weeks of Sam and Y/N's newfound work relationship, Sam noted several things about her-Y/N was quiet, punctual, and completely professional. To Sam, she was too reserved, he was used to the cocky blabbing of attorneys at his old job and Dean's (mostly) nonsensical chatter in his leisure. After weeks of her sheer silence, Sam began the efforts of getting her to talk, which seemed to work in his favor. He quickly learned things about her: Y/N was a senior law student at 26-a late bloomer in the college world, her favorite movie of all time was Top Gun-which Sam made fun of her incessantly for-and her favorite guilty pleasure was the chocolate croissants at the bakery across from her apartment. Through their completely unserious chatter, he found out more personal things about her, like how she truly, truly hated law. It had been her parents idea for her college plans, not her true heart's desire. Y/N wanted to be a writer, to write her own series of fantasy books.

As the school year progressed, so did Sam and Y/N's friendship. She found herself hanging around his office more often, enjoying his company versus that of her classmates. Late office hours turned into him inviting her for dinner at the local 24-hour diner, and their dinners turned into something neither of them wanted to admit: Sam quickly found himself staring at Y/N longer than necessary, and Y/N kept imagining what it would be like to run her hands through Sam's long hair.

After Y/N's graduation from Stanford, their talks had moved to his apartment: Y/N spending hours helping him grade essays or Sam helping her proofread chapters of her own book over glasses of wine, all of which led to Y/N sleeping on Sam's couch-despite his protests and begs of her to take his bed instead. However, after a night of one-too-many glasses of wine and brushing touches of each other's hands, Y/N and Sam had ended up sharing the bed instead. Now, her fantasy novels lived on the same bookcase as Sam's textbooks, her sneakers in the door next to his much larger boots, and her weighted blanket that Sam's feet peeked out from the bottom of was draped across their bed, which is where the pair slept this very moment.

-

The sound of Sam's six AM alarm made Y/N's eyes open sleepily, realize where she was, and more notably, what time it was, before she curled back into her pillow and closed her eyes. The sound of Sam's yawning and the removal of his arm slung around her waist made her groan, feeling cold without Sam's furnace-like warmth against her. She heard Sam shuffle into the bathroom to get ready for his morning run, her eyes fluttering shut again, barely even registering the kiss he left on her forehead before he left out the door.

Y/N woke several hours later, sunlight shining through the curtains of she and Sam's bedroom, birds chirping in the distance, and the sound of Sam's footsteps sounded in the kitchen-likely cooking breakfast. Y/N stretched her arms up, lifting the covers and sliding on her slippers as she shuffled lazily into their living room. Sam's tall figure stands at the stove, flipping something in a pan. His running clothes had been traded for his leisurely lounge wear, his hair still damp from his post-run shower. She guessed he hadn't heard her come in yet, so she slowly made her way to him, wrapping her arms around his torso and resting her head on his back, still sleepy.

Sam laughs, his empty hand rested on her arms, his chest warming at her touch His voice comes out low and soft.

"Mornin', baby."

Y/N groans, still not quite awake enough for words. Sam laughs, turning off the eggs he was cooking and pulling her to his front, her head resting on his chest now. Sam kisses her head, his hand running through her unstyled hair. Silence ensues, until Y/N notes new items on their counter-a bouquet of carnations and dahlias in a vase of water, and the signature red box adorning the logo of the bakery across from her old apartment. Her head lifts to rest her chin on Sam's chest, looking up at him.

"Flowers?"

Sam's eyes swivel to the flowers in the vase before turning back to her.

"Yeah, got those from that flower cart right down the bakery, the one that elderly couple runs?"

Y/N's mind blanks, her sentence coming out without thinking.

"You bought me flowers?"

Sam gives her a confused smile, his hand tucking the hair in her face behind her ear.

"Uh, yeah?" He lets out a confused chuckle. "Baby, are you still asleep?"

Y/N looks up at him. "Why?"

Sam furrows his eyebrows, his big green eyes meeting hers.

"Does there have to be a reason? Just, saw the flowers, they were beautiful, made me think of you." Sam shrugs.

Y/N's eyes go soft, her shoulders dropping as a smile forms on her face. She stands on her tiptoes to reach Sam's lips, his hands coming on either side of her hips as he deepens the kiss.

"I love you, Sam Winchester," Y/N speaks after they break apart, the statement causing Sam to pull her in for another kiss, completely forgetting about his own breakfast in favor of enjoying her touch.

Nearly everyone had told Sam he had made the biggest mistake of his life, but now, as he looked at the woman he loved, he realized he hadn't thought anything he did was a mistake. He was glad he'd taken his brother's advice. Y/N smiled at his big green eyes and goofy smile, pulling him in for another kiss, her hand running through his hair. Sam smiled into the kiss and pulled her closer by her hips.

He'd have to thank Dean later.

[ivystoryweaver]

Spectre

A Moon Knight Halloween Love Story

Event #4: From Dusk till Dawn

prev | Fic Masterlist | My Masterlist | next

Event #4 Summary: Jakeyyyyy and a guest star

Pairing this chapter: Jake Lockley x f!reader (alters mentioned several times)

Word count: 2k

Content: angst, mentions of food and alcohol, fluff-ish? Fluff-adjacent. Coping with death, longing, not beta'd

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PREVIOUSLY on "Spectre"...

"Goodnight, my darling," Steven whispered. "I met the most charming lady today. You would have positively loved her. And her shop. God, I wish you could see..."

He exhaled a weary sigh, pressing a kiss to the picture. "She had a lot to say about souls and soulmates. Said souls are eternal. If that's true, I hope you're happy, love. And at peace."

With that, he sauntered back into the bedroom, never noticing where you sat perched on the end of the bed.

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Mercifully, Steven had the body for a couple days.

Mercifully for Marc. Not for you.

Steven couldn’t see you.

You watched him sleeping last night and again tonight. You envied the peace he seemed to feel while he rested, wishing you could remember how it felt to fall asleep.

His dark lashes fanned out, kissing his cheeks. He was so beautiful.

"Oh Steven, why am I here?" you whispered. "Why can't you see me?"

He stirred, whispering your name but quickly drifted back to sleep.

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It was longer still until you saw Marc again. You felt...guilty? If you could remember such a feeling, that your visitation had caused him enough distress to disassociate.

Of course, the boys tended to front at random, but Marc was absent for his day off as well as his next shift at the hardware store. Filling in for Marc at his job always left Steven a little out of sorts.

Which brought you to Jake.

You were only somewhat conscious of thought and feeling, when the next moment you could comprehend, you were perched on the edge of the bed, wearing Marc's hoodie.

That's when Jake strolled into the bedroom with a monster sized sandwich and a beer.

You straightened up, wondering if he would see you, like Marc - or see right through you, like Steven. It certainly felt like an eternity since you'd laid eyes on Jake.

He spotted you right away, granting you an awe-filled smile.

"Mi alma," he whispered. "Look at you."

You rose, approaching him slowly. "Jake? Can you see me?"

"Of course I can," he answered, setting his dinner down on the night table before folding his arms over his chest and studying you carefully. "But I'm disappointed. Marc said he saw you naked."

He cracked a grin, which imbued you with a lightness. If you recalled, it almost felt like...a laugh.

But you didn't laugh out loud. You barely even smiled. It was foreign to you now.

So Jake assumed you were confused, or maybe offended.

"Lo siento, mi amor."

"Why?" You challenged. "I'm just so relieved you can see me. Steven can't, and Marc keeps calling himself crazy."

"Hmm..." Jake nodded thoughtfully. "That tracks. I'm obviously the most reasonable one."

There it was again - that warm, sparkly lightness inside. It felt...nice.

You boldly eased closer to him.

Jake's dark eyes studied your own before flickering down to your lips. "That's my jacket."

Those very lips of yours turned upward, just at the corners. There it was. A smile. Yes...smiling.

"It's Marc's," you gently refuted. "Remember?"

Jake shrugged one shoulder, pleased to see you warming up to him, in a sense. "I call bullshit. But you stole it a long time ago. Guess it's yours."

The passage of time seemed to sober you.

"Jake," you whispered pleadingly. "H-how long since...how long have I been like this?"

He swallowed hard. Marc relayed that you seemed to become easily confused or disoriented. Jake didn't want that. He wanted to see you smile again.

"Marc said it's October," you added.

"Doesn't matter," Jake replied matter-of-factly. "You're here now. I missed you."

You opened your mouth to speak, but quickly closed it again, turning toward the window to stare out at the stars. Jake feared you might vanish, but you spoke softly.

"I don't understand anything. I don't even know what I'm doing here."

"Hey, hey, slow down," Jake instructed, reaching for you but coming up empty. His hand quite literally brushed right through the space your arm was visually occupying.

Withdrawing his fingers, he frowned, but not at you. You began inspecting the room, looking this way and that, while Jake cocked his head way up as if addressing the ceiling.

"Khonshu, what is this?"

Your head whipped back around to Jake - then your eyes followed his line of sight up, up - there, in the corner of the bedroom, a tall, freaky looking bird skeleton thumped his staff and clambered forward.

"Oh my god," you gasped, backing away quickly. "W-what is that?"

Realizing you'd never laid eyes on the old bird (as Steven called him), Jake explained.

"He looks weird, right? I have to look at him every night."

Khonshu made a groaning sound, but Jake shrugged.

"Every. single. night."

"Why can I see him?" You questioned warily, inching closer to Jake's side.

"Because you are no longer a part of this world," Khonshu's voiced boomed, in the dramatic-ass fashion he always found the need to speak in.

Finding courage from Jake's wit and warmth, you spoke directly to the ancient one.

"Where am I then? My home? For brief moments, to torment my partner? Then back to the Dark Place?"

Khonshu's tattered robes shifted as he appeared to bend down and peer out the window, perhaps at the night sky he governed.

"I have no answers for you," he rumbled, reflectively. "Your journey is not within my purview."

"My journey?" You questioned, glancing at Jake. "What journey? I'm...dead."

Yes. You were. It was becoming clearer to you now.

"Nothing I say will alter your course," Khonshu mysteriously uttered.

"Cut the decoder ring shit and answer her," Jake demanded, moving close to you, which gave you both a sense of comfort, even though you were merely a vapor - untouchable.

Khonshu simply vanished making Jake groan in frustration.

What was happening? You were seeing Khonshu now? And he couldn't help you? Where were you? A sense of dread that used to feel like...panic crept up your chest, tightening where your throat used to be.

"Jake, where am I?" You desperately whispered, reaching out for him. "If I'm dead then why am I not with my parents? Or - or..."

Jake's heart burned within him. If only he could pull you into his arms and hold you close.

"Shhh, mi amor," he soothed. He could see how disoriented you were becoming. Your eyes darted around as you eased toward the window. "Focus on my voice. Stay here with me. It's all right."

He called your name, trying to keep your eyes fixed on him. Fortunately, Jake had benefitted from Marc's brief encounters with you. Where Marc was terrified and traumatized - very on-brand Marc - Jake tried to take this apparent haunting in stride and see if he could make any progress with you, for all your sakes.

But his stomach twisted and his soul ached for you. Were you really lost somewhere unknown? Somewhere in which even Khonshu could not, or would not interfere, or help you?

"Will you come to bed with me?" Jake attempted, offering his hand in futility.

Your pretty face scrunched in confusion.

"Just...lie down with me. Talk to me," he coaxed, ignoring the huge sandwich he'd made for dinner, still sitting on the night table.

You seemed to forget, momentarily, your plight. Your form drifted to the bed and you somehow eased down beside your partner.

His dark eyes softened, round with concern, almost as if Steven was gazing at you adoringly.

"There you go," he soothed. "Está bien, mi corazón. Cálmate."

The smooth tenor of his voice relaxed you somewhat.

"I don't know if this is lying down," you admitted, a bit sheepishly. "It doesn't really make any difference to me since I can't...feel."

"You can’t feel?" he sympathetically questioned.  "Is it because you’re not...solid?" He wasn’t quite sure about the physics of an apparition.

"I guess not."

The two of you lay on the bed, facing one another - hands tucked under cheeks and knees drawn up comfortably.  

"You're still so beautiful," he whispered, dark eyes flickering over your features. He whispered your name again, as if saying it would anchor you here in time, in this room.

The mere sound of it sent a shiver up your spine...that is, if you had a spine.

"Your eyes are sad," you whispered, longing to see the love and devotion you used to see reflected there. Jake's eyes now held a soft melancholy - a yearning.

Marc's held despair and fear.

Steven's eyes were vacant to you. You didn't seem to exist to him.

"I've caused you each so much pain," you sorrowfully breathed. "I've been so alone but...maybe this is worse."

"No, mi alma. It's not worse that you're with me. Never." He granted you a sympathetic smile. "You've been alone? In a dark place?"

You nodded. "You're the only person I've seen. And this is the only room I know." Your forehead wrinkled cutely in confusion. "You're not afraid of me?"

It was a silly question. Was Jake Lockley afraid of anything?

Waiting a beat, he responded softly, "I could never be afraid of you. I'm only afraid for you."

He eyed you curiously.  “"Are you always here, in this room?  Do you ever leave?"

You found yourself feeling relaxed by his confidence, if you remembered that emotion correctly. “I don’t really know," you admitted, with a small shake of you head. “Sometimes, I’m here. I walk around the room, look out the window or even lie on the bed. But sometimes, I’m somewhere..."

"The dark," he supplied.

Your gaze dropped.  "I didn’t know dying would be like this."

Jake could see why this would torment Marc. After Randall died, Marc feeling like he couldn't save someone he loved was absolutely unbearable. Jake was fronting to protect him, and he wanted to protect you too.

But how could he solve a problem he couldn't punch? How could he strike fear into the heart of death itself?

"Will you talk to me, Jake?" You implored. "About anything? I want to hear your voice."

If he could simply speak and ease your burden, he would gladly do so.

Jake told you about the dying flower bed out front - how he and Marc planned to weed it and make sure it didn't get too overgrown. He talked about anything he could think of, which was quite a challenge for him, compared to Steven.

He told you about a young boy he rescued last week, in the city - how grateful his mom was to have him home safe.

"I don't know all of Steven's trivia," he admitted, after a while. "He's probably the one you want talking your ear off. But I could tell you a joke."

"Okay, go," you replied, smiling sweetly.

The sight of it melted Jake into a puddle.

He cleared his throat. "Uhh, knock, knock."

You giggled. "Who's there?"

"Alec."

"Alec who?"

"Alec-tricity. Bzzzz."

Jake used to tell you this stupid joke all the time. When he made the electric buzzing noise, he would poke one finger into your quite ticklish ribs making you squeal with laughter.

Only this time, you felt nothing.

His gaze dropped as his finger swiped through you. "Guess it's not that funny anymore," he whispered. "Sorry."

"Jake, that joke was never funny," you shot back, a teasing smile on your face.

Well, mission accomplished. You were smiling. And you were here.

The hour was late and Jake, yes, even Jake was tired.

"Knock, knock," he murmured drowsily.

"Who's there?" You gently responded, your eyes lingering on the lines of his handsome face, desperate to hold the sight of it in your mind's eye. Something to cherish in the dark.

"Annie."

"Annie who?"

"Annie way I can kiss you?" His eyes drooped heavily.

"You’’re sleepy."

"Am not," he protested, stifling a yawn.

"You are. I wish I remembered what it felt like to get sleepy."

"You don’t remember?" This pulled his eyes back open for a moment.

"Not really.  I just always feel...awake.  Like I’m floating.  I don’t know." You shook your head slightly.  

Jake’s eyes were fluttering closed and one rebellious lock of chocolate hair had fallen across his forehead.  You wanted to reach out and brush it back - if only you could.

He sighed again, his head dropping to the pillow. "I’m so tired, but I don’t want to go to sleep."

"Why not?" You asked, blinking innocently.

"Because..." another sigh, "I’m afraid that when I wake up, you’ll be gone.”

"I'll come back," you promised. "Just sleep, baby."

"Mmm," he mumbled, feeling a serenity that had left him the day you died. "Te amo."

next

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

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[liaromancewriter]

Kismet

Premise: Ethan walks into a bar, and everything changes with one look.

Book: Open Heart (pre-series) Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Cassie Valentine) Rating/Category: Teen. Angst (sort of) Trope: Pining Words: 1,045

A/N: This is not part of my hc for their relationship, but I got to thinking: what if? Submission for @choicesjunechallenge2024 prompt "beginning"

The walk down memory lane had been an unusual step for him. He’d never been one to look behind when forward was the only thing in his control.

And yet, Dr. Ethan Ramsey retraced his steps, remembering late nights at the hospital, longer nights debating medicine with his best friend and staying up past dawn to cook breakfast for an overnight guest of the female persuasion.

The brick facades of Johns Hopkins’s medical school campus and neighboring hospital radiated a warm, historical charm that contrasted with Baltimore’s industrial urban vibe. The air was thick with the scent of spring blossoms, mingling with the distant hum of traffic from Orleans Street.

Back then, he’d been one of many students cramming to survive and score a top residency. Almost seven years later, he was a distinguished fellow of infectious diseases and a new attending physician at one of the premier teaching hospitals in the Northeast.

He’d once fought tooth and nail to get professors to notice him and get into research projects. Now, those same professors had invited him to participate in a multidisciplinary research study at his alma mater. His career was finally picking up speed.

He’d come a long way from the motherless son of a cable repairman in Providence, Rhode Island.

Lost in memories, Ethan kept walking, marching past gas stations and seedy liquor stores until he reached the red brick townhouses and apartment buildings that marked the edge of Upper Fells Point.

While he and Tobias had shared a two-bedroom walk-up close to the hospital, they’d spent enough time in the bars at Upper Fells and Canton to consider them a second home.

Ethan stepped into the familiar, dingy atmosphere of a neighborhood pub popular among medical students. The yeasty smell of beer, sweat and cologne permeated the air.

In his day, the bartender had been a wizened old sailor with a surly attitude and a talent for sensing trouble before it brewed over. Now, a perky brunette manned the stick, tattoos covering one arm and a nose ring that sparkled when it caught the light.

Despite that, the scents and sounds were typical of a Friday night. The rattle of balls from the two guys playing pool in the corner, laughter from a blonde with darts in her hand smiling flirtatiously at a beefy, muscular type he often associated with meatheads.

Feeling nostalgic, he wound his way to the end of the bar and parked himself on a padded stool with a clear view of the minuscule dance floor. He caught the eye of the bartender, who nodded in acknowledgment as she finished an order for another customer.

Ethan glanced sideways as the blonde darts player squeezed into the tight space beside his stool and leaned her elbows on the bar. Her companion caged her from behind, placing his hands on the bar, pressing his front to her back, and leaning in.

“Back off, JD,” Blondie ordered in a no-nonsense tone.

The Meathead eased his hips back but otherwise kept close. “Come on, babe. One date. You won’t regret it.”

Blondie scoffed. “No. We made a bet. I beat you at darts, and you’d stop bugging me. Last time I checked, I destroyed you,” she checked her wristwatch, “two minutes and thirty seconds ago.”

She shoved an elbow into his gut, hard, causing the other man to take a quick step back.

Sensing trouble, Ethan stepped in between Blondie and Meathead, using his height to his advantage to look down his nose at the younger man.

“The lady said no,” he said sternly. “I suggest you walk away.”

Meathead looked like he wanted to argue. Of course he did, thought Ethan. Scalpel jockeys weren’t exactly known for their intellect. But Ethan’s scowl must have clued him into quitting while he could.

The other man looked past Ethan’s shoulder, shrugged and turned around, stomping off to join his buddies, who’d been watching the entire time and drunkenly laughing at their friend’s misery.

“Thanks for the assist.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, turning around.

Now that he had a clear view of her features, he wondered at the stupidity of the wannabe surgeon in departing the field so quickly.

Her long hair fell in loose waves across her shoulders, and his fingers ached to feel if the texture was as soft as it looked. But it was her face that mesmerized him. Porcelain-like flawless skin shimmered under the neon lights, and those green eyes sparkled like emeralds.

With lips curved into an enigmatic smile, she reminded him of John Singer Sargent’s paintings of aristocratic women from the Gilded Age—beautiful, elegant and out of his reach.

For the first time in his life, he felt nervous talking to a woman.

“What can I get you?” The bartender interrupted.

“Let me,” Blondie insisted, cocking her head sideways.

She tapped one manicured finger against her lips, peered intently into his eyes and suddenly grinned. “Whiskey, neat.”

The bartender glanced at him, seeking confirmation, and Ethan nodded.

“How’d you know?” he asked, raising his brow in surprise.

If he expected a response, he was doomed to disappointment. The mysterious smile returned, this time tinged with humor as if she knew all his secrets and wasn't deterred by them.

The bartender placed his drink on the bar, took the twenty Blondie handed her, and left them alone.

"Enjoy your drink. And thanks, again."

As she brushed past him, Ethan caught a faint scent of orange blossoms and vanilla, a fragrance that seemed to promise something more. She was halfway across the floor before he shook himself out of the spell her smile had cast on him.

“Wait!” Ethan’s hand reached out, but he grasped only the empty air where she had been.

In that brief moment, vignettes of a possible future with her flashed through his mind: walks along the Esplanade, late-night talks by the fireplace, the warmth of her hand in his as they drove up the coast for a weekend getaway.

He felt a pang of loss as he watched her disappear into the night, swallowed up by the crowd milling about the door.

The sense of connection, of something profound slipping away, left him standing there, drink untouched, heart heavy with unspoken words and unfulfilled possibilities.

And he never even knew her name.

------

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@mainstreetreader @peonierose @potionsprefect @queencarb @quixoticdreamer16

@justyourusualash @tessa-liam @trappedinfanfiction

Submissions: @choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

Ethan & Cassie only: @cariantha @custaroonie @youlookappropriate

[stuff-i-found-while-crying]

Quidditch and Tea

Enzo x Reader(Ravenclaw)

a/n: this was a little idea... actually half of the idea. the other half was the game. but I am a little in a writing slump. So posting this before I loose my nerves again.

Not edited. Not proofread. Not anything really.

This feels more like the beginning of a longer story... What do you think?

You never understood Quidditch.

Which was fine. As a Ravenclaw you understood many other things. One of those things was team spirit. The only thing that made you get up and walk over to the Slytherin table.

Because the quidditch captain had sounded worried about the game tomorrow. So worried that even you, someone too busy with books and music, had heard him last night.

"Are you mad?", Alma hissed behind you. She tried to grab you and pull you back down.

But you had a plan.

At least the start of a plan.

This was a good plan, right? What was the worst that could happen?

And then you stood next to Enzo Berkshire. The guy with the soft curls and adorable dimples. And the weakest link in the Slytherin Quidditch team.

"Hi", you said.

He turned towards you. All his friends turned towards you. Most of them knew you from class. Mattheo even winked at you. But you weren't here to play along. You wanted to win.

Or at least help your team win.

Without waiting for Enzos reply you swung on leg over the bench and sat down, facing him. His eyes wondered down to your tights that were hugging the bench. Just one second too long and you knew you had him.

With a sweet smile you leaned in. "I heard a rumor."

"Don`t" came a warning from Draco Malfoy, the captain. "Go back to your own table."

But Enzo was grinning at you. "Did you now?"

"I heard that when a girl asks you out for a butterbeer you never refuse her."

"Shit, she is good", whispered Mattheo from across the table.

His commend made you almost drop the act. You had questions. Was it the smile that was working? Or your words? What was it about girls in skirts that made the boys pay attention more?

You could almost feel your inner professor pushing up her glasses and taking notes. Later you would have to discuss this with Alma.

"It`s true", Enzo leaned in as if he was sharing a secret with you. The sparkle in his eyes told you that he was almost where you wanted him. With his head way up in the clouds and distracted from the game tomorrow. This was too easy.

You also leaned in. Noses almost brushing you let out a sad sigh.

"Pity that I don`t like beer. Would have loved to asked you out."

His eyes blinked at you. "Hu?"

You got up, one hand on his shoulder, pretending to balance yourself. Than you gave him a soft pat and a wink.

Mattheo started laughing.

Draco was just starring daggers into you.

Enzo was still looking up, eyes wide, lips parted. He was gorgeous. You had always known that. In this moment you understood the other girls that would so easily fall for him just to be heart broken. Interesting.

Swiftly, you turned around and left the great hall. Alma was waiting with your bag outside.

"What the hell? Since when are you flirting? I did not even know you were interested in Berkshire."

You shrugged. "You saw our team. All is fair in love and war."

"Wait, you did all this for the quidditch team?", she grabbed you by the shoulder. "You flirted with Enzo in front of the entire school, made hundreds of girls jealous, had Malfoy almost rip your head off, just for a quidditch game."

You grinned. "He will play awful tomorrow and you know it."

"Some one should give you house points for that."

Indeed was Enzo starring at you for the rest of the day. Luckily you had only two classes with him. In Transfiguration you winked at him and he almost burned down his table. McGonigall was not impressed.

History of magic was proving to be more difficult. Binz never payed attention to the class and normally you would do homework for Potions in that time. But Enzo sat right behind you. And after a couple of minutes a Note appeared on your desk.

"Why don`t you like beer?"

Alma was shaking her head next to you.

"Because it tastes awful?" you wrote back.

It took him ten seconds to reply. "What about tea?"

"I love tea."

"Why don`t you ask me out for tea then?"

You grinned while answering. Your plan was going perfectly. "Why don`t you ask me out for tea?"

This time his answer took longer.

"Tonight, you and me on the astronomy tower. I will bring the tea if you bring sweets."

Should you feel bad? Maybe a little. But it was just tea. And stars. And Enzo Berkshire with his killer smile.

For the first time you asked yourself if your plan wasn't as perfect as you thought. Not that you put much thought into it. It was more an idea. Enzo had always been on your mind. And maybe you had taken the Quidditch match as an excuse.

"I know that look", Alma whispered.

"Psst", you pointed to Professor Binz. "I am trying to listen."

She rolled her eyes.

After class you took your time packing up. It was Friday and lunch and you had the rest of the day off. Alma was not as lucky.

"I See you later" she said and run off to Ruins.

"I See you later too", a deeper voice said right next to your ear.

With a jump you turned. Enzo grinned down at you.

"Right", you said. Suddenly you realized that you had a date with him. Oh Merlin, alma was right. You were mad.

"Anything with chocolate", he said and turned around. "But I also dont mind lemon."

The sweets. He was talking about the sweets. You took a deep breath. Where the hell would you get sweets from?