#roomate prompt

[aftermyownart]

For a prompt, “cloud bird”. I really disliked this prompt until very suddenly I didn’t.

I think he cute.

[sarahowritesostucky]

The Fic:

Reader has had a crush on roommate Bucky for while, but they're just friends. She can't risk losing a good roommate who pays rent.

Then she notices him rearranging his junk in his pants all the time, and then overhears him telling/showing his guy friends his nifty new SAXXS underwear he got.

Reader Googles it, and now knows that Bucky is well endowed - especially in the, ahem, balls department, and she cannot keep calm around Bucky anymore.

He notices and asks her what's up --- while padding around the apartment in just his new underwear. He catches reader looking and gleefully figures out what's up.

He coyly teases reader and then gets a little more flirty and heated, telling her that it's okay for her to be curious.

"You wanna feel em? Here. Gimme your hand."

And that is how reader winds up with her hand, cupping Bucky's junk.

And maybe other things happen after. Maybe cock worship, maybe teabagging, you decide.

Excuse me I need to go douse myself in holy water.

[bucket-crafts]

My roommates AU

I drew it in the wrong order but oh well 😔💔

[alcorian-wizard]

prompt: Bill Cipher is visiting from another universe and starts a prank war with Alcor. senanigans ensue

alcor may not have started the prank war, but he sure knows how to finish it

[memoriesndew]

[gaycaffeinebee]

The friends group full of people with short fuses and anger issues sets up a way to make sure everyone knows each persons anger is not towards the others.

A walks in to the room after getting off the phone.

A- "The fuck are you looking at?!" They say staring at the room full of people staring back. They grunt loudly and storm out of the room.

B- "Projecting,"

C- "Projecting,"

D- "Definitely projecting,"

---

B- "Stop slamming my fucking bedroom door, C,"

(C did not slam the door)

C- "Projecting?"

B- "Yeah projecting,"

---

C- "YOU FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT USE YOUR GODDAMN BLINKER WHEN YOU WANT TO SHARE A TEN FOOT WIDE LANE!"

A- "Projecting,"

D- "Hey no projecting when you are in charge of maneuvering a 50 ton machine on wheels,"

B- "They still didn't use their fucking blinker,"

D- "NO PROJECTING AND DRIVING B!"

[actually-a-girls-name]

What flatmates do in the middle of the night

I'm back with another Johnlock ficlet!! yes I'm still wrapping up drafts I started for the May Prompts, no comment...

ao3 link

Prompt: Awkward // Words: 1,7k

The relationship of our flatmates is shifting, making them both clueless as to how navigate this change. Tired of his strategy of denial and avoidance, Sherlock is looking for a solution to these new emotions and (God save him) feelings. Of course, the right thing to do would be to talk about it. But well, easier said than done, right? That sets up for an awkward nocturnal meeting.

Sherlock laid still in his bed, face toward the ceiling. He was facing a particular problem that needed solving. He had busied himself almost constantly for the past week while achieving nothing at all: this could not last. Sleeping on it would be the wisest decision but, despite his immense fatigue, his racing heart was preventing any attempt of relaxation. He needed to face it, that was for sure. But how? Sherlock pricked up his hears and heard the cracking of John's bed above his room. Oh so he couldn't sleep either. Interesting. Was it?

Sherlock got distracted visualising John rolling in his bed and by the image of the sheets pressing against his body as he would entangle himself– wow, wow, wow, those kinds of thoughts aren’t going to be helpful. Or maybe they were? If Sherlock could understand exactly what he was feeling for the man, that might help. Except that he was shit at feelings, especially when they were his own. And who was he fooling? He knew already. Hadn’t really face it, that’s all. Because facing them seemed incredibly dangerous: once you face the truth you can’t unlearn it. Not something like that at least. If Sherlock didn’t understood much in the “sentiment” department, that he knew: if he were to go down that path in his mind, there would be no setback possible. So he policed his mind once again and continued dancing around the facts.

He grew tired of the dance soon enough, and that had done nothing to slow his heartbeat down. He needed to do something. He needed to move a pawn forward. And he needed to do it now because the more time he would spend thinking about it, the more time he had to chicken out.

He finally sprung on his feet, heart beating like a wild horse, and was approaching the door of his bedroom when he heard a crack. He stopped dead in his tracks, it seemed to come from right outside his door. Nothing for a second, and then another feint crack of the parquet floor. John was up, and Sherlock had been too far up on his own head to hear him coming. Stupid.

Another silence stretched out as he held his breath. John must be standing still just as he was now. Did he hear him coming as well? He wasn't going for the bathroom, or he would have gone inside already. He's coming for me, Sherlock thought. What makes him hesitate? His brain felt heavy and slow. What am I waiting for?

He took a deep breath that he hoped silent and opened the door onto his flatmate. John didn’t flinch. He was standing straight, wearing a blue stripped pyjamas bottom and a loose grey shirt. He had wrinkles across his forehead and dark circles under his eyes that suggested this was not his first insomnia. That was the first time the detective had really looked at him for the past few days, Sherlock realized with a twinge of guilt. He looked tired and slightly apprehensive.

      “Ah, John.”

He feigned the surprise – very badly, even for a distracted John – and immediately regretted his acting choice. John didn’t hold it against him, however, and answered with a swift chin movement that felt familiar.

      “Hi.”

Nervous, noted Sherlock. That makes two of us. God, he wasn’t used to this annoying feeling creeping inside his chest. The bloody bastard seemed to close his throat, robbing him of his ability of discourse. The detective was standing straight as an arrow, but his gaze was shifting. The seconds seemed to stretch. He briefly looked down, swallowed hard and then back at John. The latter cleared his throat.

      “Right.”

The doctor turned his chest halfway toward the living room, looking behind him as if he was searching for what made him come here, then back to face Sherlock. The detective held his gaze.

      “Are you uhm… you ‘alright?” finally asked John.

      “Me? Oh yeah fine!”

That was a conversation starter alright. That was probably the only acceptable one when two flatmates were to find themselves meeting outside one of their bedrooms in the middle of the night without any apparent excuse for it. How did they take so long to even get there?

      “You?”

      “Yes. Yep, I was just uhm, going for the loo,” he gestured towards the bathroom door which was just a tiny bit behind him.

      “Ah.”

Oh no, he’s retreating. John turned towards the door and acted as if he might go in, just particularly slowly.

      “Your body posture indicated otherwise,” the detective blurted out. John turned back to face him, his brow slightly furrowed. “… as was the pause in your footsteps earlier.”

Oh I’m a dick, thought Sherlock. But someone had to do the talking, and, despite what he liked to say, John was usually good at it. A bit of colour appeared on his friend’s cheeks.

      “Well yeah actually I was going to see you. I mean, see if you were awake.”

      “I am.”

Idiot.

      “Yeah, I can see that. And what were you up for?”

Oh he doesn’t want to talk either. Fair play.

      “Wanting to talk to you as well.”

      “Talk to me?”

For a short moment he thought he was going to finally be able to move that bloody pawn, but the little dose of courage he had gathered left him suddenly and he retorted wryly:

      “Yeah, you know, see what you were up to in front of my bedroom door at this time of the night.”

This time John blatantly blushed. He swallowed.

      “Ah.”

They stared at each other for what seemed to be a very long time, probably was. They were simultaneously trying to analyse each other’s feelings, silently begging the other to read their minds, and desperately trying not to expose themselves. Yeah, complicated gymnastic. It might have been comical for anyone else to witness, but unfortunately it was only the two of them, so it was just uncomfortable. Lost hikers trying to assess the solidity of a frozen lake by placing their feet on the surface but refusing to put any weight on it. How long could it last? This was getting ridiculous, even for them.

      “This is ridiculous,” John finally blurted out.

      “No I agree,” Sherlock replied quickly.

Another silence stretched out. And then the corner of Sherlock’s mouth quirked up. John imitated him and they soon burst out laughing. It was glorious, they laughed and laughed and laughed their nervosity away until tears appeared in their eyes. Sherlock exhaled, finally getting his body back under control. John straightened up, shaking his head while reporting his attention back to Sherlock, still smiling. The corner of his mouth fell back, and Sherlock felt torn apart under John’s gaze. He had beautiful eyes, dark and huge under the faint light of the flat. Ones that robbed him of his ability to speak once again. He wasn’t even sure he knew one single English word at the moment, but judging by John’s slightly open mouth, he wasn’t the only one searching for his words. What a disastrous pair they were making. Panick finally settled in as Sherlock saw John’s grin slowly fading away. His shoulder dropped and his brows furrowed.

      “It’s too late for that anyway,” he mumbled. “I’m going back to bed,” he added while turning around.

No, no, no. Well, that was one word.

     “No, John, wait,” Sherlock called back, gabbing his arm. Three words, what a genius.

John’s gaze went from his arm to Sherlock’s eyes, silently asking a question. The detective’s fingers felt cold on John’s warm and soft skin. He kept his hand there as he continued:

      “We should do this. I mean, we should probably talk.”

John nodded; his eyes still intensely fixed on Sherlock. “Come on in,” he offered, turning away to penetrate his dark bedroom. He didn’t turn the light on and the dim glow filtering through the curtains from the street were making it difficult to scrutinize John’s face. He didn’t seem surprised at the invitation, but Sherlock heard his breathing pattern shifting, getting heavier. They sat on Sherlock’s bed, side by side, attentively watching the wall in front of them.

      “So…” began John encouragingly.

Abandoning any attempts to use his words (uncooperative and treacherous anyway), Sherlock answered by reaching for the doctor’s hand on his lap, carefully taking it in his. His heartbeat rose, he was certain John could hear his heart pumping loudly in his chest. They stayed still for a moment before Sherlock risked a glance in his friend’s direction, suddenly terrified: what if he had it all wrong? Then John turned towards his flatmate, watching him with the softest of gaze. He slowly intertwined their fingers together and delicately started rubbing his thumb against his partner’s soft skin. Sherlock’s shoulders dropped and he released a breath he didn’t know he was holding. There they were. Finally.

There was still an interrogation point floating in the air between them, but nothing they could not resolve now. Sherlock slowly approached his head a little bit closer to John’s. He could feel his breath on his face and his heartbeat beneath his fingers. John closed the space between them, and, gently, pressed his lips against Sherlock’s. Answering the question. Sherlock’s heart missed a beat, he wanted more of that, immediately. He kissed back earnestly, opening his mouth against John’s. And so they kissed and kissed and kissed. The whole affair was messy; their noses were sometimes (somehow) in the way, sitting next to each other was uncomfortable and John hit Sherlock’s thigh when he wanted to put his knee up on the bed. Sherlock didn’t know what to do with his hands, one of them hanging in the air, the other rested awkwardly onto the sheets. And there was definitely too much saliva outside its usual place, and they had trouble breathing, and, and-

And none of it mattered.

Nothing mattered because John’s mouth was on his and John’s hands were pressing on the nape of his neck and messing with his curls and that was the best feeling in the world. And sure, more awkward angles, clumsy gestures and embarrassed chuckles were to be expected but oh, did it feel good. Did it feel right. It was still true that they should probably talk, Sherlock thought, but not right now. Their tongues were busy with other activities anyway, and were going to be for quite some time tonight.

[s0larts]

If Logan would start living with Wade in one apartment I can't imagine them not breaking it at least twice a week.

Maybe they are friends, but they are definitely love to fuck with each other nerves. I'm so sure that things are flying in the air almost every day ✋

They always shout at each other from other rooms. The chaotic roommates ദ്ദി ≽^⎚˕⎚^≼

[drawing-prompt-s]

Draw a cathartic release for something stressing you out.

[late-night-tourist-attraction]

# 9

Mac & Cheese for Two

A/N: warning, there is none.

" HERO, I swear to god!!! if you don't shut up, I will snap you like a glow stick and make you walk home on your own!" The Villain had said with clenched teeth.

The hero slightly opened their mouth, but before they could even get a word out the villain had already beaten them to it.

" NOPE!!!"

"NUH UH!"

"NO!"

"QUITE!"

"I have heard more than enough about YOU and VIGILANTES falling out, so I don't want to hear another peep out of you!!!"  The Villain growled out once more before sharply turning down the road.

The hero glanced out the car window with sad eyes and gave a heartbroken sigh before promptly playing with the window buttons and seat.

"Maybe vigilante wa-" but before the hero could even continue, the villain had already interjected once again.

The villain's deep frown softened for a moment, and without warning the villain's soft side had started to slipped out.

" I don't want to hear anymore about this until after we've both reached my place, changed clothes, showered and got dinner, ok?" The Villain had said with a much softer tone.

For a moment the hero remained silent, but with a hesitant breath the hero had agreed if only on one condition. " Can we have Mac & cheese?"

With a reluctant sigh of their own the villain had caved in to the hero's request. "Yes we can have Mac & cheese."

[riverkingmarley]

Trying to write a pact inspired horror short for a writing contest and it turns out writing is hard.

[aftermyownart]

A little prompt for a moon spirit

[justanotherwrittingblog]

"I'm not surprised that she left, I'm just sad that she's gone."

[esmecatrealm]

Someone needs to write something where there is 3 lesbian witches and there disaster artificer roommate intense romance between witches and then there's this guy who has his own room and they take turns telling him to go to bed

[sesshy380]

How about 'are you even sorry?' and 'jokes on me, right?' for the Bakura Atem thing?

I hope you don't mind, but these prompts are perfect to follow-up the one I did earlier.

Wordcount: 721

Atem stormed his way through the front door of the penthouse. How could he have been so stupid?!

Bakura trailed not far behind, his body now fully restored and covered in something the thief had 'discounted' while walking past an outdoor clothing rack.

"Are you seriously going to stay mad about that?"

Atem quickly whirled around, fist at his sides. "Are you even sorry?! What am I saying…of course you're not. You don't even care. The jokes on me, right? 'Haha, I managed to make the Pharaoh care about me. I actually made him shed tears for me. What a sucker'."

Bakura raised his hands in an apologetic manner. "Okay, okay…I took it too far. I'm sorry. Can we move past this already?"

Atem stared dumbfoundedly. "No. We are not moving ‘past this'. I thought-…” He shook his head in defeat. “You know what…it doesn't matter. I don't even know why I waste my time with you. I don't have eternity to throw around like you do. I don't know why I bothered to indulge in any of your madness in the first place. Get out…and don't you dare come back."

Seeing Bakura’s suddenly pained expression…hurt.

"I really am sorry, Tem. What can I do to make it up to you?" Bakura appeared ominously genuine for a change.

Atem winced at the nickname. Bakura only called him that when he was being honest.

"You let me believe you had actually died. You had the audacity to turn it into a prank. I felt helpless…again…and you thought it was funny. You can't make up for that."

Atem turned away and began to head for his room. A pair of hands snaked their way around his waist and stopped him. A head rested against the top of his.

"Please? Name it, and I'll do it."

Atem shook his head as he tried to remain firm in his decision. “No, Bakura…I can’t. This is exactly what Katrina didn’t want happening. She knew you would do something like this. As much as I hate to admit it, I should have heeded her warning and stayed away.”

The arms around him tightened their grip. “Dammit, Tem…I’m really, really sorry. I fucked up. Please. I promise I won’t do something like that again. Hell, I’ll even shake hands and make a binding contract to prove it. I’ll even let you set the terms of punishment for breaking my promise. What do I have to do? Get on my hands and knees and beg like a good little mutt?”

The arms around him withdrew, and seconds later Bakura was on his knees while staring up at him.

“Bakura, what are you-”

“Proving that I meant it. Do you honestly think I would do something so low as to kneel before you of all people if all this is just another lie?”

Atem brought a hand across his eyes, his will crumbling. “Bakura, please…you’re just making this harder…”

He felt fingers interlace with his free hand.

“I promise, I will never again do something that might hurt you in the way I just did. I’ll never make you mourn me again. No more pranks. No more jokes. I swear on my people, I will never hurt you like that again.”

Atem brought his hand down, pulling his other free from Bakura’s.

“No. I refuse to accept such a promise. I will not ask you to magically bind yourself over something like that.”

Bakura stared questioningly. “So does that mean…?”

“I’m not forgiving you…but you can stay. Don’t you dare do that to me again.”

Bakura nodded slowly, then moved to stand, but stopped while looking up as if asking for permission.

Atem's brow furled in confusion. “What are you doing? I already said you could stay.”

Bakura shrugged dismissively. “I dunno…thought since you currently had the upper hand maybe you might be up to exploring some power-play shit. You know…tell me what to do and I’ll obey and all that.”

Atem scowled. “I’m not about to sleep with you after what you pulled.”

“We could work up to it?”

Atem rolled his eyes and walked away.

“Is that a maybe?” Bakura shouted as Atem rounded the corner back to the living room.

There were many things Atem regretted doing in his life…letting Bakura worm his way into his bed on occasion was one of them.

[myrrhderjuice]

⚠️TW⚠️ Mentions of Murder, of s*x offenders.

Personal Hitman

My roommate is my town's local Serial Killer who can't get caught. I'm not bothered by knowing this though, after all I've been living with her for years, and I've never seen a drop of blood on the floor, or smelt a dead body. She always takes out the trash when it smells too bad, and gets me stuff for when I'm sick or menstruating. She's literally the nicest person I know. I actually didn't believe her when she told me she was the killer! It was the first and last time we ever brought it up, I didn't feel the need to report her because she would always kill Sex Offenders, manipulative exes, and all sorts of bad people. She had standards, and I was going to let her do her thing.

One day we were sitting on the couch and she said, "I'm bored. You got anyone for me to…y'know?"

"I was waiting for you to ask me that!" I answered quickly, getting up and running into my room. Somewhere I had hidden a list of my exes who were just plain red flags, but I'm colorblind so I couldn't tell. "Alright here is a list of all my red flag exes."

"How long have you had this?"

"Since you told me you were a serial killer."

"You've had this for 6 months! Girl, I thought I was the bad one."

"You've been killing people for a year and a half, you are the bad one."

"Fair. Who's this on the back?"

"Oh that's my brother, don't kill him though. I only wrote his name down as a joke because he is really annoying."

"Will do, boss!"

"You're like my personal hitman, hitwoman? Nevermind, but we should be roomies forever!"

"Well duh! Now I'll be back late tonight, gotta go kill the first girl on this list."

"Just don't get arrested, okay?"

"Can't make any promises, but I'll try not to." Just like a forever bond formed between us. I did get a little upset when I saw more blood droplets throughout the next month, but I figured it was her just telling me that they were murdered well. I made a silent promise I wouldn't even give the slightest hint to anyone I was living with a serial killer if my life was on the line, because I knew if I died, so would my killer. At the hands of my roommate.