#i feel. nicer. i might have to rearrange a few here n there; and i want to add way more to the teal wall. but this is good

[your-fave-is-bi]

Embraces my fcking whimsy

[mosswillow]

Your room (Dark!Peter Parker x Reader)

Word count 3.3k

!!!!! This is dark! And explicit 18+ only !!!!!

Warnings: Noncon/Dubcon, oral (female receiving), spankings, punishment, kidnapping, Stockholm syndrome, unprotected sex, smut, vaginal intercourse.

Summery: Your life is bland and boring but not for long. What happens when you catch the eye of a certain super hero?

Your room has always reflected you as a person. In highschool you haphazardly filled the walls with quotes and posters. Your room was messy in the typical way teenagers rooms tend to be, but also like a typical teenager was filled with feeling and hope. In college you filled your space with pictures of you and your friends taken on a polaroid camera. Everywhere you looked had your life staring back at you. Now as an adult the pictures from college are tucked away in a box. Your room is simple and boring. Most people think of you as minimalist but you don’t do it to be trendy, you just have no passion. You’ve spent the years after graduating college working a job you hate in a lab, running the same tests over and over again. You’ve always wanted to be a scientist, working on something new and exciting. You’ve applied everywhere but you rarely even get an interview. Your dreams, unfortunately, will never happen for you. Sometimes you wish for someone to swoop in and take you for your bland life but you know that will never happen. Watching your friends get dream jobs and buy homes while you waste away has crushed your spirit. You’re tired.

---

“Hey Y/N, we’re going out tonight.”

“I don’t know…”

“Come on, you never come with us.”

“Ok sure.”

Your coworker is right that you never go out anymore and so several hours later you walk into a bar, grabbing a drink and finding your coworkers. The bar is bustling with activity and you lose track of time. You usually curl up in bed with a book on a friday night but you’re glad you came. You used to go out all the time in college and miss being social. Going out is good for your mental health and you decide to make more of a point to spend time with people.

You say goodbye to your still partying co-workers and head home a little past midnight. You start your walk and cut through an alleyway, wanting to get home before you vomit from the alcohol.

“Hey sweetheart. What are you doing all alone out here?”

A large man steps out of the shadows and walks toward you. You ignore him, keeping your eyes focused ahead and pick up the pace.

“Oi, I’m talkin’ to you,” He lunges forward and grabs your arm.

“Let me go.” You try to walk away but he holds onto you still, pushing you against the wall and landing a bruising kiss on your lips. His breath smells rancid and you feel bile rise in your throat. You cry out for help and the man is suddenly pulled away from you. You watch with disbelief as Spider man throws the stranger against the opposing wall.

“She said to go away buddy.”

The man slowly stands up and runs away. Spider Man shoots a web at the running stranger and he falls over, immobilized.

“You ok?” Spider Man turns to you, cocking his head.

“Yes, thank you Spider Man.”

“I’ll come check on you tomorrow”

You watch spider man pick up the stranger like he’s nothing and swing away. You walk the rest of the way home and lie in bed, unable to fall asleep. The next morning there’s a tap on your window and you look out to see Spider Man on your fire escape. You briefly wonder how he knows where you live but quickly brush off the thought and open your window.

“You sure you’re ok?” He steps towards you, looking you over.

“Just a little shaken up.”

He walks to your kitchen, filling a glass of water and handing it to you.

“This is too much, really I’m fine. You already saved me.”

“Drink the water,” He commands.

You sigh and drink it.

“That’s a good girl. Now get back to bed.”

You set the glass down and stare at the stranger you let in your home. Alarm bells start ringing.

“I’d like you to leave.”

“I’ll leave once I know you’re doing as you're told.”

Your heart beats rapidly and you take a step back.

“I appreciate that you saved me and came to make sure that I’m fine but I’m now asking you to please go.”

Spider man crosses his arms.

“I’ll call the cops” you say.

“And say what?”

“That there’s an intruder.”

Spider man sighs and walks to your window, standing at it.

“Get in bed and I’ll go.”

You walk to your bed and get under the covers.

“Good girl. I’ll be back to check on you later.”

As soon as he’s through the window you jump out of bed and lock every door and window, double checking your work. You get back in bed and let out a sigh of relief, finally able to sleep.

You wake up to tapping on your window. Spiderman is back. You make your way to the window but don’t open it.

“Let me in.”

“I don’t feel comfortable with you in here.”

Spider Man shakes his head and leaves without a word.

The next few weeks are filled with anxiety. You see flashes of red in your peripheral vision everywhere you go. Spider man is stalking you. You consider telling police but don’t think they’ll believe you. It sounds crazy, even to you. If it weren't for the bruises from the assault in the alleyway you would think you had imagined the whole thing. You stop leaving your apartment unless necessary and never go out after dark.

You get a voicemail one day.

“HI, this is Rebecca Johnson from Stark Industries. We’re looking for someone to fill a position in one of our labs. You had submitted an application previously and we wanted to reach out and see if you’d like to interview for the position. Please call back at your earliest convenience.

You squeal in delight, doing a celebratory fist pump. Stark industries is a dream job. You immediately hit redial and set up the interview. This would change everything. Just one year working at Stark would open up endless possibilities for you and that’s if you ever want to leave. You could afford a nicer apartment with more security. Maybe you will finally feel safe. You remind yourself that it’s just an interview and you shouldn’t get ahead of yourself.

---

You look up at the tower and take a deep breath. It’s intimidating, going for an interview at Stark tower. It’s been so long since you’ve interviewed anywhere let alone somewhere so big. You tug at your blouse, second guessing your outfit, maybe you should have worn something different. It’s too late to go back home and change. You walk in, mustering up all the courage you can and talk to the woman at the front desk.

“Hi, I’m here for an interview. Y/N Y/L/N”

“Oh yes, they’re expecting you. Here’s a temporary badge. Go to the 80th floor and take a seat.”

You take the badge and follow the instructions. You’re surprised to find yourself in what looks like private quarters. There’s a small couch near the elevator and you sit and wait.

Tony Stark himself appears in front of you and your mouth flies open. You stand quickly and hold your hand out.

“Mr. Stark, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Tony looks you up and down, clicking his tongue.

“Likewise, follow.”

You half walk, half run behind him, getting in the elevator and taking it down a floor. You arrive at a state of the art lab and workshop and Tony leads you to a desk.

“The whole workshop will be open to you. This is your desk.”

He starts walking again and you keep following him back to the elevator and to another floor.

“Here’s where you’ll live. I’ll leave you with the contract and you can call my assistant if you have any questions.”

He hands you a tablet and walks out.

You look around the room dumbfounded. You thought you were just here for an interview. You guess this means you got the job. You swipe through the contract and your eyes widen at your salary. There are a few things that make you uncomfortable though. You’re required to live on site and there’s a curfew. You have to sign a NDA about anything you see in the tower. You also can’t decide to quit without permission, which you’re not sure is even legal. You call the number to Tony’s assistant.

“This is Rebecca.”

“Hi, this is Y/N. I’m looking through this contract and it says I have to live on site and there’s a curfew?”

“Yes. That is non negotiable. Living on site will give you access to the workshop 24/7. There will be times when you will work through the night. The curfew is for security as the tower is locked down every night.”

You would rather have your own place where you can come and go as you please but you’re willing to live here if you have to and the reason for a curfew makes sense. The tower has top of the line security, which is something that’s really important to you. You don’t usually go out late anyway and if you do decide to be out late you can crash at a friends house or get a hotel room.

“And the avengers? Will I have to work closely with them?”

“You might meet them or see them at some point but most likely not.”

“I know this sounds weird but I don’t want Spider man to know I’m working here.”

“Mums the word.”

“What exactly will the job entail? I see there’s a NDA.”

“You’ll be an assistant in Tony Stark's personal workshop and will work closely with him. He appreciates privacy.”

“I see, and the part where I’m not allowed to quit?”

“He just wants to make sure you’re serious. Tony picks his assistants personally and requires loyalty.”

“Ok, thank you.”

You hang up and sign the screen. When you open the door there's a man standing outside. He’s not a tall man, standing a few inches taller than you. However, he is muscular and something about him commands attention. You feel an immediate pull towards him.

“Oh, hi I’m Peter Parker.” He holds out his hand.

“I’m Y/N”

“I also work with Tony and live right next to you. I’ll be your direct boss.”

“It’s nice to meet you Mr. Parker.”

“Peter is fine. I won’t keep you any longer, I just wanted to introduce myself.”

You immediately get to work rearranging your life. By the end of the weekend you’re completely moved into your new place and on monday you start your first day on the job. It’s everything you’ve ever dreamed of, full of state of the art technology and free reign to do whatever you want. You walk into work every day with a smile.

You work alone most of the time, Tony and Peter working awkward, sporadic hours but you enjoy it when you do get to work with them. Tony is funny and brilliant, you learn more from him than from any college class. Peter is smart and sweet. He helps you with your work and makes sure you’re always taken care of, sending you back to your room if you’ve been working too long or making you take breaks to eat. You find yourself starting to develop feelings for Peter and your heart swells when he asks you on a date. Life is good and only getting better.

You meet Peter outside of your door and he takes your hand. The two of you walk to a little italian restaurant and Peter takes your menu, ordering your food for you. It’s very forward for a first date but you like the confidence. After dinner he walks you back to your door and kisses you. You see something in his eyes when he pulls away, possessive and dark. It makes you feel uncomfortable but also excited. Nobody has ever looked at you like that.

Over the next few weeks Peter becomes more and more comfortable around you, becoming more physical. It’s small things, like pushing your hair back when talking or touching you gently as he walks past. He asks you out again, this time wanting to cook you dinner and you decline, suggesting a coffee date instead. You don’t feel comfortable enough with him to be alone in his room. He clenches his jaw when you tell him, obviously upset you won’t come over but agrees.

A few days later you decide to go out with some old friends and crash on one of their couches. When you get home the next day Peter is standing outside your door.

“You missed curfew.”

“I know, I went out with friends and crashed on one of their couches.”

Peter clenches his jaw.

“Don’t let it happen again.”

“It shouldn't matter if I want to stay the night somewhere else.”

“Well it does.”

You roll your eyes and unlock your door quickly, locking it behind you. The two of you have only been on one date. His behavior is a red flag and you decide to take things slowly.

The next day you decide to go out for coffee, pulling on a simple tee shirt dress and some flip flops. The elevator won’t let you down.

“Your privileges have been revoked.” Peter says from behind you.

You jump. “Why?”

“You know why.”

He stalks toward you, pushing you up against the elevator.

“I don’t feel comfortable with this Peter. You need to back away from me now.”

Peter takes a step back.

“I’m sorry but right now I don’t want any sort of relationship outside of work.”

“That’s not going to work for me.”

Something in Peter's eyes terrifies you. You need to get out of here. You try the elevator again but it still won’t open.

“I quit.” you yell at the elevator, feeling more danger every second you’re stuck in the hallway with Peter.

“You can’t quit baby.”

“There’s no way it’s legal to force me to keep working even if it’s in the contract.”

“There’s nowhere to go. You’re not getting out of this building and even if you did you’d have to find a lawyer to take your case.”

“You can’t do this, I'll tell Tony.”

“Who do you think suggested this in the first place? Most of the Avengers have gotten their partners this way. I was waiting for the right person and I knew you were them the moment I saw you.”

“Why would Tony help you trap me here? You’re just a lab assistant.”

“Oh no honey, I’m much more than that.”

He steps toward you, caging you in.

“You think it’s a coincidence I saved you in that alleyway?”

“Spider man?”

Peter gives a grin. He leans in and smells your hair.

“No.”

“I’m sorry it’s happening this way, I wanted to break you down slower. You’ll have a really good life, we’ll live together and work together. You’ll have everything you could need or want.”

“I want to leave.”

“You’ll change your mind, you just need a little motivation.”

Peter pulls you to his room and opens the door, pushing you into his apartment. You try to run but he easily catches you, picking you up and throwing you on his bed.

“Why are you doing this? Why me?” you scrabble to the far side of the bed.

“You’re mine.”

Peter's phone rings and he picks it up.

“Hey, yes I did... I know It wasn’t the plan, I had to improvise… Ok, see you in a few weeks.”

He hangs up and gets on top of you. you spit in his face.

“I’m not yours freak. Let me go.”

“You won’t be allowed to act like that moving forward. Now lie still.”

“Get off of me.”

Peter gets off briefly, flipping you over his lap and pulling up your skirt. He lands a smack on your bottom.

“You have no idea how many times I’ve wanted to do this. You’ve been so bad baby.

“Not letting me in your apartment.”

Smack.

“Telling Rebecca you didn’t want me to you started working here.”

Smack

“Staying out all night.”

Smack.

“Shutting the door in my face.”

Smack.

“I liked you Peter, If you had just acted like a normal person we could have continued a relationship.” You say through tears.

“I don’t want a relationship, I want to own you.”

He lands another blow on your bottom and grabs your underwear, pulling them down and off of you. You try to wiggle away but he’s so strong and easily holds you down with one arm. He moves his hand between your legs and towards your sex, pushing a finger in and out.

“You’re wet for me.” He says smugly.

You close your eyes and turn your head away. You’ve stopped resisting and he lets go.

“There you go.”

He kisses your neck and cheek then grabs your chin moving your face and kissing you gently, pushing his tongue into your mouth. He pulls back and you hear him unbuttons his pants, pulling them down. You open your eyes and move away from him, pushing your back against the headboard. You watch as he holds his erection, slowly moving his hand up and down. He moves towards you and grabs your ankle, pulling you down the bed and positioning himself in between your legs. He holds onto your hips and kisses your inner thigh, moving toward your mound until his mouth is on your clit, kissing and licking. You arch your back and throw your head back, fighting against the rising orgasm. Right before you come he pulls back, smiling up at your dazed face. He rises up and slowly pushes his dick into you until you’re full. You whimper as he brings his hand down to your clit, stimulating it.

“That’s right baby,I know what you like.”

You can’t think about anything else anymore, only the orgasm that threatens to take over.

“Come Baby”

You reach out, grabbing his arms as you come. He grabs your shoulders and thrusts deep, filling you with cum before collapsing next to you, pulling you into the crook of his arm.

“Can I go back to my room now?” you ask.

“You won’t be leaving this room until I can trust you.”

“I won’t say anything. You won. You got what you wanted so just let me go.”

“You still don’t get it Y/N. You’re mine now. I know this is a hard adjustment but everything will be fine as long as you follow what I say.”

“And if I don’t obey you?”

“You’ll be punished.”

“Fuck you.”

Peter sits up next to you, grabbing his pants off the floor and pulling his belt out of the loops.

“I guess your first lesson starts now.”

---

You look around the room you live in. It’s no longer the empty minimalist space it was before you met Peter. Now it’s filled with him. Everywhere you look there are reminders of him. The shower has his body wash and razor. There are pictures of him hanging on the walls. Everything you own has been bought for you by Peter. He dictates what you’re allowed to wear, where you’re allowed to go, who can talk to. It’s all him. Every part of your life revolves around Peter to the point where you don’t know what you would do without him. You wake up to him, go to sleep to him, think about him constantly. You’re even sometimes woken up in the middle of the night to him touching you, wanting you. At some point you stop pretending you don’t want him back. You hate it but it’s true.

Your room has always been a reflection of you as a person.

[stevenbasic]

“Oh good god…” I muttered to myself, scrolling to the new pic Melissa had posted, just an hour ago, “what the fuck is she doing..?” I’d finished my sad little meal, at my sad little table, and now sat on my sad little couch in my sad little apartment, and knew - despite the disquiet this post brought me - I’d need to unzip and-

<knock knock> came a rap on the door. 

Who the..?? It was 9pm, on a Tuesday night. Who would be...knocking...now?!? No one knows I’m even here unless it’s…

I dropped my phone, jumped up off the old green cushions, and tucked everything back. 

...Sheryl??

Could it be her? Here to talk? Maybe start to fix things? In a rush of anxiety, I looked about. The harsh fluorescents of the overhead room lights were off, the main illumination in the room cane from a cheap gooseneck floor lamp aside the couch, painting shadows onto the far wall. I’d cleaned up a bit...if by cleaned I meant pushed aside most of the cardboard boxes holding my roughly-packed stuff. I wanted the place to look nicer if this was indeed my newly-estranged wife but nonetheless I stepped towards the door, reaching out my hand for the knob, when I heard the voice:

“Dr JJJJJJJ….” it came, unmistakably both nasal and smoky - and then a series of new knocks, “...let us innnnnn….”

Oh no. Randi. 

My heart stopped, sank, then picked up. Randi?!? How did she know I was here?!? I hadn’t said a word to anyone in the office and now-

I looked through the peephole: 

There’s three of them!!?!

Randi, Josie and Lakshmi, all dressed up for a night out, two of them carrying what looked like trays of food, and all giggling wide-eyed in the hallway outside my “secret” apartment…not so secret anymore, I guess. I had wanted, for as long as I could, to keep this all hush-hush. I didn’t want anyone at work to know that Sheryl and I had separated, that she’d thrown me out of the house, that I’d be living for the time being in a pathetic little apartment above the office. But, it seemed, my secret was out. And if these three knew, I thought with a shiver, Melissa must-

“C’mon..!” Randi demanded, her face abruptly filling my entire view through the peephole, as she tried to gaze through it herself from the other side, “Let us in!!”

Oh Jesus. 

Knowing I shouldn’t, I found myself opening the door. “Hi, uh- how..?”

In a moment, the girls were inside: first Josie, then Lakshmi, then Randi. I was shocked as - parading past me with their party heels on - they were each at least as tall as me, Josie and Randi certainly taller. I tried to hide my dismay, and acutely felt my lost inches as they strutted into my space. Randi eyed me up and down, and aside from feeling short I suddenly also felt silly, dressed for bed already in my thin cotton shorts and grey tee shirt while they were all made up to the nines, hair and make-up. “We heard Sheryl kicked you out,” Randi said, bluntly, as she and the others glanced around the room, taking it in, in all its...meagerness, “so we brought some food.” The look on their faces, as they scanned the bare walls, the crummy furniture, was a mix of distaste (Josie), pity (Lakshmi), and amusement (Randi). “Well, I can't cook,” Randi added further, “so I just dressed up pretty.”

She certainly was, uh...dressed pretty, all three girls were. Party dresses on them all, each one smaller and tighter than the next. Randi’s, a sleekly strapless black number that ran high up her shapely thighs and showed off the top shelf of two surprisingly full breasts, was the raciest of the bunch. 

As if catching my eyes roving Randi, Josie tossed her long, silky, brown hair and spoke up. “Don’t you like Lakshmi’s dress too?” she said, “We’re taking her out dancing. I let her borrow it.” As I admired the fit of Lakshmi’s form-fitting, sleeveless minidress - orange and grey with criss-crossing stripes - Josie continued. “Mimi, show him how nice your ass looks... ” Lakshmi looked shy but obviously proud as she turned, swiveled her womanly hips in a liquid, casually sultry move, one I didn’t think she’d be capable of, and giggled. Her rear was much larger than I’d imagined, maybe just accentuated by her four-inch heels and the way her dress clung to her narrow waist. Anyway, it looked round and shapely and soft and the way it rolled...god, this is Lakshmi?? Where had she been hiding that thing??

“We’re due at the club soon…” Randi explained, obviously ignoring my near-outright leering of her friend, primping her own hair in the cheap, plastic-framed mirror on the back of the door, “...but we wanted to stop by here first...” 

“...in case you were lonely...” Josie continued, smiling at me with a mischievous glint in her eye. 

“...or hungry…” Lakshmi offered, having turned back to me with her plate of food, covered by tin foil. In the meantime Josie had placed her tray down on my little coffee table, and was competing with Randi for space in the mirror, adjusting the fit of her ensemble. From behind, both other girls were no slouches either. Josie in particular had a remarkably fine butt, high and round and obviously gym-toned. She looked coltish in her tight little dress of scalloped orange chiffon, like a girl that had just grown into her curves. 

“...but it looks like you’re just thirsty,” Randi concluded, catching me ogling Josie’s ass, our eyes now meeting in the mirror. 

I turned away as she - mocking me already with her smile - continued to primp aside Josie. 

Not knowing what to say, I looked to Lakshmi behind me, who was once again innocently gazing about the one-room apartment, such as it was. “D-don’t you girls normally do happy hour on Tuesday nights?” I awkwardly asked, steering conversation as far as I could away from myself and my...home situation.

“We do,” Randi answered, taking my attention again as we both now watched Josie struggling to straighten her too-short skirt, pulling down on its hem, “but Missy’s... going through some things. So we’re just going dancing, meeting the other girls out.”

“And, we wanted to cook for you,” Josie added, finally turning back towards me, smoothing her dress with both hands running down her youthful curves. 

“I made empanadas..!” Lakshmi chirped, causing me to turn again. The bright white teeth of her smile gleamed proudly from the rich brown of her complexion as she held her plate up, an offering. “Are you hungry now, Dr. J?” she asked, eyes wide, “We can make you a plate?”

Thinking back for the moment on the takeout styrofoam meatloaf I’d had, I answered. “n-no, I just ate,” I said, flinching as a hand was suddenly on my shoulder.

“Well, why don’t you sit down, then…” Randi purred, urging me backwards the couple steps it would take to get me back to the couch, “...the girls will put the food away.”

“My mom made this lasagna,” Josie said, “it’s really good.”

Before I knew it, I was slumped back on my couch, watching as Josie and Lakshmi had taken their trays and moved to the kitchenette in the corner, trying to find room in the half-size fridge for the meals. Randi was seated close, perched on the coffee table facing me, our knees nearly touching. 

“Your place is really nice,” Lakshmi called, rearranging the few things I had on the shelves of the fridge, making room, “I like it.”

“Th-thanks,” I offered, painfully aware of the pity in her voice, and the pitiful state I’d found myself in. It was humiliating! Here I was, their employer, a man nearly twice their age living like a shamefaced dog in his abject little den. I knew I needed to stand up for myself, exert some confidence and authority to these girls and put on a brave face, but I was still emotionally reeling from the events of these last 48 hours. How did they find out, and how much did they know, about what had happened at home?

“It’s kinda small, this place,” Josie said, finally closing the door of the refrigerator, both girls turning back towards us, “it’s your wife’s, right?”

There you go. 

“y-yeah…” I answered, hating how small my voice sounded, feeling Randi’s gaze boring into my skin as the other girls began to make their way back towards us, “sh-she bought it as an investment, y-years ago. Sh-”

“She owns the whole building, doesn’t she?” Randi asked, her tone making my skin crawl, “The offices, the parking lot, the property? And you just rent from her?”

“Well, y-yeah, sorta…” I answered, looking up now at Josie and Lakshmi, who were stepping in to stand on either side of where Randi sat, “she doesn’t really charge me...rent…”

No, I found myself thinking, she takes it from me in different ways.

“At least she made it nice for you,” Lakshmi offered warmly, gazing down at me in commiseration, “I like the furniture.”

“yeah…” I replied, looking around. The mismatched furniture, here in this apartment, was probably an afterthought of Sheryl’s, some of it likely leftover from a corporate redeco she’d overseen, some of it cheap stuff she’d had delivered wholesale. The bed was flimsy, the tiny dining table plain. The whole place was austere, to put it gently. It felt lonely, spartan...just enough to get by. This couch, though, was beginning to feel crowded. “Listen,” I began, appealing to the girls as all three now stared down at me where I sat, “how did you find ou-“

“Don’t you have any money of your own?” Josie asked, cutting me off. I noticed how, with the goose lamp aside the couch, curvy silhouettes of the standing girls were cast onto the wall, across the panel of the electric box unceremoniously situated aside the doorframe. 

“W-well, Josie, it's complicated…” 

“Complicated? How is it complicated?” Randi asked, obviously baiting me, trying to get me upset, off base, “She owns everything, you don’t. Without her you’d be homeless. It must be humiliating, being that dependent on your wife…”

“Yeah,” Josie said, biting her bottom lip in thought, all three girls regarding me with a maddening sense of pity, “Were you scared, when she kicked you out?”

“S-scared? No, I just, uh-“

“I dunno...it might be nice to be on your own for awhile,” Lakshmi added, brightly earnest, “have some space, have some freedom.”

“But you’re going to have to cook, clean...all the things she used to do for you…” Josie said, turning herself and tucking her skirt to sit, next to me on my right, on the couch. She crossed her gorgeous, bare legs, right over left, towards me. I couldn’t help but notice the muscularity of her calves, her pretty knees and thin ankles. ”We can all chip in, help out,” she offered, “Can’t we, Lakshmi?”

“Oh, for sure, yes,” Lakshmi replied, excitement in her voice as she now sat her voluptuous butt to my left, “We can help take care of you, we’re good at that.”

“Yes you poor thing…” Josie cooed, cocking her head on her long, thin neck, tucking a lock of smooth, medium-brown hair behind her left ear. She and Lakshmi both sat taller than me.

“...we’re good at a lot of things,” Randi purred as, smoothly, she lifted herself off the coffee table and turned her own shapely rear towards me, to...oh god...sit in my lap. 

Surprised at the audacity of their friend, the other two girls giggled, as my eyes goggled. What am I letting happen here?? I can’t be...sitting...like this...alone in my apartment...with three young girls…one of them on my lap...the other two nestling in closer...

Perched coquettishly on my thighs, Randi tossed her thick, darkly wavy hair over her shoulder and looked down at me with smoky eyes. ”Now that Sheryl’s kicked you out, we’re all you’ve got, aren’t we?” she pouted, taking the moment to tuck a stray lock of my own hair behind my ear, “Dr. J’s girls…”

“You poor, poor thing…” Josie cooed, left hand going to my shoulder. 

“Yes poor Dr. J…” Lakshmi followed, her soft hip pressing into mine. 

They nestled in closer, the air now filled with their perfume, the smell of their shampoo and hairspray. “Good thing you’ve got us,” Randi said, smiling wickedly at my predicament, “and we’ve got you.”

“We’ve got you…” Josie cooed softly, following her friend. 

“...we’ve got you,” Lakshmi repeated, now a mantra. 

What the fuck is happening?? I thought to myself as I felt myself sinking deeper into this cheap couch and further under the spell of these three comely girls. I can’t...I can’t do this, I knew, if indeed they had plans for me tonight, plans beyond just dropping off some empanadas and lasagna. I knew that if I was going to get back into Sheryl’s good graces, save my marriage, this was not a way to start. 

Somehow, from some deep wellspring of strength, I was able to muster my resistance, even as I felt Josie’s firm breast press against my right arm, even as I watched Lakshmi’s young, brown thighs as she crossed them towards me, even as Randi’s hand slid down the back of my neck. “uhhh...ladies,” I managed, “It’s getting late, w-we all have to be in the office tomorrow.” Was I really going to be able to do this? “Thanks for, uh, dropping by, bringing the food,” I said, “but I think you should be going...”

“Awww…so soon?” Lakshmi purred. . 

”...but we just got here…” Josie followed, plumping her lower lip in a girlish pout. 

“w-we all have to be in the office tomorrow,” I repeated, this time not sounding even half as determined. 

Randi paused, letting me squirm, hearing my indecision and knowing how hard a battle I was fighting. ”Is that really what you want?” she finally asked, her dark eyes looking confidently into mine, nicely big breasts bulging above her top right at my eye level. 

I could barely say anything, but managed to pull out a semi-convincing reply. “uhhh...y-y-yes.”

Randi chuckled, and the air in the room changed as - surprisingly - Randi was telling the girls it was time to go, as they clucked in disappointment but backed away; as they stood, straightened their dresses, and started to step towards the door. I don’t know what to call the feeling I was dealing with, roiling around my chest. Disappointment? Regret? But it seemed, at least, like they were listening to me. 

Randi, though, was still on my lap. 

The girls were taking one last look at themselves in the mirror, Lakshmi running her hands through her thick black hair, and I began to move t-

“No. You stay right there,” Randi said commandingly, left hand suddenly onto my chest, pushing me back. My eyes went wide, and before I could mount a protest, she was telling the girls, “Meet me down in the car. I’ll just be a few minutes.”

“n-no, Randi, really,” I began, again moving t-

Her right hand fell to my left thigh, grabbing my cock, pressing it into my leg through my cotton shorts. Semi-hard already, my entire body shivered and all the strength to fight fell from my body, drained suddenly away. I fell back to a slump against the couch. 

“I’ll see you in a sec,” Randi told the girls, “Dr J. here just needs a chat.”

Lakshmi and Josie both glanced our way, both chirping something casually in assent. If they noticed that their friend more or less had their boss�� penis right in her hand, they gave no sign and each fluttered a goodbye wave as they left. 

The door closed behind them. 

”Randi I think you should leave,” I said, meeting her gaze with what was the last of my resolve - only to feel that die, withering away as she squeezed me through my shorts and...god help me...I moaned. 

She smiled as she saw my eyes flutter. “Oh, I’m not going anywhere...” she replied, her hand already starting a slow rhythm, my disobedient shaft responding, already growing, “I’m staying right here.”

“Y-you can’t…” oh god...oh god….

My vision’s swimming. 

“Randi, stop…” I moaned, knowing right away I had too much arousal in my voice, “you’ve got to l-leave…”

“Oh, but Dr J…” she purred smokily, shifting herself on my lap, getting comfortable, all the while still working me, “I don’t want to leave. Remember our night in the car..?”

Oh my god if I could take that back, that drunken night in her Dodge Neon. One of the best blowjobs of my life, but the collateral damage it had done... “Y-Yeah?”

“Does your wife know about it?” she asked, simply, setting her shoulders to draw my eye.

Oh crap. “N-n-no, uh...she d-doesn’t...” My mind was struggling more and more as blood left it, abandoning me to swell into the monstrous thing that grew uncomfortably down my left thigh, under her hand. 

“Want to keep it that way?” she asked, as she saw my distress and moved me, took the effort to start to rearrange me in my shorts, pulling it up, pushing it up to my hip. 

Despite the stars that danced in front of my eyes, the pleasure that was clenching my gut into a fist, I managed to speak. “R-Randi, are you...blackmailing me?”

That made her laugh, a gravelly chortle. “Blackmail? Omigod is that what you think I’m doing?” She squeezed me again, just to see me shudder. She pushed my now rock hard dick hard into my hip, making me spasm. Then she started stroking it again, through my pajama shorts. “God, I have such power over you, don’t I…?”

At that I groaned, despite myself, certainly doing nothing to refute her.

“You love that idea, don’t you?” she mused, “You love women with power. You love that I fucking own you...just like Sheryl. I fucking own you…” With that, her hand left me, she sat up straighter - just to watch me slump, surrendering in acceptance that I was basically powerless here. My cock crawled against my flesh, sliding needy and abandoned, shifting towards me, across my hip and skin, centering itself.

“You’re owned by women and you love it,” she pushed, watching how her words just excited me more, watching now as the great mass of my unmanageable manhood tented my shorts, my taut waistband pulled away from my lower belly by its brute size, “you submissive little man…”

I was defeated, she knew it, and she could do anything she wanted with me. Defeated, and my cock was here to prove it. She watched, wide-eyed - we both did - as it slowly pushed itself up past my waistband, the head sliding just proud of the elastic, then emerging further. 

Her eyes flashed. “Oh, there we are…” she chuckled, looking down at it, “there’s my friend…” 

As if feeding on the attention, needful of more, my dick continued to grow, pushing further and further up past the waistband of my shorts, which began to slide down my shaft. The cooler air of the apartment swirled around me, onto my skin, exciting me even more.

“God fucking almighty it’s huge,” Randi marveled, as she sat back a bit to allow it space, sliding off my lap now and down onto her knees, onto the floor, still watching it. 

“R-Randi...no…”

”Speaking of us doing everything your wife used to do for you…” she hummed, ignoring me and gingerly grabbing the sides of my shorts. She pulled them down, freeing my huge stiffness completely. ”Oh god is this even bigger than before?” she marveled, smiling wickedly and readying herself, as she moved my shorts under me, pulled them down my thighs, to my knees, “Or are you just skinnier?” Her eyes were plastered, now, on the dancing, waving, wobbling thing that hovered there, as if self-willed, over my hips and belly.

My lord it did seem bigger than ever, thick veins throbbing under taut purple skin, head swollen and spongy. The thing was monstrous. 

“P-please, Randi...you don’t have t-to-”

“It’s okay...my jaw is nice and loose these days,” she said, as she settled herself more solidly on her knees, pulling my shorts all the way down so she could sneak between my thighs and - in a lurid display, opened her mouth and jaw wide...uncannily wide...for my benefit.

What the fuck?? I’ve never seen a human do that, I thought, as I saw her tongue, her teeth, the glistening pink halfway down her throat. 

Chuckling at my bewildered shock, Randi just closed her insanely big mouth and continued blithely on. “Is this going to be your first blowjob in your new apartment?” she asked, as she casually took hold of my bullish member with one soft, feminine hand, “or did anyone else sneak up here earlier?”

My vision swam again with pleasure. ”Wh-what..? What do y-y-you mean..?“

“Oh, sweetie, all the girls like you, y’know,” she began, as she idly began to stroke my shaft with her right hand, “Brittni and Bobbi, Josie...they think you’re adorable. Lakshmi was, like, all giddy on her way up the stairs here. Aubrey’s basically in love with you. Even poor chubby CiCi. They alllll want to get into your pants.”

Ugh, what? Nnh...Oh my god, no...this was too confusing, the thought of that swarm, buzzing about me, and I was oblivious. Was I surrounded, and didn’t even know it?

“And now that your wife’s kicked you out, now that you’re out on your own,” she continued, her left hand reaching under me to cup my hugely turgid sac, “now we have you all to ourselves.”

“nnnngh…” was all I could manage, as her fingers began to have their way, playing in gentle massage with my outsized testicles. 

“We can do everything she used to do for you,” she said, gravel in her voice keeping it from being a whisper, “we can tend to you, now that your wife’s not around. Would you like that?” Her soft left hand palmed me, squeezed me from below as her right urged me harder and harder and harder. She was stroking me, getting me ready. “Did she used to do this for you? Help you relax, after a long day..?”

“N-n-n-nnnngh….nnn-nnn...” I groaned, worried suddenly that soon I might come, just like this.

“No? Not really…?” she asked, wide eyed and falsely earnest, “Well then..life is better already, isn’t it?”

She leaned over, and spit onto its head, a big frothy glob that clung and began to dribble. 

We both watched as her hands played with me, spreading her saliva down, somehow controlling the beast that rose from me with her thin, delicate grip. It really was a sight, her manicured fingers in a tender fist, sliding up and down the column of my beefy hardness. As if on instinct, though, after a time, my gaze drifted behind it, to the swells of her breasts bulging from the neckline of her dress, watching them move, jiggle, fill with her breath. Images of them growing, of them becoming...oh god...hers...coalesced, and suddenly it was like the scent of Melissa’s perfume was wisping around me. I took a deep breath, any resistance I had buried and forgotten, stared at Randi’s tits, and thought back to the post Melissa had put up earlier, the invitation…

After several moments of allowing my reverie, Randi spoke again. “I know you’re thinking about her, Missy, wishing this was her,” she said. 

“n-no…” I lied.

“Haha liar,” she said, “I know you more than you think I do. You wouldn’t have lasted five seconds here with her…”

fuck…

“So I'd watch out,” Randi said, all the while still casually stroking me, “before, Melissa didn’t want to be a homewrecker...” 

I gasped as she slid two fingers further under me, exploring. 

“No, Missy didn’t like the idea of getting between two people in a marriage. Me? I never cared...I’m a fucking wrecking ball,” she continued, as I tried to keep from squirming as her fingers crept closer, “Missy, though, had her stupid standards. Now, though, now…”

She squeezed my sac, tickled my nethers. Bit her lower lip and leaned in closer. 

“Now everyone wants a piece of you.” She looked at my huge cock, brutally hard in her hand, and then up at me. I saw muscles in her throat working, her jaw flexing as she prepared herself for me and leaned in closer still. Still keeping eye contact, she rubbed her smooth cheek against my tightly stiff shaft, and told me right before she swallowed me: “But right now, tonight...this part is mine...”

==================================

[ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes]

Field of Poppies Part 3

Summary: After being apart for six years, childhood friends Tommy and Amelia reunite under odd circumstances. Tommy is an outspoken young man and Amelia is pregnant and out on the streets. The bond of family can be unbreakable but it is tested often. Especially when Europe descends into war.

Part 3: Amelia questions the Shelbys actions as they establish themselves as bookies. 

March 1909

             Polly said that Amelia wasn’t feeling well and wouldn’t be joining the family for dinner. The only one who seemed hung up on this fact was Tommy. The others were happy to go about eating and chatting about their day. As John had predicted, Ada seemed to forget what she was crying about that morning. She was all too excited to tell everyone that she had been the best at double-dutch in the schoolyard. Even better than that no-good-pigtailed-bratty-stuck-up-snob Ingrid.

            Tommy wasn’t too interested in the mundane details of his family’s life. His mind was elsewhere, so he finished dinner quickly and headed upstairs.

            When Amelia arrived, Polly had to rearrange the Shelbys to make room. Tommy had to camp out on the couch a bit longer than he would’ve liked because none of his siblings could agree to any proposed arrangement. John and Ada didn’t want to bunk together. Arthur argued he was the oldest and should have his own room. And none of them wanted to be placed with Finn. Finally, Polly put her foot down. Tommy and John would share a room and that was that.

            But when Tommy passed what once was his room, the door was open and it was empty. He frowned and continued down the cramped hall. The bathroom door was closed and he could hear retching from inside. He lightly knocked on the door. “Mel? Alright?”

            The young woman cleared her throat and stood up from her spot kneeling at the toilet. She rinsed her mouth out in the washbasin and opened the door. “I’m okay.”

            “Sounded like you were getting sick.”

            “It’s normal with the baby.” She assured him; a bit embarrassed that he’d heard her.

            “Oh.” He nodded and could remember times when his mother was ill with his siblings. But he hadn’t thought much of it. She had always put on a brave face for her kids. “Pol said you weren’t feeling well.”

            “Long day, I guess.” She moved past him and went back to the bedroom.

            Tommy followed even if she didn’t really invite him to. He leaned up against the doorframe. “Anything you want to talk about or I could fuck off ‘n leave you be.”

            She laughed softly and waved him into the room. “Close the door, would you?”

            He obliged, going to sit on a chest across from the bed, by the nearly empty desk. Even if it was his room, he didn’t want to invade her privacy.

            Amelia sat down on the bed and leaned down to remove her stockings. She felt so sluggish and weary but couldn’t tell if it really was just because of her busy day or because her mind was a factory of worries. She tossed the stockings toward the hamper and began to unpin her hair.

            “What’s on your mind? You look-concerned.”

            “Do you think that not having your father around really…well, I guess that’s a stupid fucking question. I just…” She groaned when she couldn’t find the words to voice her distress. She realized she wouldn’t get anywhere if she was asking rhetorical questions in some roundabout way. “Do you think that my child will hate me because they won’t know their father? Honestly, be honest.”

            Tommy was surprised. He expected she would go to Polly with such a problem. True, they were longtime friends but what did he know about children and parenthood? “I don’t think your child would hate you for anything? You’ll be a great mother, Mel, you know that.”

            Amelia tipped her head up to the ceiling. She could feel tears welling up in her eyes and she didn’t want them to fall. “I want you to be honest with me, Tom, not to say nice things. We both know nothing in this fucking world is nice.”

            “Hey, now. Look at me. Amelia, look at me.”

            She did so, reluctantly. A tear slipped down her cheek as she met his blue eyes.

            “Yeah, so the world’s a pile of shit. But there are nice things if there weren’t then what would be the point of living, aye?” He pointed out. “I don’t know what your child will say ‘bout anything. But I know that they’ll think the world of you because you did everything for them. That’s something, right?”

            She shook her head. Everything in her wanted to stay miserable. She wanted to torture herself because she felt she deserved it. All of her actions had led her to that moment. She deserved what she got. But Tommy’s words coaxed her gently to a nicer place. A place where there was hope. There was the possibility that she could succeed in raising her child.

            “I’ll say it again but you’ve got a family here. We’re gonna help you out. And-and if I need to step in as some sorta father figure than I will.” He straightened up a bit as he finished. Suddenly determined to take on the challenge he’d thrust upon himself.

            “Tom…”

            “I’m serious.” He reiterated with a half-smile. “I mean, I may not be any good at it, but I’ll try. I said I’d take care of you and I intend on doing that. I’m not some good for nothing like-” He purposefully didn’t finish his thought. It didn’t need to be finished; they both knew they were talking about Arthur Sr. Tommy strove to be the exact opposite of his father. He wouldn’t beat his children, wouldn’t drink their money away, would provide for them, would make sure dinner was always on the table, would give them a sense of safety and love. He could give that to Amelia’s child, they both deserved to be treated well. Why shouldn’t Tommy be the one to do so?

            “I can’t ask you to do that.” Amelia looked hesitant. Would it be nice to have a strong male figure in her child’s life? Of course. She worried what would happen without one. But to put that responsibility on someone else her age? They were both still so young.

            “You don’t have to ask.” He shrugged and stood up. “Are you feeling a bit better? I could see if they spared you any leftovers downstairs.” He offered as if it were the first thing he could do to prove he was fit to help her out.

            She smiled. “Maybe a bit of bread.”  

            “Alright, just be a mo’.”

May 1909

          After his talk with Amelia, Tommy was more intent on setting up the betting shop as soon as they could. The empty place offered so many possibilities in his eyes. Possibilities that could lift him and his family out of poverty. Both he and Arthur knew it would be an uphill battle. There were already plenty of betting shops tucked away in the dark corners of Birmingham and elsewhere. Using fronts as laundry, pubs, or even butchers. Beyond that, there were men who controlled the tracks. They fixed races to their heart’s delight and didn’t take kindly to others who tried to do the same. Without explicit permission, of course. Their bookies were violent and no one in their right mind would go after them. Maybe that’s why everyone thought Arthur and Tommy were mad.

            And perhaps they were, but that didn’t stop them from beginning to take bets out of the shop attached to the flat.

            Polly wanted to be upset that her nephews were bringing trouble so close to their home. But she couldn’t deny the income that they were starting to bring in. It wasn’t much at first, but it was something. Something that could be counted on for groceries or unexpected expenses. And since Tommy and Arthur had stopped attending school around thirteen, they made mistakes with the odds. So, Polly felt she could step in and mind the books better than they could. She never claimed to be a saint.

            Being a charming man meant Tommy could count on a lot of people joining his little setup. People he’d known for years and could trust. Danny Owens was a good friend with a good heart, Freddie Thorne knew him from Greta’s meetings. Jeremiah attended church with Polly but he wasn’t shy of a little criminal behavior to survive. There were others, but there was a hierarchy of trust that Tommy took very seriously. Family always came first.

            But with the betting shop came trouble. Other bookies weren’t so keen that the Shelbys were starting to dip their toes in the business. There was already enough competition in Birmingham alone. So, trouble started to brew.

            It started with just some harassment. A few threats and taunts. The Birmingham Boys apparently weren’t going to chalk the Shelbys up to just some amateurs. Even if there was a whiff of a potential threat, they learned to step in and snuff out the problem.

~~~~~~~~~~~

            That’s why, a few months after the betting shop was established, Tommy was jumped by five men. Luckily, they hadn’t roughed him up too badly. But he did look to be in bad shape when he staggered into the flat. He was limping and held a blood-soaked handkerchief to his nose

            “Tom!” Amelia gasped in horror when he came inside and ran into her at the base of the stairs. Six months pregnant, Polly had warned her to be a bit more cautious when it came to surprises and overexerting herself. But of course, she couldn’t be prepared for everything Tommy decided to get into.

            “S’alright, s’alright.” He grunted and made his way into the kitchen. He was certain one of his ribs was broken and his nose might have been too. It hadn’t exactly been a fair fight. He was taken completely by surprise as five of the Birmingham Boys popped out around a dark corner and immediately pummeled him to the ground. Once the initial blow wore off, Tommy tried to fight back but there wasn’t much use. Had Arthur been there, maybe they would’ve had a chance. But alone, he was knocked to the ground and had his ribs kicked in as the older men shouted slurs at him.

            “What happened?” She followed him, still in shock.

            “Got attacked.” He answered through the cloth over his nose and mouth. He went to the water pump and tried to get it going but the pain in his side was too much. He winced in pain and stifled a yelp.

            Amelia quickly dragged a chair over to the pump and made him sit. She filled up the basin with a bit of water and found a dishcloth to use. “Can I see?”

            Tommy removed the bloodied handkerchief. The blood seemed to have ebbed by the time he limped home.

            She carefully began to wipe the blood away from his face. “What else hurts?” She asked. They could talk about what happened when she was sure he was okay.

            “Me ribs.” He rested a hand over the painful spot.

            “Alright, well, let me clean you up and I can have a look.”

            Tommy took a few deep breaths. His heart was still racing and of course he was still pissed off that he’d been bested. Of course, he could take some solace that he was severely outnumbered and at a disadvantage. Still, it bruised his ego.

            Amelia tried to lighten the mood a bit. “You looked like this after you beat up Ben Hearn because he kissed me.”

            It drew a smile from him as he remembered the event from when they were around ten-years-old. Tommy was heartbroken when he heard around school that Ben had kissed his best friend and secret crush. But when he got word that Amelia hadn’t wanted to kiss Ben in the first place, Tommy decided to get retribution. Ben had gotten a lucky punch and made Tommy’s nose bleed. But that only angered him more to the point where Arthur had to pull his younger brother off the other boy because it looked like Tommy had murder in his eyes.  

            “You knocked out his tooth.”

            Tommy shook his head. “I knocked out two of his teeth.” He corrected with a familiar smirk. “And he deserved it.”

            Amelia sighed. “You were always getting into trouble back then. I thought maybe it would change when we got older but…” She rinsed the cloth and watched the red water trickle into the basin. “Maybe this betting shop idea is too dangerous.”

            “Mel-”

            “I know why you’re doing it, and I admire your initiative but you have to know what you might be risking. Money won’t do us any good if you’re injured or-”

            “It’s alright. You don’t have to worry.”

            She hung the wet cloth against the side of the basin and turned back toward him. “Tom, if you’re coming home like this then I think I have a reason to be worried!” She exclaimed.

            “I know, and I’m sorry. I’ll sort it out.” He promised.

            Amelia wanted to scold him further but didn’t have the heart to. Besides, once Tommy set his mind to something, there wasn’t much hope for swaying him. Getting beat up never stopped him before, it likely wouldn’t stop him in the future. “You said your ribs hurt too?” She asked quietly.

            He nodded.

            “I can take a look at them but if they’re broken you ought to go see a doctor.” She washed any stray stains of blood off her hands and the washbasin.

            “Can’t afford a doctor right now.” Tommy stood up with a grunt and returned the chair to the table. He didn’t want Polly asking questions the next morning if she found the kitchen in disarray.

            “What do you mean? I thought Arthur said you had a good week. Said you had extra money.” Amelia dried her hands.

            “We did.”

            “So, where’s the money?” She questioned further.

            “I spent it.” Tommy grabbed a bottle of stout and uncorked it.

            “On what?”

            “You’ll see tomorrow, Mel.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

            The next day was Saturday and Amelia had the day off. She watched over John and Ada to give Polly a well-needed break.

            The weather was unseasonably warm so she took the two kids outside to play so they wouldn’t be cooped up indoors. Amelia sat on the steps darning one of her stockings while Ada skipped rope and John played football in the street with other neighborhood kids.

            There was a small group of people next door waiting to place bets for the next day’s race. To the untrained eye, they looked fairly inconspicuous. Amelia hadn’t asked what might happen if the cops would catch wind of the operation. No one mentioned it, so she assumed they either had it handled or intentionally didn’t want to think about it. Still, Polly had instilled in everyone that if the police were to come around, no one knew a thing about betting shops.

            “S'cuse me miss, is Tommy Shelby ‘round?”

            Amelia looked up from her stockings and smiled. “Danny?”

            The young man’s face broke into a look of disbelief. “Mellie? Is that you?” He removed his hat and got closer. “Tom said you’d come back; wasn’t sure I’d recognize you.” Danny Owens had been a longtime friend of the Shelbys. As a boy he was much taller than anyone in class but was quite awkward and quiet. He was from a very poor family, just like the rest of them. He was painfully shy from growing up with an abusive father. But once Tommy and Arthur took him under their wing, he became a bit more confident. He wasn’t much for fighting but if it was necessary to protect his friends, he would step in. Though, most kids wouldn’t even try to fight him because of his size and broad shoulders.

            Yet, Amelia had always known him as someone with a gentle side. “It’s been a while.” She agreed. “How’s your family?”

            “They’re good. Yeah, everyone’s good.” Danny fidgeted with his hat as he spoke to her.  

            She could tell he didn’t really want to talk about his family which was all well and good. Amelia didn’t want to talk about hers either. “You were after Tommy?”

            “You haven’t seen him ‘round have you?”

            “He should be in the shop. You can go through the kitchen if you’d like.” Amelia scooted to the side so Danny could get by.         

            “Thanks, Mel. Glad you’re back.” He smiled and walked into the flat.

            As he passed, she noticed his knuckles were bruised and there was a bit of blood smeared over the top of his hand. It sent a shiver down her spine as she realized it wasn’t just Tommy getting into trouble. Everyone she once knew as a child was getting caught up in this violence. It might’ve been small skirmishes, akin to the ones they used to get into in the schoolyard. But Amelia reasonably knew that there were much larger stakes at risk. None of them labeled their actions as organized crime, but that’s what it was. Amelia had heard about large scale gangs in London who controlled a lot more than just horse races. They had control over pubs and other businesses, paid off the police, and there were rumors that they had influence over government too.

            She wasn’t sure that was Tommy’s end game but she also didn’t know if he had any control over that. Could someone remove themselves from the lifestyle? Or were they in it for life?

            With a sigh, she set her stockings aside and checked on John and Ada across the street. There were so many questions about the future that she couldn’t even try to begin to answer. All she could do was see what came of it.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~

            That same night, Amelia was in the kitchen making dinner while Ada rattled on about how she was going to go riding tomorrow and how Uncle Charlie might let her try to jump.

            The front door opened and Tommy poked his head inside. “Mel?” He called.

            “In the kitchen!” She replied.

            “Right, stay there, don’t come upstairs ‘til I say.”

            She raised an eyebrow but listened and continued peeling potatoes while Ada went on about horses.

            There were a few bumps against the wall and the staircase railing after the front door shut.

            “Fucking hell, this thing weighs a ton!” Arthur cursed.

            “Oi, be careful.” Tommy chided.

            “Be careful? It’s gonna damage me ‘fore I damage it!”

            A couple bangs and thumps and swears later, Tommy called Amelia upstairs.

            She and Ada went up and found him and Arthur in the bedroom. She looked confused until she saw the cot in the corner. Her mouth popped open in shock. “Tom?”

            He smiled a bit sheepishly. “For the baby.”

            “But I thought…I thought we would just move Finn’s in here.” She walked over to the new piece of furniture.

            “That thing’s older than any of us.” He shook his head. “Ought to toss it once Finn’s done with it.”

            Amelia ran a hand over the smooth oak wood. It was pristine, no nicks, or peeling varnish to be found. There were even intricate designs in the solid wood side and legs. She felt herself getting teary-eyed. She was didn’t even notice as Arthur herded Ada out of the room and back downstairs. “This is what you spent the money on?” She asked.

            Tommy nodded and shrugged. “The baby needs one, so why not?”

            She sniffled and went to hug him tightly. “It’s beautiful, thank you.”

            He hugged her back, feeling a sense of accomplishment. Then adoration swept over him. He hadn’t realized how much he loved making Amelia happy. He was always fond of her, but seeing her smile was one of the best things to see, in his opinion. Maybe he was still too young to know what love was, but he had a hunch that what he was feeling was love.

Permanent Tag: @papa-geralt-of-cirilla @giftofdreams @biba3434 @kimmietea @karmezii @enrapturedbythemoon @vampgirl1997

Tag list: @shelbyblinded

Masterpost

PB Masterlist

[pinknerdpanda]

Perfect

Characters: Dean x Reader Word Count: 2,006 (including lyrics) Warnings: Fluff, self-doubt, a teeny-tiny bit of angst if you squint, flustered!Dean, the song “Baby It’s Cold Outside” (see A/N 2 after the story) Requested by: @sandlee44​ Beta’d by @shy-violet-soul

A/N: This was written for my Merry Manda’s Christmas Drabbles - though this is decidedly not a drabble. Ya’ll...I just have too much to say to be concise. Brevity is not my strong suit and, for that, I apologize. Ok, I lied. I’m not sorry. Enjoy a little Dean fluff this holiday season. 

X

Perfect

Dean scrubbed a hand down his face, surveying the labors of his work. He’d spent the last two hours meticulously arranging and rearranging the room. He still wasn’t happy with the way the fuzzy, white blanket was draping across the arm of the sofa. It was too...something. 

“Son of a bitch,” Dean muttered under his breath as he picked up the blanket, shook it out and placed it again. He wanted it to look perfect without appearing like he’d spent too much time making it seem that way.

The candles had been the most difficult part of the setup. At first he’d lined them up fastidiously, spending way too long making sure they formed a crisp line around the couch. Taking a step back, he’d hated it and fought the urge to toss every last candle into the snow. After searching online for the most aesthetically pleasing configuration, he’d chosen to group them in odd numbers in various spots around the space.

There weren’t many things Dean Winchester had spent this much time agonizing about. Then again, there weren’t many things worth the effort.

But you were.

He’d fallen hard over a game of pool a year ago. You’d kicked his ass and laughed when he asked for double or nothing. The mischievous gleam in your eye as you sauntered away from him had his heart in knots and his mouth dry as sand. He’d been falling ever since. 

He’d wanted to ask you out for months, now, but somehow always found his courage failing him. He felt ridiculous; he fights demons and monsters every day of his life, for Christsakes, but you - with your shiny hair and bad dad jokes - had him shaking in his scuffed boots.

Until last night.

The hunt had almost ended badly. The vampires turned out to be shacked up with a coven of witches and their combined power had sent you both reeling. But, you’d both made it out with minor scrapes and bruises and a hell of a lot of dead monsters in your wake. When he found you wiping blood off your chin with a dirty bandana you’d dug out of the trunk, the words had come out of his mouth before he had the chance to stop them. Maybe it was a lifetime of what-ifs and abandoned futures, or maybe it was the thought that he could have very nearly lost you before knowing the feeling of your lips against his, but the courage he’d been lacking met him head-on. Well, sort of.

“Y/n, I know this isn’t the best time,” he’d ducked his head, bashfulness trying to crawl it’s way out, “but I really like you. I know this life is messy and there’s no promise of what tomorrow will bring...I mean, I guess that’s true for everyone, not just hunters. Although, it definitely holds true for people like us. Anyway, what I’m trying to say is, I mean it’s almost Christmas, and they say it’s one of the most romantic times of the year. And if you’re not interested, I’ll never mention it again, but I think you might be…”

You’d cut him off, trying to hide a blushing smirk from your face. “I’d love to go out with you, Dean.” You crossed your arms over your chest, looking down. “I was starting to get worried you’d never ask.”

Dean had never been so elated in his whole life.

But that was yesterday. 

Today, with the excess adrenaline from the hunt now waned, and his unrealistic expectations of what a perfect first date with you should be, the anxiety was getting the best of him. He’d known immediately that he’d wanted to hang back at the cabin he’d rented rather than go out to a loud bar or busy restaurant. The fact that he already had a romantic fireplace setup was a stroke of luck he’d never expected to have. But now he worried if you’d think the idea too forward. Maybe he should call one of the nearby restaurants to see if they had reservations left.

Dean pulled out his phone to make the call when he heard a knock on the door. He glanced at the clock - 7:30 pm. Of course you’d be on time. Dean tucked his phone back into his pocket and rubbed his hands on his jeans. He gave the room another glance and sighed. It’s now or never.

---

The chilly December air was thick and froze your breath as soon as it left your lungs. You fiddled anxiously with the hem of your sweater as you waited for Dean to answer the door. If it wasn’t for the glossy black car sitting outside, you’d wonder if you were at the right cabin. Maybe you should have worn something nicer, but Dean had been vague about the details of your date, so you opted for comfort - a pair of jeans, an oversized sweater and tall boots - over fashion. Standing here at his door, however, you wished you’d dressed up a little more.

Just as you raised your hand to knock again, the door swung wide, startling you. Dean smiled, and you were a little relieved to see that he looked just as flustered as you felt. Who’d have thought the Dean Winchester would get nervous about a date.

“Hey,” he breathed, his cheeks a lovely shade of pink.

“Hey yourself, Winchester.”

Dean stepped back and held his arm out, a silent invitation to come inside.

The cabin was small, but stunning. Flames danced along the tops of dozens of candles spread out across the room. A cream colored, fuzzy, woven blanket hung over the arm of the sofa next to a small wooden table containing two steaming mugs. The room was silent except for the soft crackling of fire devouring a small stack of logs inside the fireplace and the sound of your heart hammering inside your chest. 

Dean rubbed his hands down the front of his pants, nervously, and smiled at you. The candlelight flickered across his handsome face as he stepped forward.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, reaching out and running his knuckles down your arm. 

You ducked your head and cleared your throat. Your face suddenly felt extremely warm and your pulse jumped behind your ribs. 

“So, uh...what’s the plan?”

Dean held out his hand and cocked an eyebrow at you. The air seemed to sizzle with electricity as you placed your palm in his and he led you to the couch. 

“Well, I thought - since it’s so cold outside - maybe we could stay in,” he flinched as he motioned for you to sit. “I mean, not that you have to stay here, I know that sounds...you know what? Nevermind, we can just go out, maybe grab a bite to - “

Squeezing his hand, you cut him off. “Dean, stop.” You smiled reassuringly at him as you sat down. “I know what you mean. I think that sounds nice.”

Dean’s shoulders relaxed and he let out a breath before smiling broadly at you. He stood there, looking tenderly down at you, as though in a fog, for several seconds before he snapped abruptly. Shaking his head gently to himself, he took a step toward the pair of mugs on the table and grabbed one in each hand.

“I made you some hot cocoa,” he said, handing you a mug and lowering himself to the seat beside you.

The warm scent of chocolate tickled your nose as you took a small, tentative sip. You hummed in delight.

“This is delicious. Thank you.” 

Dean wrapped his hands around his own mug, fingertips playing along the rim as he stared down into it. 

“I’m sorry.”

His voice was so low you almost missed it, but you didn’t and his words surprised you. Your cup suspended in midair, the attempted second sip now forgotten as you stared at him, confused.

“What?”

Dean turned the mug between his palms, his brows creased. 

“I’ve just,” he paused, his tongue darting out to sweep across his lower lip. “I’ve wanted to do this for so long, and I wanted tonight to be perfect.”

“What makes you think it’s not?” You brought the cup down, resting it gently on your knee.

“I don’t know. It’s like when I’m with you, I feel like a bumbling idiot. You deserve to be wined and dined and, and, and, ” he paused again, his gaze finally finding yours, “cherished.” He gulped. “But this -” he gestured limply around the room with one hand and looked down again. “ - this just feels awkward. Or something.”

The ceramic clinked against the wood as you set your drink aside. You carefully reached for Dean’s mug, unwrapping his calloused fingers from their hold and depositing his cup next to yours. Dean tensed when your hands closed over his, his mouth falling open slightly. 

“Listen. This?” You mirrored his earlier motion. “This is beautiful. You went to a lot of trouble planning this and I feel like a really special girl to be seated on this couch next to you. You’ve got to get out of your head, Winchester.” You smiled warmly at him, gripping his hand a little tighter. “I like you, Dean. A lot. So whatever pressure you’re putting on yourself to impress me? Just forget it, ok?”

Dean’s lips pressed together in a tight line, his brows still creased, but he nodded. He pulled his hands from your grip and stood. Your heart dropped a little as he turned from you and walked across the room. A few seconds later, the quiet was replaced with music and Dean stood in front of you, offering you his hand again. Two singers began their gentle, musical debate, a song you loved despite the kerfuffle in recent years surrounding it.

I really can't stay (but baby, it's cold outside) I've got to go away (but baby, it's cold outside) This evening has been (been hoping that you'd drop in) So very nice (I'll hold your hands, they're just like ice)

“May I have this dance?” He crooned, his face having relaxed somewhat and his lips curved in a shy smile.

As Dean pulled you gently to your feet, the firelight glowed in his eyes, making their green depths twinkle in the darkness. He rested one hand on your waist and held your right hand with the other. Your fingers splayed across his back as you pressed in close to him, following his lead as he swayed with the music. Sighing, you rested your head against his shoulder and you felt him take a deep breath.

You smiled against the fabric of his shirt, and couldn’t stop yourself from singing along.

You've really been grand But don't you see?

Dean dropped his head to rest against yours as he joined you, quietly singing along with the responses to the woman’s half-hearted protests.

There's bound to be talk tomorrow (think of my lifelong sorrow) At least there will be plenty implied (if you got pneumonia and died)

Pulling back, you looked up into his beautiful eyes, unwilling to resist the smile playing along your lips as you sang the last lines together.

I really can't stay (get over that old out) Baby, it's cold Baby, it's cold outside

Dean beamed down at you, his face mere inches from yours. Without giving yourself the chance to back out, you leaned up, placing a chaste, but lingering kiss against his lips. Dean’s grip on your waist tightened gently as you broke apart, his eyes flicking anxiously as he looked at you. The second kiss was anything but chaste, your lips parting as he pulled you tighter against him and sighed into your mouth. 

Another song began but you’d stopped swaying, both of you lost in the taste and feel of each other. When you pulled apart a time later, Dean closed his eyes, pressing his forehead to yours and sighing happily.

“Dean?” 

His eyelashes fluttered open, his pupils wide as he looked at you.

“This is perfect.”

----

A/N 2: Look, I know everyone has feelings about this song, and I’m not here to debate it. I think I got an ask last year telling me not to write about this again because the song is “problematic.” I understand the concerns regarding consent and though I see the song differently, I know some people have a problem with it. Just understand, this is the third year in a row I’ve gotten a request to write a fic with this song, and I’m simply fulfilling the request of a lovely follower. I hope you understand. Thank you!

----

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[babbushka]

Family

Flip loved coming home to you more than anything else. You were everything to him, his family. He didn’t know it, but you had some news from him that was about to change everything.

Flip Zimmerman x Jewish!Reader, (set in the same sort of universe as my other Flip fics! :))

Word count: 1700 

Warnings: Mentions of pregnancy, minor language (it’s really all fluff lol) 

Flip was tired.

He had had a long day, chasing criminals around – literally chasing them, on foot. He’d been shot at, he’d shot back, lucky for Flip his aim was better than the perp’s. Didn’t change the fact that he’d had to run four miles at near top speed, dodging cars and bicyclists and everything but the kitchen sink in his path. Didn’t change the fact that it had rained on him the whole way either.

He was tired, but he was home, and he was going to have you in his arms in five minutes tops, and that thought kept him sane as he shoved the key into the lock of his front door.

“Is that my handsome husband I hear?” He heard your sweet voice call from somewhere deep in the house.

He could feel the tension of the day slip away as he stripped off his soaked coat, stepped out of his muddy boots.

“You bet, ketsl.” He called back, unclipping his holster and hanging it up before wandering the house. “Where’s my gorgeous wife?” He asked, stealing a pastry from under the glass case in the kitchen and shoving it in his mouth.

He could smell dinner cooking, and had to resist the urge to take a peek, he wanted to get his hands on you too badly.  

He walked through the living room to the fireplace room, where you were cozied up on the couch reading the newspaper, record playing softly as the fire crackled. The rain sounded like it was a thousand miles away, and he smiled at you, happy to be home.

“Come here.” You said with a warm smile, holding your hands out to him.

Flip took two strides across the room, and kneeled down on the floor right up against the couch, pulling you into a tight hug and breathing in the clean scent of your soap. He pulled back enough to kiss you, tried to put all his love into that kiss, tried to tell you how much he had missed you that day from it. He pinched your chin and smiled against your lips, and you smiled back, his goatee tickling you.

“You’re filthy.” You said, making him huff out a laugh.

He really was, it was why he didn’t just collapse on top of you like he normally would – he didn’t want to get you all dirty too.

“I could do for a scrub, huh?” He said, and you smiled.

“Well you’re certainly not sitting at my dinner table like this.” You pinched at his clothes, which were absolutely soaked.

He stood back up, pulling you to stand too, and you pressed yourself right up against his chest despite the state of him. He wrapped an arm around you, kept you tucked tight against him and kissed you once, twice, three times, until you were laughing and shimmying away from him.

“Come with me?” He asked. He had missed you all day, didn’t want to have to miss you anymore now that he was home.

“Let me check the oven.” You said, always the practical thinker.

Showering together was nice, but not burning the house down (or even worse, ruining dinner) was nicer.

 After a few moments of double checking everything was fine in the kitchen, you took his hand in yours and the both of you lazily made your way to the shower, stopping every few feet to kiss each other. Even after all the time you two had been together, you still hadn’t gotten over that honeymoon phase, and Flip never wanted it to end.

He turned the water on, making sure it was just the right temperature and held your hand to steady you as you stepped over the lip of the tub. He followed right after, and you laughed at how silly he looked with his hair all wet, plastered to his face with his ears sticking out.

You tugged on one of those ears affectionately, and he scooped you into his arms in the tiny shower and kissed you all over, making you laugh even more.

“What sort of mess did you get yourself into this time, Detective Zimmerman?” You grinned, reaching around him to pick up his old spice soap on a rope, and foamed it up in your hands.

“Man hunt, finally caught the bastard.” Flip sighed, loving the way your hands smoothed the suds across his chest and shoulders. He reached up to tuck some of your wet hair behind your ears and out of your face, the water splashing his back and shielding you from it.

“Don’t tell me he was armed.” You raised an eyebrow, knowing full well the answer.

“’Course he was armed.” Flip smirked, making you pinch him, “But I got him!” He added, and you chuckled.

“I love you.” You said with a shake of your head and a smile, in that tone of yours that made his heart warm.

“Love you more, always will.” He said.

“It’s not a competition you know.” You rolled your eyes as you turned around, presenting him with your hair to wash.

“Yes it is.” Flip said, smacking at your ass playfully as he bent around you to grab your shampoo.

 “What’d you do today?” Flip asked you later, after you both were clean and dry and had kissed lazily while laying in bed in your towels.

He wanted to fuck you, make love to you, but he was starving and you had worked hard on dinner, so he decided he’d just wait to have you for dessert.

You were arranging and rearranging the vegetables on your plate, something you only did when you were nervous. He frowned, tried not to read too much into it, that is until –

“The usual; went to the park, visited some friends, took a pregnancy test, picked up groceries.” You said casually, making his hand still.

You’d been trying for a little while now.

In the beginning it was fun – Flip loved any chance he got to have sex with you, and there was a thrill each time that you had told him not to wear protection, that you were stopping your contraceptive, that you wanted a baby.

But then every test came back negative.

And suddenly, there was more of a weight to it, an anxiety surrounding it.

Flip read books, he talked to doctors, helped you plan your cycles and did all the right things – and still they came back negative.

He looked at you, held his breath.  

“And?” He asked, almost afraid, didn’t want to make you upset.

But you didn’t shake your head like all the other times, you didn’t cast your eyes down.

Instead Flip watched with dawning realization as you let a slow, hopeful smile perk up your face, eyes starting to fill with tears that had Flip out of his seat and racing across the dining table in an instant.

“Holy shit!” He said, breathless, tears pricking at his eyes too, throat closing from emotion. “(Y/N)! Holy shit!”

He picked you up and spun you in his arms, making you laugh wetly, arms around his shoulders. He buried his face into your neck, you kissed the side of his head, his cheek, wherever you could reach.

“Are you happy?” You asked, your face smiling so wide Flip could practically feel the ache in your cheeks – he could feel it in his own with the way he grinned.

“Happy? I’m – fuck! – I’m thrilled!” He couldn’t stop kissing you, his hands shaking as they cupped your cheeks, thumbs brushing fat round tears from your smiling face. “Are you? Are you happy?” He knew, of course he knew, but he needed to make sure, needed to know this wasn’t a dream.

“Yeah, yeah I’m happy.” You laughed through your happy tears, and Flip’s whole heart soared.

“You’re gonna be a mom! I’m gonna be a dad!” Flip held you close and shouted it out to the world, wanted all of Colorado Springs to know.

“Yeah you are!” You grinned into his chest, smiled and laughed at his reaction, sheer joy pouring out of you.

“We’re gonna have a family.” Flip whispered, looked you right in the eyes and kissed you.

 After a celebratory round of sweet love making, Flip laid his head gently on your stomach, ear pressed to your skin, as if he were listening to the teenie tiny sounds that his baby might make – even though there was no way with it being this early.

You had a hand in his hair, combing out the knots you had tangled as he fucked you lovingly into the mattress.

“I hope they look like you, I don’t care – boy or girl. I hope they’re happy, I hope they’re like you.” Flip said, kissed your belly button and then climbed up the bed to kiss you too. He braced himself on his elbows around you, and you smiled against his lips. “I hope they have your smile and your laugh and your eyes and your smarts.”

“They’re going to be like each of us, and like their own person.” You whispered, blushing, pointer finger smoothing his goatee idly. “Isn’t that crazy? They’re going to be their own person.”

“I guess it’s time to renovate the spare room, huh?” Flip asked, making you grin.

“Good thing I’ve got a big strong handy man on call.” You teased.

“Oh yeah?” Flip teased back, kissing at your neck and chest.

“Yeah,” You laughed, “I like to watch his big muscles flex.”

Flip groaned when you ran your hands over his biceps and gave them a good squeeze, he was liable to fuck you all over again if you kept acting like that, despite even how exhausted he was.

He rolled you over and pinned your wrists above your head, licking his lips at how your chest rose and fell with your breath.

“You drive me crazy, you know that?” He asked.

“Oh, just you wait.” You gave him a wink.

And he couldn’t – he couldn’t wait to see where this next chapter in your lives was going to take him. He couldn’t wait for all the doctor’s appointments, the parenting classes, the lists and lists of baby names that he just knew were going to litter the house. He couldn’t wait to tell his friends once he got the all-clear from the doctor, couldn’t wait to tell his family. His mind was going a thousand miles a minute until you sighed happily and brought him back down to Earth.

He couldn’t wait to meet his child.

He looked up at you, saw your big wet eyes, your soft lips.

He knew he would have to wait, that these things take time, and in the meantime, he kissed you.

I hope y’all enjoyed this one!  Tagging some pals! As always, if you’d like to be added or taken off the list please just shoot me a message!  @fullofbees @spinebarrel @oh-adam@dreamboatdriver @bad–bad–man @thecurlycaptain@bourbonboredom@driverficarchive@aweirdlookingtree@rosalynbair@redhairedfeistynerd@adamsnackdriver@glitzescape@arwarz @adamsnacc-kler@kyloxfem@fallin-for-youreyes @kylo-renne@attorneyl

[strawberriestyles]

Shakespeare (Part I)

(Banner made by the incredibly talented @tiostyles)

Harry X Reader (AU)

In which Harry is a poetic frat boy who just so happens to be the TA for your new English class.

Author’s note: This is gonna be a multi-part fic!! I’m really excited for it and would love any and all feedback. I hope you enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing. Xo

You aren’t a newbie, but your frazzled appearance might portray you that way.

Autumn air nips at your cheeks as you rush around the corner and continue along the edge of the sidewalk. Your feet carry you around other students who aren’t as pressed for time. They give you amused side-glances  as you hustle into the entrance of the closest brick building.

This was supposed to be your semester, the one where you get to class early and rewrite your notes by hand and get straight As. But one-too-many snoozed alarms later and your first day of classes has become your worst nightmare.

You take the stairs two at a time, and are rushing through the doorway to the second floor when you slam full force into a particularly solid shoulder. You’re knocked off balance and a flurry of papers careen through the air to scatter the floor around you.

“Shit, fuck,” a deep voice mutters from above where you’ve landed in a heap. You rub tenderly at the bruise that is bound to form from your collision.

“Are yeh okay? Yeh hurt?”

The man leaning down in front of you addresses you with a thick accent. With an upward glance, you find tired green eyes framed by a large pair of glasses.

“I’m fine,” you answer quietly, pushing yourself back to your feet. “I’m late, sorry.”

You spin around to rush down the hall. A prick of guilt stabs your chest as you leave your victim to collect his belongings. You hear a sigh and shuffling papers from behind you as you open the door to your classroom. Heads turn to assess you in your flustered state. The clock on the wall informs you that you’re forty-seven seconds late—a feat, if you consider how late you woke up.

It’s a small class with about twenty students. Seats are arranged in a large circle that you’re forced to cross. The gaze from the professor—who must be Dr. Glasser—at the head of the room does nothing to soothe your nerves as you find an empty chair and slip into it as quietly as possible.

“As I was saying, on time is late in my book.”

Your head lifts from the backpack you’ve set at your feet to find a pair of narrowed eyes. Dr. Glasser has his arms crossed over his chest, brows raised as he quirks his lips at a joke you’re not yet in on. Getting on his bad side was everything you wanted to avoid today.

“Hey, ’m sorry.”

The door closes behind a man who’s entered the room unnoticed until now. His voice draws the professor’s gaze from you and your eyes follow suit.

“Woke up not feelin’ well and then some girl bowled m'over in the hall.”

You cringe, sinking back into your seat in hopes you’ll melt away. If your day could get any worse, you’d rather it happen now than later when it might take you off guard. But at least there’s another student who can share the guilt.

“It never changes,” Dr. Glasser replies with a curt nod and a knowing chuckle. “That’s all right. This is Harry. He’ll be your TA for the semester.”

You sink even lower in your seat, stomach churning in discomfort. How could you fuck up your first day so terribly?

Harry sets a mess of papers down on a desk beside the professor’s and turns to look at the class with a half-hearted smile. His white t-shirt is clean but wrinkled. You notice the red glint of his eyes and the way his fingers pause to rub at his temple as his hand passes through his tousled hair. He’s sporting a nasty hangover, by the looks of it.

Your thoughts cease completely as his eyes stop scanning the students to pause on your regretful face. He gives a soft shake of his head and a quiet chuckle before he sits down. You’re screwed.

“What does it mean to be an English major? What are we here for?” Dr. Glasser pipes up, pushing away from his desk to pace the center of the circle.

There’s a short pause before a couple of stray hands rise hesitantly into the air. You remain stationary, unwilling to dig yourself a deeper hole. Until you’re more sure of his personality and teaching style, you’ll be a quiet student in this class.

“To study literature?”

“More generally.”

The room goes silent and Harry smiles lopsidedly, fiddling with the rim of his glasses. Dr. Glasser gives him a prompting side-glance.

“T'study words,” Harry corrects, and his smile widens as he shifts forward in his seat, “aesthetically. How they interact, wha’ they make us feel. Lot o’ people make fun o’ English majors, but we have the best deal, ‘f yeh ask me. We get t'play 'round. Not everythin’s gotta be pragmatic and serious.”

“Right,” Dr. Glasser agrees with a nod and a grin that stretches across his middle-aged face. He’s handsome in his own right, in a pair of glasses much thicker than his assistant’s. They magnify his eyes to an abnormally large size. You notice the brown laces of his black shoes and the mismatched plaid of his socks that peak out whenever he takes a step.

“Everything we do is toward an aesthetic end. You don’t really get that when you’re collecting data or memorizing the anatomy of a rhinoceros, do you?”

“Rhinoceros?” Harry asks with a raised brow and a quizzical scratch of his stubbly jaw.

“It’s a bit more interesting than a dog, wouldn’t you say?”

“S'pose,” he agrees with a chuckle.

You admire the way he can still stay focused and present with the leftover alcohol taking its toll on his body. You’re sure you would be a useless blob if you were in the same condition.

“I’m not trying to say that English is the best major-”

“Yes, he is,” Harry interjects, grinning at the professor.

“Okay, yes, English is the best major,” Dr. Glasser confesses, stuffing meaty hands into the pockets of pants that are a size too large. You find yourself agreeing. Science classes are far less than enjoyable and math classes can be close to impossible. “And you may think that I’m a bit biased, but it’s a fact. Ask your science-majoring friends.”

You notice a girl a few seats around the circle from you who is scribbling intensely in a brand new notebook. You chew on your lip to hold in a chuckle. She must be a freshman. 

“They’re probably too loaded up with work t'answer yeh, though,” Harry adds, sifting through the pile of papers on his desk and rearranging them. “Yeh wan’ me t'take attendance?”

“Yeah, sure,” Dr. Glasser concedes, hopping up on the edge of his desk and swinging his feet.

Harry smooths out a sheet of wrinkled paper with a faint shoe mark—one that would match the sole of your boot perfectly, if you were to put them side-by-side. His eyes flit over rows of printed pictures that match the faces in the room. He clears his throat before beginning to roll through the alphabetical list, and you consider not reacting when he calls your name. Maybe you can make one up, so your actual title isn’t tarnished by your faulty first impressions.

“Y/N,” Harry asks, and if you’re not mistaken, you can hear a lilt to his voice, like he’s testing the sound of your name on his tongue. His gaze lifts from the page before him to find you immediately, only a small pie-slice away from him in the circle of desks.

You lift your hand meekly in response. You don’t trust the anxiety you feel not to stain your voice. His eyes hover on yours for a moment longer, flickering with amusement, before dropping back to the attendance sheet.

“It might take me half of the semester to remember those,” Dr. Glasser admits when the list comes to an end. He returns to the floor with a heavy thud and presses his spectacles back up his nose by the bridge. “But we’ll get there.”

“Yeh didn’ remember m'name 'til the last week o’ classes,” Harry complains, rolling his eyes playfully.

“That is most certainly untrue,” Dr. Glasser denies with a feigned look of hurt. “You were my favorite student and your name was the only one I remembered. But let’s stop our bickering, now.”

The professor spins in a circle to survey the class before he speaks again.

“Harry is smarter than you,” he states matter-of-factly. “When it comes to English theory, at least. I can’t say he’s the smartest at deciding which nights are good ones to go out drinking, however.”

Harry coughs to cover his a laugh, but he can’t hide his entertained smirk while Dr. Glasser shoots him a playfully disappointed look. He pushes his glasses up his forehead to rub at his eyes with long fingers.

“Anyways, I am also smarter than you in this department, but Harry happens to be much nicer than me. I’m not trying to intimidate you, I’m just letting you know that if you have questions or need help with anything, it’s probably better to ask him first. Plus, his voice is a lot nicer to listen to than mine.”

Harry groans audibly, but the ever-present smile is still plastered across his lips. You can tell how much he loves this class, and Dr. Glasser, specifically, and you can feel yourself hoping that your below average first day doesn’t set the tone for your semester.

“He’s quite talented. And quite the poet, if I may add.”

“Yeh may not,” Harry huffs, flicking his glasses back down in front of his eyes.

“Well, he’s quite the poet,” Dr. Glasser repeats, ignoring Harry’s remark and smiling to spite him. “He’s the smartest kid I’ve ever met and none of you will compare, but we can pretend.”

“Oi! Can we stop talkin’ 'bout me, now?”

“I love when he uses British terms. It’s very endearing.”

“Dr. Glasser,” Harry complains again, rubbing his hands beneath the lenses of his glasses once more.

The professor shrugs with a grin to the class and checks his left wrist, which he finds to be watch-less. He then checks the clock on the wall.

“Does anyone have any questions?” he asks, continuing on before anyone has a chance to raise a hand. “Great! Your reading assignment is on the syllabus, which is online. You probably should have looked at that already. We’ll start talking theory next class. And a bit of advice: don’t drink as much as Harry did last night.”

Students erupt into snickers as Dr. Glasser slings his messenger bag over his shoulder and leaves the room, and you can’t help but laugh at his closing statement, too. Harry drops his head back in exasperation, huffing out a loud breath. The room is suddenly filled with a chorus of footsteps and ruffling papers and zipping bags. 

You slide out of your seat, hiking your backpack up and over your shoulders. Your feet hesitate, mind trying to decide whether you should apologize or if it’s best to just leave. Harry is stacking his papers and trying his best to align the rumpled edges. He slips the pen he used for attendance between his teeth. Before you actually make a conscious decision, you’re standing in front of his desk, rocking on the balls of your feet nervously.

“Hi, Harry.”

He lifts his head briefly and then looks back down at his papers, shaking his head almost imperceptibly.

“I’m-”

“Y/N, yeah. Not gonna forget tha’ one,” he interrupts, mumbling around his pen and chuckling under his breath.

You sigh, fiddling with the straps of your backpack. Harry lifts his bundle of papers and hugs them to his chest, plucking the pen from his mouth and tucking it behind an ear.

“I just wanted to say that I’m-”

“’M late, sorry.”

And with that, he gives you an amused smirk and skirts around you to leave the room.

Part II

[imaginethatawriter]

A Child’s Intuition(Frank Castle x Reader)

Summary: Your five year old son is obsessed with the man who lives in the apartment down the hallway. You on the other hand would rather your son be as far away from Frank as possible. Your warnings do nothing to stop your son from running to the man any time he appears and you have to admit, Frank Castle is growing on you a little bit.

Warnings: Profanity

A/N: S/N = son’s name (obviously)

Being a single mom was not easy. Being a single mom in New York with a low paying job was even harder. After years of saving and working overtime you’ finally had enough money to comfortably move into a nicer apartment. All of this was for your son. Your last apartment was abysmal. No matter how much you cleaned it looked dingy and moldy and you wanted so much more for your boy.

Walking into the lobby of the apartment felt like walking into a cool pool on a hot summer day. The building wasn’t perfect, there was still dust in the corners and the paint was peeling a little, but it was world’s better than the last one. Your son struggles to hold up a heavy cardboard box filled with his toys while you juggle your new keys, a small box of electronics, and your phone that was ringing. Some small part of your mind registers that the box is slipping out of your son’s hands, but the dominant part of your brain is too occupied to react to the dangerous situation. The cardboard slips out of your son’s hands, but before his most prized possessions can crash against the ground, a grizzled man swoops down and catches the box.

Your son stares up at the man with his mouth hanging open. Your mind finally catches up to what is happening and you shove your phone back in your pocket before putting your own items on the ground.

“Oh my gosh. Thank you so much.” You move to grab the box from the man’s hands, but he pulls away slightly.

“Need help with these? Don’t want this very important stuff to fall down the stairs.” The man gives extra emphasis to the importance of your son’s toys and  the admiration in your son’s eyes grow.”

“I think we’ve got it under control.” This time when you reach for the box the man lets you have it.

“Suit yourself.” You’re surprised that he doesn’t push you further. You watch with an eyebrow raised as his broad form disappears into the stairwell. 

With the box of toys secured in your arms you crouch down and rearrange the boxes you dropped. You offer your son one of the smaller boxes that you were carrying in the hopes that this one wouldn’t be too large for him. Thankfully the two of you climb the stairs without any more dropped boxes. The apartment had already been decorated with your large pieces of furniture. Though the movers left a few new dents in the walls, it looked perfect. You drop the keys on the small table by the door and immediately the place feels like home.

“Can I have my toys back now?” Your son is bouncing excitedly on the balls of his feet, gripping tightly to your shirt.

“Yes, you can. Thank you for the help.” You drop the rest of the boxes on the small table before bending to hand the box of toys over. The boy races through the apartment to the room he has already claimed as his own, closing the door behind him. 

It doesn’t take long for the two of you to settle in to your new home. Your son makes friends with the other kids that live throughout the building,  and is excited about the new school he’s going to go to. For some reason though, he can’t forget about the man in the lobby. Every day he asks you about the man; is he ok, could he come over for dinner, what’s his name. Your son is fascinated, but you had the opposite reaction. The encounter leaves you with a bad taste in you mouth. You know who the man is, but you can’t put a name to the face. For days you attempt to ignore the feeling at the pit of your stomach, but eventually it becomes too much. After work you sit down at your old laptop and scour the internet for old news articles, police reports, interviews; anything that would shed some light on the man that lived just down the hall.

The clock on your wall reads 2 am when you finally find a picture. The headline that accompanies it freezes your blood. You were living five doors down from mass murderer Frank Castle. You sit frozen in your kitchen chair as the minutes tick by. The thought of having someone so dangerous right next door makes you want to throw everything into boxes and leave. But you can’t do that. All of your savings had gone into the security deposit and the first rent payment.

Ten minutes pass before you shake yourself from your thoughts and force yourself to get out of the chair. You have work in the morning and you can’t afford to stay up any later worrying about something that might not be a problem. You pass your son’s room and look in to see that he’s sound asleep with his covers twisted around his body. You mechanically follow your nightly routine only to find yourself lying in bed wide awake. You can’t stop thinking. You don’t think you’ll ever be able to sleep. When you finally drift off you’re plagued by nightmares of your son being taken away and your feet being glued to the floor. You wake up at random intervals, tossing and turning and trying to convince yourself to fall asleep for good.

The next morning you have dark bags under your eyes and your eyes feel like sand. It’s a struggle to get both yourself and your son ready for the day.

“Mommy are you all right. You look sleepy.” Your son sits in a kitchen with his feet swinging in the air.

“I’m a little tired, but I’ll be all right honey.”

He continues to dig into his bowl of cereal oblivious to the thoughts that were still rattling through your mind. Despite the rough start to the morning you and your son make it out the door on time. He struggles with a book bag that’s too big for him, but everything becomes irrelevant when Frank Castle steps out of his apartment down the hallways. You’re hand snatches at the bookbag, but the boy is already half way down the hallway.

“(S/N)! Get back here!” But your calls are unheeded and your son runs right up to the Punisher and looks up at him big innocent eyes. Frank looks just as surprised as you do as he looks down at the small boy.

“Mornin’” He says to the boy staring up at him.

Before your son can say anything in response you swoop in and usher your son away. “Come on. Don’t bother the man so early in the morning. We need to get you to school.” You avoid making eye contact and keep a firm hand on your son’s shoulder.

You manage to push your son along and get him to school on time and then you’re at work. It’s an exhausting day. Thirty minutes until the end of your shift and you were asleep on your feet. A man clears his throat in front of you. You force your eyes open and your heart jumps into your throat. Frank Castle looks down at you with a raised eyebrow.

“Rough night?” he asks.

“Uhhh…” you stutter trying to think of an appropriate response. “I don’t know?” Frank’s eyebrows crease together. “I mean yeah, yeah I didn’t get much sleep.” You reach over your station to grab a menu.

“So just you then?”

The man nods silently. You lead him to a table near the back of the restaurant and hand him the menu. Without looking he orders coffee and you gladly take the excuse to get away from him. Your mind has crafted this image of Frank that is violent and rude, but the man who is ordering is polite. A little curt maybe, but overall polite. But you can’t let your guard down.

By the time you return with Frank’s coffee your shift is over. You set the mug down on the table and begin to untie your apron.

“You off for the night?” Frank asks before taking a sip of the scalding hot coffee.

“Yup” you say shortly, folding the apron over your arm.

“You really don’t have to be afraid of me. I’m not after hardworking moms and their sons.”

The statement catches you off guard. You stare at him in silence for several seconds while he continues eating as if he’d never said anything.

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He sets down his coffee mug and shoots you a withering gaze. “You know what I do. IT’s not hard to find out especially with all the fucking cameras and shit that watch the entire city.”

“My son is absolutely obsessed with you. I have no idea why.”

Frank hums softly. “Explains why he ran up to me this morning.”

You nod and stand still for a few more seconds. You slowly step away from his table and eventually make your way out of the restaurant. You park your car near the apartment building just as your son’s bus pulls up at the front of the building. He runs to you and you crouch down so that he can wrap his arms around your middle. On your way up to your apartment, he tells you all about his day. It’s not until you’re unlocking the apartment door that your son asks about Frank. It’s the same question he asked since you arrived at your new home.

Did you talk to him today? On every other day the answer would be no.

“Yes. He was at the restaurant.”

Your son jumps up excitedly. “What did he say to you? What did you say? Did you invite him to dinner?”

You put a hand on his head to calm him down. “We just talked about…work.” You say trying to find some way around the true contents of the conversation. “And no I didn’t ask him to dinner. That’s not quite how it works.”

Days pass by, and you begin to see Frank more often. Frank exits his apartment every morning only to have your son latch onto his leg. For the first couple of mornings you hurriedly pry your boy away, giving the excuse that you have to get to school. However, performing the same act every morning got tiring and eventually you let the boy ask his questions before reminding him that Frank had places to be as well.  

The conversations are always brief, but the way that Frank interacts with your son softens your heart. Frank is dangerous there is no doubt, but you start to believe that he’s not dangerous to you or your son.

“Mr. Frank you should come over to dinner. My mom makes really good food.”

Your attention is yanked away from your cellphone. “Honey I don’t think Mr. Frank wants to come over for dinner.”

Frank chuckles and opens his mouth to respond to your son’s impromptu suggestion, but before he can get any words out your son continues his persuasion.

“But you’ve never seen our apartment. It’s so great and pretty and its clean I promise. I keep my room really clean and-and I got a new train set that I really really want to show you, but it’s too big and-and-and,” your son trips over his words as he searches for any possible reason to get Frank over to dinner.

“All right all right calm down kid. If your mom wants to invite me over to dinner, I will come over for dinner.”

Your son turns on his heels to look up at you with big round eyes. You really can’t deny him this one simple request. You finally shrug. “Well I suppose it wouldn’t be a terrible idea. But you,” you boop your son’s nose gently. “Will have to help me cook.”

Your son jumps up and down, cheering in joy. In his excitement he forgets all about you and Frank and he races down the hall towards the stairs. Before you chase after him you settle the best date for the combined dinner. Your discomfort in the exchange is reflected perfectly in Frank’s expression. At least the feeling was mutual.

When the day of the dinner finally arrives you find yourself much ore nervous then you should be. You’ve hosted small dinners before so the surplus cooking and the obsessive cleaning weren’t the hard parts. It was thinking about the possible conversations that made you nervous.

Exactly how much could Frank even talk about. You doubted that he did much outside of searching and killing criminals. And those kinds of stories weren’t exactly kid friendly. You peak behind your shoulder to watch your son line up his toys in order of favorite. Maybe he would carry the conversation through the entire night. He’s fully capable of talking someone’s ear off. But somehow, inexplicably, you want to impress Frank. Not just with your clean apartment and your good food, but with you intelligence and the conversations that you can carry.

Your thoughts become an endless loop of all the topics you could come up with if needed. Your thoughts began to circle faster and faster until they become entangled with each other. A rough knock at the door jerks you out of your thoughts. For a brief moment, everything is perfectly still. You and your son watch the door as if the instrusion is completely unexpected.

A second knock comes from the door.

You hurry over and open the door to let Frank in. He looks exactly like he does every other day, which at the same time surprises and relieves you. Your brain freezes briefly and you forget that you should probably say hello. Frank doesn’t seem bothered by the awkward silence, instead he hands you a container of chocolate chip cookies.

“Felt like I should bring something,” he says with a shrug.

“Thank you. I’m sure he’ll love you for it.” You step to the side so that Frank can get inside the apartment.

Upon seeing Frank, your son jumps to his feet and sprints to your side. He grabs at Frank’s hand and drags him over to the table where the toys are displayed. You let your son ramble on about the toys for a few minutes before reminding him that Frank was here for dinner not the toys.

The dinner itself wasn’t as terrible as you imagined. Your son talked for the most part, asking Frank questions, telling stories, or just chatting. After all of the food has been eaten Frank entertains your son by explaining how a car works and discussing how amazing Daredevil is. You’re a little unsure of that last one. You don’t want your son to get any ideas of running around trying to stop evil, but he’s having so much fun you can’t push yourself into the conversation.

Your son’s eyes begin to droop and his energy slowly begins to fade away. He struggles to stay awake, to enjoy this momentous occasion for as long as possible. But it was inevitable. It was time for bed. As you herd him into his bedroom he weakly protests. It’s incredible how quickly he falls asleep. When you return to the living room, Frank is looking at the pictures that hang on your walls.

“He’s a very talkative kid,” he comments without looking away from the photos.

You step to his side and look fondly on the memories. “He has a lot of interests that I know nothing about so I’m sure he’s happy to have someone to talk to. I try to keep up, but sometimes it’s just not possible.”

Frank hums in answer.

“Thanks for coming over and entertaining him. It made his week and I’m sure I’ll hear nothing about it for the next month.”

“Any chance that he’ll stop grabbin’ onto me any time he sees me?” Frank asks with one corner of his mouth turned upwards.

“Probably not,” you respond with a similar smile. “And it wouldn’t surprise me if he asks you to dinner a second time.”

“Maybe that wouldn’t be a horrible thing.”

“Maybe not.”

Original Request: hey :) so I think I already requested this but since you deletet all the old request I give it another try :D could you write a frank castle imagine where the reader moves in with her 5 year old son next to his flat and her son always runs up to frank when he see him. the reader knows who frank is so she is a little uncomfortable but her son seems to trust him so she slowly starts to trust him too and they are getting closer (in a romantic way ;)) that would be awsome!! :)

[bangtanbombimagines]

Hola! Can I ask forma an angst with Namjoon? W/ a sad ending hehe thanks 💕💕

Title: I Guess We Changed (Namjoon x Reader)

READ THE PROLOGUE HERE

Genre: Fluff + Angst

Summary: You and Namjoon belong to a close-knit trio of underground musicians. Everything changes when Namjoon lands a major record deal.

Word count: 1.5k words

Namjoon let his head fall onto your shoulder, his eyelids drooping with exhaustion. You peered at the clock hanging on the wall of your “studio”–it was really just a shabby apartment you shared with two other musicians. It was just past three in the morning.

“Yoongi, our collab can wait a few more hours,” you groaned, sinking further into the tattered couch. “Let us sleep.”

“I have an early shift. Need to do this now,” Yoongi grunted, still smashing away at his keyboard. “Plus, inspiration is a fickle mistress.”

“Dude, our stage isn’t for another two weeks,” Namjoon argued tiredly. “Our set’s pretty much complete, anyway.”

“If you guys are tired, just go to bed,” Yoongi sighed, finally turning to look at you. “I’ll finish as much as I can now and we can work on it tomorrow.”

You and Namjoon leapt up at Yoongi’s dismissal, eager to go to bed. Namjoon practically sprinted out of the living room, disappearing into your bedroom with a loud crash. The sound of Namjoon’s muffled cursing carried throughout the flat.

Before you turned to follow Namjoon, you paused and looked at Yoongi. His eyes were ringed with purple and he had lost weight. Frowning, you walked up to him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Get some rest, okay?” you asked quietly, squeezing him gently. “You need to take care of yourself.”

“I will, Y/N,” Yoongi said with a small smile. “Go fucking spoon your boyfriend now, or whatever it is you two do.”

“We’re not dating!” you called over your shoulder as you walked away. That was the truth–sure, you were intimate, but Namjoon didn’t like to label things. And, well, you liked Namjoon.

In your room, Namjoon was already half asleep, nestled underneath a mountain of blankets. He roused at your entrance, his eyes opening slightly. You slipped into the bed with him, Namjoon’s arms wrapping around your waist instinctively.

“Night,” you whispered, leaning into Namjoon’s larger form. He radiated warmth, lulling you to sleep easily.

“Goodnight,” he replied, his voice gravelly, and kissed the back of your neck. His arms tightened around your body as you both slipped into a deep slumber.

The next morning, you slowly slipped from the covers of sleep. You were met by the sight of rays of golden sunlight streaming in through the open window, casting the room in a warm glow. Nearby, you could feel the constant heat of Namjoon’s body, although he was no longer laying beside you.

“Namjoon?” you called groggily, pushing yourself upright.

He was sitting at the foot of the bed, hunched over looking at his laptop. Namjoon’s eyes were wide, and his shoulders appeared to be shaking.

“Are you okay?” you whispered, crawling towards him. You hugged him from behind, resting your chin on his shoulder. “What’s up?”

“I got the record deal,” Namjoon said, his voice coloured with disbelief. “T-they emailed me this morning. They want me to go to Gangnam to discuss contract terms.”

“Holy shit,” you gasped. “Oh my god, Namjoon! That’s amazing!”

Namjoon turned to you, a huge smile finally illuminating his face. His cheeks dimpled endearingly. “I did it, Y/N,” he laughed. “I’m gonna make it.”

You laughed with Namjoon, wrapping your arms around his neck. He pushed you down so he was laying on top of you. With some difficulty, he kissed you, smiling too much for it to last long. Nuzzling into the crook of your neck, Namjoon sighed in contentment.

Tugging at the bottom of Namjoon’s shirt, you bent your head down to whisper into his ear. “I think this calls for celebration, no?”

Much later that morning, you found yourself curled against Namjoon’s chest. The heat between your bare bodies was both comforting and overwhelming. He traced patterns against your back, his fingers travelling across the ridges of your spine. You practically melted into his touch.

“I’m so proud of you, Joonie,” you mumbled into his skin. “The world’s finally ready for you.”

“You’re going to be right there with me,” he replied with conviction. “If I can make it, so can you.”

“Wouldn’t that be nice,” you giggled. A darker train of thought passed over you. You bit your lip nervously. “But if that doesn’t happen, don’t forget about me, okay?”

“Don’t talk like that,” Namjoon scolded gently. Then, he pressed a kiss against the top of your head. “But how could I ever forget about you?”

“About us, I mean,” you said, blushing slightly. “What’s going to happen with us?”

“We’re going to be just fine,” Namjoon replied. “Our situation might change, but that doesn’t mean we have to as well.”

Two weeks later, Namjoon was in Gangnam and you and Yoongi were still in the sketchier parts of Seoul. You had to rearrange your entire set, awkwardly trying to fill in the gaps Namjoon’s absence had left.

When you and Yoongi performed, you made a good duo. The audience responded enthusiastically to the harmony of Yoongi’s raspy, carnal rap and your sweet melodies. But you both felt wrong–something was missing. To date, it had been your worst performance.

That night, you and Yoongi took the bus home. How glamorous, you thought bitterly, replaying the video’s Namjoon had sent you of his new dorm. It was small, but still much nicer than the tiny, rundown apartment you used to share with him. Since Namjoon was no longer contributing rent money, you and Yoongi took on extra shifts at your part-time jobs.

But difficulties aside, you simply missed him. Your blankets still carried his rich scent, his belongings were still scattered throughout your room. His sweaters hung from chairs and his shoes still sat in the doorway. Sometimes, it seemed like he never really left.

Your cell phone vibrated. It was a text from Namjoon.

RECEIVED 4:18 AM

How’d the show go, babe?

SENT 4:19 AM

it was ok. it’s weird performing without u

RECEIVED 4:21 AM

Don’t get used to it! We’re gonna make it big as a trio

SENT 4:21 AM

of course joonie~ go get some sleep now ok?

RECEIVED 4:22 AM

I will. Talk to you tomorrow

You looked up from your phone, watching familiar scenery roll past the windows of the bus. Beside you, Yoongi had fallen asleep, his head being jostled with every bump in the road. When the bus finally reached your stop, you shook Yoongi gently. The two of you walked the rest of the way home in companionable silence.

Two months later, you and Yoongi were stuck in the same position–the one you had been in for years. You and Yoongi released more and more recordings online, which brought little to no recognition and even less income.

Still, you mailed out CD’s and emailed files relentlessly. It felt like you sent hundreds out a day. Sometimes you’d receive a response, only to be invited to auditions with kids who were still in elementary school. You’d scoff at that.

“We should just make our own fucking label,” Yoongi would say sometimes, bitterness seeping into his tone.

At this time, Namjoon hadn’t been in as frequent contact as before. He texted less and hardly ever called. But he was training hard, and he sounded exhausted whenever you did talk to him.

By now, the sheets had lost their scent. You and Yoongi quietly packed away the remainder of Namjoon’s belongings–the one’s he didn’t deem important enough to bring with him, but were the world to you. They sat in a box, pushed into a dark corner of the apartment.

Slowly, Namjoon began to fade out of your life. The first time you walked into your flat, not expecting to see Namjoon spread across the sofa or on the floor, you realized that he was truly gone.

Two years later, you and Yoongi were working as songwriters. You sold your demos to some substantial companies, making your revenue off royalties. It was enough to make a living, and you could quit your day jobs.

Also, Namjoon had finally debuted.

You found out when one of the accounts you followed on Twitter shared a news article about him. Since Namjoon had stopped talking to you, any information you received was secondhand.

His music was nothing like you were expecting. It sometimes sounded manufactured, and his lyrics were no longer dark, cynical, or meaningful. He called himself Rap Monster, but his music was still tailored for the masses. It sounded like hip hop, but it didn’t feel like it.

Namjoon got popular pretty quickly. Soon, you could hear his music on the radio and he appeared on TV. Every time Yoongi heard him, he would change stations.

“Sellout,” Yoongi would spit.

But when you were alone, you would listen to Namjoon’s music. The familiar deep drone of his voice and the rapid, piercing intonation of his rap–it was a quiet comfort and a painful reminder. You missed the rapper who would perform passionately beside you. You missed the boy who would kiss you goodnight and good morning. Most importantly, you missed Namjoon, who would make you laugh, think, love, and cry.

The brightest boy in your life had left you with nothing but unwanted belongings and unanswered “what ifs?”

- Girl in Luv

Writing angst physically hurts me. My heart…it’s dead. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed! Our requests are open, so send us anything or reference our prompts page if you’d like. Thanks for the support!