#and I opened the fridge and there were like four cartons of milk

[magneto-was-fucking-right]

The Ghost Next Door - Chapter 1

Prompt: After suffering an almost lethal injury in combat, Simon "Ghost" Riley expected a dull, and uneventful leave back at his shitty apartment. His new next-door neighbor ruins his plans. Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader (named Riley Thomas for plot purposes)

Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Disclaimer: slow burn; neighbor!Simon; will eventually contain very graphic descriptions of smut;

Chapter summary: Ghost returns home to find he has a new noisy neighbor: a socially awkward veterinarian with questionable cooking skills. Word Count: 1.5k

When Simon Riley limply walked in on his flat after four months of deployment, he could barely breathe. The stale air from the lack of proper ventilation had trapped in the humidity of the past rainy days, the walls poorly insulated, and therefore, moldy. As per usual, the place looked terribly dull, the scarce decorative elements inadequately arranged, but certainly well-fitting to the dingy apartment complex in Manchester.

Dropping his duffel bag by the door dismissively, instead of opening the curtains and letting in the evening light, he first headed to the fridge, analyzing its usual contents: two beers, a carton of milk (most likely spoiled by now), a jar of marmite and an old noodles container from the Chinese restaurant he liked, stinking up the place.

“Forgot ya little fucker” he made sure to remember to throw it out later, before grabbing a beer and plopping himself on the couch, careful enough to not hurt his wounded leg any further. But as soon as he grabbed the remote from under his thigh, ready to turn on the news and resituate himself with the current ongoings of the British populace, he finally paid attention to the commotion next door.

“Bloody fucking hell” He groaned “What’s all this racket?”

He heard thumping, scratching, something breaking, quick footsteps and what seemed to be a gentle voice cooing “oh no, please, not again”. Just as he was processing the fact that he didn’t remember having any horizontal neighbors since he first signed the lease (one of the main reasons why he even signed in the first place), an aggressive knock on his door made him instantly rise to his feet, grabbing a black facemask from his bag and moving silently to peek through the peephole.

“Mr. Riley!” The old woman on the other side called out, still knocking, and Simon sighed deeply in annoyance. “I know you’re in there, I saw you come in earlier.”

“Fucking cunt” He muttered under his breath, weighting whether ignoring her would make her leave at once (it wouldn’t, and they both knew it).

He took a deep breath before unlocking the door, regretting it immediately.

“There ya are” She started, shoving a couple papers on his chest, and forcing a pen between his calloused fingers “I need you to sign this immediately.”

“What are you on about?” He tried his best to keep it polite and cordial, but the woman’s presence and constant complaints always filled him with inevitable rage.

“Your neighbor” She pointed to the door next to his, where a great deal of noise still stemmed from the walls “She cannot and will not stay here. She is insufferable.”

Well that makes two, innit? He thought to himself, biting down his tongue.

Faced with his menacing silence, she carried on with her melodramatic monologue:

“It’s a petition to kick her out, I’m getting everyone to sign, even the new tenants, then I’ll arrange a meeting with the landlady for a formal hearing.”

“What the fuck did she do?” Simon inquired, clearly irritated, reading the five signatures on the first page. He was pretty sure three of them were in the same handwriting.

She looked at him indignantly, extending her arms at the door once again, indicating the ongoing clatter.

“She has a bloody jungle in there! Cats, dogs, birds, and God forbid, rats if you can believe it!”

“Mrs. Parsons, I think we all had rats in our apartments at some point this year.”

“Not as pets! It’s disgusting, and everyone’s been complaining about the noise!”

He glared at her indifferently, eager to return to the comfort of his privacy and wallow in his frustration, giving his leg some much needed rest. She stepped back, seemingly realizing that Mr. Riley was in one of his moods, not keen on indulging in useless chatter or gossip.

“Right, well, not interested.” He tried to return the signatures, to which she vehemently refused, pushing them back to his chest.

“At least consider it Mr. Riley. She lives right next to you and the walls are thin. Your signature’s the most important one.”

“Will do.” He shut the door on her face, mindlessly throwing the papers and the facemask on the coffee table as he limped back to the couch and turned on the tv. He hissed after realizing he had ripped his stitches as he sat down aggressively, a splotch of blood soaking the fresh bandage he had been arranged on base.

“Fuckin’ hell” he sighed tiredly, deciding he would deal with it first thing in the morning.

***

As the pandemonium progressively decreased throughout the night, Simon had fallen deep asleep on the sofa, tv still on and feet kicked up on the table. But when there was a new knock on the door, this time softer, he felt like he could have only been sleeping for five minutes, exhaustion and grumpiness still ingrained in his bones.

“What now?” He groaned to himself, massaging his sore neck, and finally remembering to kick off his boots. He was so used to sleeping fully clothed, often even geared up and ready to go, that he always took some time to remember how to act like a civilian again once he was back home.

Just as he readjusted himself to go back to sleep, his lids semi closed and arms crossed over his chest, one more knock arose anger in his belly at his newly interrupted rest. Frustrated, he sighed before getting up, easing up the pressure on his wound as the sharp pain reminded him of the ruptured sutures from the previous evening.

Facemask on once again, Simon opened the door aggressively, expecting Mrs. Parsons to come collect her newfound project in ruining other people’s lives, and therefore halfway of saying “What the fuck do you-”

“I-I’m so sorry! I know it’s early and I was probably a huge bother all night, but I wanted to apologize before leaving for work and-”

“Slow down.” He commanded, stopping the young woman’s panicked rant. He had barely rubbed sleep from his eyes and his mind wasn’t yet ready to take in another dreadful monologue. He observed her intently, as he often did to potential threats (usually concealed by the shadows), but as the circumstances proved different, she observed him right back. He always felt strange and vulnerable without the skull mask, regardless of the black facemask covering half of his visage anyway.

She couldn’t possibly be over 25 years old, her bright and cheerful complexion not carrying the weight of the tired lines that came at 30. She was considerably shorter than him, but still quite tall for a woman, her frame concealed under oversized scrubs that seemed ridiculously out of place; her hair messily tied in a long braid. She held up a tray with what seemed to be freshly baked cookies, but about half of them were burnt.

As she smiled nervously, he noticed one of her canines was slightly chipped, and the small white scar across her right eyebrow almost distracted him from the dimples. If she had noticed him stare at the small imperfections, she didn’t seem bothered at all, continuing her anxious speech as if she had practiced in front of the mirror beforehand.

“Right, I’m sorry, I really hoped we could meet in better circumstances.”

“What time is it?” Simon groaned, looking at his wrist to check his watch. “Fuckin’ hell, it’s 6 in the bloody morning.”

“I know, I’m sorry, I was gonna bake you a cake and offer you tea, but I was called in unexpectedly yesterday an-”

“That’s lovely and all, but why are you knocking on my door at six in the morning with half-burnt cookies?” He interrupted moodily and almost regretted it once he saw her smile falter and her cheeks redden in shame.

“Oh…” She lowered the tray, her eyebrows scrunched as she analyzed the overcooked treats and tried hard to recover. “Well, I just wanted to apologize for all the noise from last night before I left for work. I feel terrible about it and-”

“Apology accepted.” He stepped back, ready to shut the door.

“Wait!” She held it with her foot, nervously trembling under his cold gaze. She took a deep breath, and he sighed, his head slightly tilted to the right, as if deciding what to think of the socially awkward woman meddling in his business. “I just…”

“Go on.” He encouraged, trying to speed up the end of the uncomfortable encounter.

“I’m new here.” she blurted out “I moved in about a month and a half ago and people don’t seem to like me very much already” she sighed, and he noticed the dark bags under her tired eyes.

“So I’ve heard.”

“I work at the Vet clinic a few streets nearby-”

“I didn’t sign it.” He interrupted once again, and she would certainly be frustrated if she wasn’t so happy about what he said.

“The petition?”

“Yeah.”

“Really?” Her face gleamed with relief “Because I-”

“I’m due to consider it.” He added, her expression quickly dropping to disappointment.

“Why?” Her soft, defeated tone could almost pull on his heartstrings. If he had one.

“I don’t know if you’ll bother me yet.” Now he was just messing with her.

“I won’t!” She argued, defensively.

“Alright. I’ll think about it over that cake.” He closed the door, leaving her open mouthed in shock, the tray of cookies still in hand.

He heard her softly press her forehead to the door after a thoughtful moment, and then yell out:

“Are you allergic to anything?”

“People.”

A/N: I'm back! I wrote this months ago but only just decided to start posting these series :) I LOVE writing porn but when it comes with a cute backstory attached it's just *chef's kiss*. I plan on keeping the chapters simple and comforting - writing has been really helping me cope with seasonal depression, and the boredom of routine in general. New chapter coming soon... Enjoy!

#ghostxreader #ghost imagine #ghost cod #cod #simon riley #simon riley smut #simon riley imagine #simon riley x reader #neighbor!Simon Riley #neighbor!Ghost #slow burn #modernwarfare2

[estesphantom]

could you maybe please do a oneshot when price gets home from a long, torturous deployment and all he wants when he gets home is to see his girl? thank you este <3

Home Sweet Home | John Price x Reader

Summary: John gets home from a tiring mission and all he wants is to see your beautiful face and a warm shower with you.

Warnings: mentions of depression, warfare, extremely fluffy, reader has feminine pronouns, not entirely proofread (I got too excited), lots of descriptions

A/N: Thanks for the request. I loved this idea. I love taking suggestions!! They’re open if you’d like to request one. :)

———————

You hadn’t heard from your fiancé in days. He was a busy man, of course, being a Captain of a task force he had willed to be and his job required him to be out on deployments for months at a time. Not being involved in the military, you weren’t too sure of what he did during deployments and he wasn’t one for talking when it came to discussing his missions. You’d never pry — you saw his drained face whenever he’d step into the door after a mission, the color would always be drained unlike the days before he had left.

He never let you read the mission reports or hear much about the gruesome things that had been done. You knew he meant well. Some people needed to get their hands dirty so the rest of the world’s can stay clean. Never once had you had a doubt of John being a good man with good intentions. You weren’t naive; you knew he had killed people and went to gruesome lengths to get missions done, but deep down, you knew he was saving the world.

So, for that, you’d show your appreciation by keeping the home tidy and his face full with lipstick marks and lipgloss. He adored you more than you could ever know and spoiled you like you could never run out of things to buy. You were the perfect couple. Distance only makes the heart grow fonder, which probably was the reason as to why you two love each other so much.

Communication wasn’t something that you and John could achieve so easily when he was on deployments. He was always busy or at a place that had no connection at all, so you were often left to your own devices while he was out there changing the world. But, you knew what you were getting in to the moment you got engaged. You couldn’t blame this on him.

So, you could only imagine the agony you dealt with while awaiting you fiancé’s arrival. The moment he’d open the door and swoop you into his large arms, spinning you around and peppering your face in kisses. You could only knit blankets and read many pages of a long and unfulfilling book before you found yourself staring at John’s cold side of the bed.

It was four weeks into John’s deployment and you weren’t taking it the best. What could you say? He was your soulmate. You couldn’t help but worry sick for your lover and only hope he could return as soon as possible. Midnights were always hell for you because of the loneliness it ensured. Your body would toss and turn in bed before it found itself cuddling a pillow in place of him. This time around, you were fed up with tossing and turning and decided to get a break from your bed and stumble downstairs for a cold glass of milk and a rice krispie.

Your eyes were heavy as metal while the cold milk poured into the glass cup. The night was silent and all that could be heard in your house was the ice dispenser working in your refrigerator. You shoved the milk carton into your fridge and lumbered over towards your couch to enjoy your milk and rice krispie while you stare off into the distance with not a thought behind your eyes, thanks to the drowsiness.

Mid crunch in and you had already settled into a serene calm while you wondered what John was up to. Your loud chewing came to a halt while you heard an engine outside of your house. You swallowed hard. Immediately you had bolted up from your couch to look outside of your window to see John’s car in the driveway. You were sent into a frenzy.

Your body immediately stepped over to the door and unlocked it to find John lumbering his duffle bags tiredly. Your heart skipped a beat as you contemplated yelling out to him. He might have been sensitive to yelling at the moment considering he just came back from unpleasant warfare.

As he stepped closer, he looked up to see your face. For a split moment before he realized it was you, his face looked tortured, tired, and rugged. He’d been through a lot. His face when he saw you was the complete opposite. Though it had twinges of pain in it, there was nothing but relief in his eyes as he approached the door and you squealed out, running up and jumping after he dropped his duffles down.

“Careful, doll,” he chuckles deeply as his large hands cup your bottom. He smelled musky, a hint of gunpowder and metal.

You could feel his deep exhale of relief as he wouldn’t let go of you as if it were the last time he could hug you like that. Not a complaint was uttered out of your lips as you let him hold you for as long as he wanted.

“I missed you way too much,” you smile as he gently lets you down and his hand cups your face to feel if you were real. To him, you were an angel from above coming to save him and bring him to eternal heaven where you could be together forever.

“I’m dirty, baby,” he chuckles, moving pulling away a hand that you tried to kiss. “‘need a shower. You free?” he teased, playing with the hemline of your pajama tee. You giggled at his cheekiness and took his hand to lead him to your shared bathroom.

The shower wasn’t what it usually would be; excitement, lust, steamy. John wanted to engulf himself in your presence and hold onto it like it would slip away if he let go ever so slightly. The way he looked at you while the water trickled down the both of your faces made you want to discover a way to get rid of every ounce of pain he held.

His eyes looked at you as if you were the sun after a rainy day. Longing, happy, safe. He felt safe with you. He didn’t have to remind himself to look out for bullets, to watch his six, to keep track of his men. He was just safe. His soon to be wife was here with him after he had seen nothing but cruelty and blood for four weeks straight and he was ready to do nothing but relax with you.

“You don’t know a fraction of how much I missed you,” he tells you as you rub his face with a facial wash soap. His eyes were almost sunken in as he tells you this. You kiss his nose.

“You can tell me all about it when you’re well rested, okay? We can have breakfast in bed and everything,” you comfort him lovingly as he is slowly breaking out of his flight-or-fight shell he forces himself into to survive.

He nods and kisses the top of your head, “I love you more than you’ll ever know.” His thumb rubs the washed off mascara from your eyelids.

To some people, he might’ve sounded like a sad, broken record. Or maybe even a love-sick puppy. And he might have been. But, to you, this was all you wanted. You stayed up until dawn some nights thinking about John and how poor his life may be whenever he’s out in the field all alone with no one to genuinely talk to about his feelings and sorrows.

Then, he comes home to you, and is able to be comfortable.

#x y/n #john price x you #captain john price #task force 141 #john price x reader #john price #fanfiction #fluff #no smut #barry sloane #oneshot #headcanon #captain johnathan price #captain price x you #johnathan price #captain price x reader

[elletheactualmenace]

You Would do That for Me?

Pairing: MCU!Peter Parker x Stark!fem!reader

Summary: You hit two birds with one stone. Helping both you and Peter out in the process. Seems like a good plan, right?

Warnings: Verbal assault, Little but some physical assault, Catcalling, Bullying, annoying people just in general, swearing

Word Count: 5.04k

a/n: I tried to make this as enjoyable as I could, but some of this sucks, I tried really hard to get it to what I liked, but only some parts got there. Im hoping I’ll like the next part better. Sorry for the wait, but thanks for waiting! Also my Spanish is rusty lmk if it’s wrong.

Thoughts = “Italicized dialogue”

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3,

High school. Not the most appealing place for anyone, especially not if you are the one having to attend. You don't think there has ever been one person, that doesn't come from some high school musical bullshit world, that enjoys going to high school.

You are top of your class, and you'd think that would make it easier but that's far from the truth, specifically when you go to a school where everyone is supposed to be top of the class, or they were from the schools they had formerly attended. Smart people don't like being topped. So it isn't really personal when you get cussed out or get verbally bullied. At least you don't take it personally, not enough for people other than the ones who do it to know about it.

Today is the start of another exhausting day of school. Before you open the door to your room you once over your outfit, and mentally prepare yourself for everything that is to come. You let out a puff of air and begrudgingly walk down the hall and into the big elevator at the end of the hall.

"At least I don't have to walk down stairs," you mentally thank your father for being lazy, as you push the 'floor level' button.

"Good morning Y/n." Friday says as you walk into the kitchen. 

You mumble out a 'morning' and walk over to the pantry. You pull out a box of Honey Nut Cheerios. Then you get a bowl and a spoon, placing them on the counter next to the box of cereal.

"Hey kiddo," You hear your dads voice from behind you. You smile, turning to see him leaning against the fridge with a carton of milk in one of his hands. You chuckle, and walk up to him giving him a hug. He kisses your head while hugging you 

with just as much love.

"Hi dad." You say as he hands you the milk. Your dad gives you a look as he watches you tiredly get your breakfast.

"What?" You struggle to speak with a spoon full of food in your mouth.

When he doesn't say anything you ask again. "Dad, what is it?"

"Nothing, you just eat exactly like me." He chuckles out. And you scrunch your brows.

"Well how the hell else would I eat?" You ask. He gives you a pointed look, "I'm not going to quote any ancient museum piece but watch your mouth young lady." You put your hands up in apology.

“But It’s not even that bad of a word. S’not like you don’t say it.” You grumble slightly before stuffing another spoonful of Cheerios into your mouth.

“Although, that does sound like some old man I know, maybe I will let him know that you are finally starting to listen.” You give him a toothy grin and he shakes his head frantically.

“Don’t, please. I don’t want him to know he's rubbing off on me.” Your dad rambles out grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. You chuckle.

You both talk a while longer as you eat your cereal. 

“How’s school? Any drama I need to know about?” You roll your eyes at him.

“No, sadly, unless you consider Peter losing one of Ned's lego pieces and not talking to him for a whole four hours,” Your dad chuckles.

“I would say that's a decent amount of drama for those two,” You dad comments, and you continue your pass time chatter.

"Oh, also, sweetie, Happy is driving you to school today," You dad says as you finish up your cereal.

"But,” you start, “dad, you said you would." Your disappointed look doesn't go unnoticed even though you try to not let it show.

"I know sweetie, but I can't today, I will try to find some time this week or next to drive you, okay honey? I'm sorry." He gives you a look of pity. And he really does want to drive you, he just can’t.

You can’t figure out why it bothers you so much. It’s just a ride to school. Maybe it’s because you barely ever see him. Maybe it’s because lately he has been more occupied with work than with his own daughter.

It bothers you that it bothers you. You shouldn’t be mad at him for working, for being a hero. You should get mad because you know it's not like he wants to blow you off.

"Yeah, um, ok," you put on a tight smile as you walk over to a counter stool that you backpack is sitting on, and sling it over one of your shoulders.

"Friday," Your dad calls out, and she immediately responds,

"Yes sir?"

"Call down Happy, and let him know, Y/n is ready to head out." Your dad finishes as he walks toward the hall leading to his office. He waves you a goodbye and you give a small smile in response.

Not even a couple minutes later Happy walks in, car keys in hand. "Come on kid, let get you to school," You nod and follow him outside.

The walk to the car is quiet. And Happy is not complaining with your ‘too tired to talk attitude’. He's not one for much unnecessary conversation. That's not to say he doesn't care for what you have to say, he just likes moments of quiet. Especially during the shitty morning.

"Hey, Happy?" You ask once he starts the car. He looks up at you through the rear view mirror letting you know he's listening.

"What did my dad have to get to?" You hear Happy sigh but don't say anything.

"Listen, your dad, he's a busy man, so it could really be anything." Happy informs you with a small sad smile, trying to make you feel better. You just nod looking down at your hands, so you don't have to look at another person trying to give you pity.

——

You slam your locker shut and turn to see Ned and Peter at their lockers that are a few away from yours. You nudge MJ and she closes her locker slightly to look at you.

"Yeah?" She asks and you nod towards the rest of your friend group. Mj doesn’t like that you called yourself that but she doesn’t have a better solution so she lets it slide.

"I'm going to go talk to them, meet up later?" You ask and she nods before bidding you goodbye.

"No, no, no, Peter, listen to me, I know it isn't a scam, because my cousins, best friends, little brother also ordered from the website and it came." Ned argues with who you are assuming is Peter.

"I don't think that's a credible source, dude. Have you even met your cousins, aunts, friends, brother?" Peter asks skeptically.

"It was my cousins, best friends, little brother." Ned grumbled out with an eye roll.

“The fact that you have to correct him just proves the point more.” You state bluntly entering the very stupid, conversation.

“See exactly!” Peter exclamins in your dereliction. Ned mumbles something out but you don’t quite catch it, Peter does though and his face goes pink and he hits Ned's arm.

“My, point proven,” Ned says quietly. And you brush it off assuming it's an inside joke. The bell rings and catches your attention. 

“Okay come on you five year olds, let's stop arguing about credible sources, and whose brother said what.” You put your hands on both of their backs and push them toward your shared first period classroom.

When you walk in and find your seat. MJ is already sitting, in the seat right next to yours. And behind you Peter and Ned sit down. When the final bell rings everyone is sat down and ready for a long boring lecture.

The teacher passes out assignments and you all finish the assignment pretty quick, so, per usual, you sit around talking, or more, arguing.

“We need to agree on something and stop arguing.” MJ says calmly. You are all arguing about the movie you’re all going to watch at your house on Friday night. When someone proposes a movie, someone else always doesn't like it.

“I'm sorry MJ, but I will not watch Titanic, I can’t.” You deadpan, arms crossed over one another.

“Oh, come on Y/n! It's not that bad!” Ned tries but you shake your head with a look of utter disgust.

“It is that bad, I physically can’t watch it. I know it’s iconic or whatever, but I won’t let that movie play at my house. It’s not going to happen.” You slam your fist on Peter and Neds shared desk.

“What about Shutter Island?” Peter suggests. Looking at you for approval and you shrug. “I'm good with that.” You say.

“What's with all the DiCaprio movies?” MJ asks. And Ned groans, running his hands down his face. “So that's a no?” Ned says more of a statement than a question.

“I never said no,” She tries but you put your hand out to stop her. “You didn’t have to, it's a no.” You say tiredly.

“We have zero chance at agreeing on a movie by Friday.” Peter says resting his face in his arms that are arms crossed across the table.

“You know what else it is at zero?” Flash asks as walking past us to get to his seat after turning in the assignment. 

Before you can tell him to piss off he continues. “Penis Parker’s girl game. You have Zero chance of ever getting any girl, even if they are the ugliest thing anyone has ever laid eyes on.” Flash’s friends snicker at his words and he laughs loud at his own joke.  As he walks past other kids in the class he gets fist bumps.

You look at him unamused. And when you see the sad embarrassed look on Peter's face you want to respond to Flash by cussing him out, but MJ gets to him before you do. 

“We get it Flash, you’re taking your insecurities out on Peter, because we all know your ‘girl game’ is peaking in high school.” MJ retorts glaring at Flash. She says girl game like it’s the stupidest terminology to use, because it is.

“His girl game is just going to keep getting better after we graduate from this high school shit hole” You add huffing out in annoyance.

Flash looks around trying to get people to stand up for him. But no one does. They all just look away or at whatever they were before.

“Whatever,” You see Flash shrink in his chair as he quietly speaks. You glance over at Peter, he gives you a small smile. 

“Thanks,” he whispers. You nod smiling at him.

The rest of class he’s quiet, and you can’t help thinking that this sort of thing happens a lot. You wish you could help him more, or that you could prevent it from happening. You sigh and stand when the bell rings, the subject still on your mind.

——

“I don’t know, MJ,” You start while unlocking your locker. “I like the idea of a horror movie, but I don’t know if the boys could take it.” She shrugs,

"Well we should just make them deal with it.” You hum in consideration, “I mean come on, think about how many times Ned has made us watch Star Wars?”

You nod in agreement. She does have a point. You can’t count on one hand how many times you’ve had to sit through one of the Star Wars movies.

“Alright, fine.” You huff out, “But you’re telling them.” You poke her shoulder with your finger when you say it.

“Deal,” She takes your hand into hers and shakes it. You chuckle, shaking back.

You and MJ start heading out the front doors of the building. You spot Ned and Peter, and wave to them. Ned waves and Peter smiles.

You and MJ part ways as she heads to the subway station, and you head over to a bodega to get some food while you wait for Happy.

You cross the street walking along the white strips of color on the paved road. You pull out your phone when you get to the other side of the cross walk, to see if Happy texted you yet. 

Happy:)

I’ll be there in ten.

Happy:)

Where do you want me to pick you up?

Y/n Stark

The bodega, want anything?

Happy:)

I'm good.

Y/n Stark

Cheetos it is! See you in a bit 🫡

You turn off your phone and put it in your pocket, stepping into the bodega. The man behind the counter's head shoots up when he hears the bell on the door ring.

“Hola, pequeño Sparky,” The man says. 

“Hola, Sr. López,” You grin and wave. When you first met, Sr. López, he told you that you look like Tony Stark's daughter. But he said spark not Stark, it stuck. You never correct him, and you never tell him you are actually Tony Stark's daughter, because you enjoy the name just as much as he does. 

“Can I get a bacon egg and cheese?” You ask and he smiles big.

“Ah of course, and cheetos for Sr. gruñón?” You nod and smile. “You know it, Sr. López”

You walk over to the shelf of chips and grab the bag of cheetos. When your order is done you pay and head outside, waving Sr. Lòpez goodbye.

“Que tenga una buena tarde, Sr. López.” You say stepping out of the bodega.

When you walk out you almost trip. You look down and notice your untied shoelace. You probably unintentionally stepped on it again. When you bend over to tie it you hear something. 

More like someone. Or multiple people. You hear someone whistle, and you stand and turn around abruptly.

And that’s when you see them. The three little pieces of shit that always bother you. They are always somehow there just when you don’t want them to be. Not that you ever did want them there. They are the weirdo dickheads who never leave you alone. Somehow they always pop up out of nowhere.

The blond short kid named Derek, whistles again. Logan the tallest one begins walking over to you. The other two follow. 

You quickly begin walking past them. And you get half a block before Otis the jet black haired guy grabs you by the arm and pulls you into a small alley. Derek and Logan gather around you whistling laughing. You struggle in Otis’s grip, you’re sure it will leave a big bruise.

“What the hell do you want?” You spit out and Logan tuts shaking his head. 

“Well look at you,” He breathes out as you get out of Otis’s tight hold. “How is a pretty thing like you still so available?” 

Derek chuckles and pushes your body against the brick alley wall with his hands. 

“I have no clue, but if you want to, baby, I'm open to anything” Derek growls out, and your face turns into disgust.

“Don’t make that face, it makes you look ugly.” Otis says with a scowl.

“I have to go.” You say quietly looking down to stop your shaky breathing.

“What was that hon’?” Logan asks, leaning his face close to yours. “Couldn’t quite hear you.” You know full well he can hear you, he's just being a dick.

You snap your head up with an angry expression, glaring daggers at the boys. “I have to go.” You state firmly. You watch as their faces turn into smiles, and they begin to laugh at you.

Then you hear a ding from your pocket. Surprisingly they let you grab your phone. You wonder why until Derek snatches the phone from your hands. You try to reach for it but Otis pushes you back against the wall.

“Give it to me,” You shout. They ignore you and look at the text. “Seems like she does have to go, boys,” Logan says, tossing your phone back with an annoyed look.

“It's a shame, I would have liked to tease you more.” Otis’s comment makes you mad. You look down at your lock screen to see a text from Happy.

Happy:) 

I'm here, where are you?

The boys move to make way for you. And as you walk past them you trip over Dereks, purposefully, outstretched foot. You stumble and don’t bother to look back, so you don’t have to see them cackling at you.

You quickly scurry out of the alley and towards Sr. López’s bodega. You see Happy in a black car across the street, he sees you and waves. Nodding back you cross the street.

You open the car door and slip in. You pull the Cheetos out from your bag and reach over the divider to hand them to him. He thanks you and pulls out from the parking spot.

“Where were you?” He asks, chewing on a cheeto. You shrug, rubbing your bruised arm. “Uhh, I was just walking around waiting for you.” Its a good enough lie to get him to drop the subject. The car ride from that point on is silent, uncharacteristic for you, but Happy doesn't comment as he continues driving and you eat your bacon egg and cheese.

——

You hate it.

Feeling helpless.

How could you not when you were raised by the Iron Man, and grew up around superheros, and just strong people. So, it makes your blood boil when you think about the way you let them treat you. You know how to speak up for others, but for some stupid reason your own brain is too scared to be able to defend you.

What makes you doubly angry when you walk into your house, is thinking about the way Flash and the other kids at your school treat Peter. “What makes them think they are so much better? They don’t even compare to Peter,” you think. Peter is smart and sweet and has the kindest soul of anyone you have ever come across, so it pisses you off how shitty people can be. If only you could fix both problems.

“What’s got you so grumpy?” Pepper asks as you walk past her to your room. Her voice breaks your train of thought. 

“Everything,” You grumble out. Pepper hums in understanding. Pepper, although she's not biologically you family, you consider her your mother. She's always there for you and she watched and helped you grow into the person you are.

“Anything I can help you with?”

“Not really. Unless you can magically make people stop being jerks.” She chuckles as your shoulders slouch.

“Well, when I'm dealing with Jerks, I tell them to stop or I’ll fire them. I usually try to hit two birds with one stone to get them out of my life faster. So fire the problem not just one person.” Pepper says, trying to help. You nod. And you catch the end of a conversation when your dad and Clint walk in.

“So, no, there will be no boyfriends or girlfriends for Y/n for a long time.” Clint chuckles at your dad.

Your brows scrunch before your head shoots up and your face breaks into a grin. Pepper who was watching you smiles, confused.

“You are a genius, dad!” You shout as you rush over to him to kiss him on the check. 

“I know,” Your dad looks surprised when he says it, but smiles anyway. 

“Thanks uncle Clint,” You hug Clint quickly and he tries to hug back but you pull away before he can.

Then you run back to your mom, wrapping her in a hug, before she can say anything, or pat you back, you run off.

“Thanks mom, got to go!” You yell back to her as you rush into your bedroom.

“What was that about?” Clint asks Pepper, and she shrugs.

“I say let’s be happy, she's happy.” Tony says as he continues to walk to his lab.

When you shut the door you throw your backpack on your bed. You begin pacing back and forth in thought.

“Peter needs a girlfriend. And I need someone who can keep those assholes away from me.” You drop the pacing for tapping your foot and rubbing your chin. Your face scrunches trying to think of a solution.

“It can’t possibly be this hard to come up with something… who’s a girl who’s single, and likes Peter, or can at least tolerate pretending to like him? Who’s someone who I can have, help me?”

Your tapping gets faster as your brain works harder. “How the hell can’t I think of anything? I’m the daughter of fucking Tony Stark for goodness sake. There has to be someone-“ You cut your thoughts off and your eyes go wide at your realization.

“No.” You think shaking You head. “That wouldn’t be acceptable. We’re friends not- not…that.”

“Oh shit.” You say aloud this time. “It’s the only solution that isn’t 100% insane.” You breath out a shaky sigh. “I have to ask Peter Parker to be my boyfriend.”

——

“This is 100% insane.” You think, gripping the pole in the rocking subway cart. “I know it’s insane, he’s gonna think it’s insane.”

You got Happy to let you head over to Peters to work on ‘a project’. You do have your homework with you, but you can’t focus on anything other than the crazy conclusion you have come to. So, no homework could get done without talking to Peter.

The subway cart is pretty full, because it just hit rush hour and there’s a woman who’s standing a little close to you. You step a couple inches towards the bar.

You keep going over what you are going to say to Peter in your head. You can’t come up with a coherent sentence that doesn’t sound like you are just flat out asking him out. Well you are doing that, “but- no- not in that way” You keep telling yourself. You just have to explain the situation to him, and he’ll understand. Right?

You also have to consider the fact that no one out of school can know about it. If your dad knew you were dating someone, you think he might just kill them. You heard what he said to Clint. But what he doesn't know can’t hurt him, at least while he doesn't know. You know what the consequences are if he finds out, but you are willing to do it, for you and for Peter. 

The train car pulls to a stop, and the doors open. You hear the automated voice ring through the train station as you set out of the train car. Piles of people rush in and out of the train. You dodge the hoards by swerving and slipping past them, out of habit. Living in New York, it's impulses to walk around slow people.

You climb the steps of the train station and out into the chilly air of Queens. You wrap your arms around your body, regretting the decision to ditch the jacket.

It takes a couple minutes to get to Peter and May's apartment, but once you travel up the elevator and your hand is inches from the door, all your previous courage drains from your body. You blink harshly to shake away the fear. Your heart is pounding and you can’t breathe properly. 

“Just do it already, what are you scared of? its Peter,” You know there is lots to be scared of but you won’t let your mind drift that way. 

You lift your hand to knock on the door, but it’s pulled open before you can make contact with the metal handle. You step back startled.

“Oh god, so sorry.” The woman in front of you says with a sigh. Your heart rate begins to slow when you hear her voice.

“No worries, Miss Parker.” You chuckle. She laughs out at your words.

“Oh please, I'm not that old Y/n, just call me May, like everyone else.” She smiles politely at you.

“I'm not everyone else.” You smile back. She shakes her head with a grin. “No you are not,”

“Well, I have to go pick something up from the store, help yourself,” she gestures inside, “Peters in his room, most likely building a lego set.” She pauses, “Or looking up ones he wants.”

You laugh and nod, waving goodbye and walking in. You take your shoes off and shut the door. You’re kind of glad May forgot to ask what you are doing here, that makes this easier at least.

You huff out looking out at the tiddy cozy apartment. You have always loved it here. It is so homey and welcoming, and it always makes you feel a little more at ease. And now is no exception.

You slip off your shoes and as you walk by the coach you put your bag down to rest.

“Peter?” You ask as you walk closer to Peter's ajar door. You see the back of his head turned down, looking at some papers on his desk. You can see the white wire of his head phones sticking out from under his chocolate brown hair.

You push the door slightly and slip through. You walk closer to him, trying to keep your heart from picking up its fast pace again. You call out to him again, and this time place a hand on his shoulder.

Peter jumps up out of his chair, trying to look intimidating in a fighting pose. But the intimidation doesn't last long because he slips on a sweatshirt on the ground and falls.

You erupt into a fit of laughter. Peters just looks startled, but when his brain finally acknowledges the situation, his eyes go wide in relief. When he gets up and you are still laughing, struggling to breathe, his cheeks go pink in embarrassment.

“It's not that funny,” he mumbles out. This only gets you laughing again. He tries to hide his smile by stuffing his face in his hands.

“Ok, ok, sorry.” You chuckle trying to slow your breathing and calm down.

“You just jumped so high and then slipped on nothing.” You say rubbing your face with a grin.

“It wasn’t nothing.” He says kicking the sweatshirt on the ground further away from him and then walks to the door.

“Mhh,” you hum in amusement following behind him.

“What are you doing here anyway?” He asks as he leads you to sit in the living room with him.

“Well,” You sigh, still a little breathless from laughing. You pause, try to create a coherent sentence that won’t make Peter run and hide. You sit in the meantime and Peter sits down next to you.

“I need to talk to you.” Your face gets more serious and it worries him. “Why? Did something happen?” He asks as his brows furrow in concern.

“No, no, no, nothing happened. Or, no. More like I want to stop something from happening again.” You realize the sentence makes the situation sound different then what it is.

“Did I do something?” Peter asks his brows furrowing further.

“No. No never. It’s just,” you trail off, and before you can pull yourself together to spit it out he cuts you off.

“Did someone else do something? Can I help?” Peter's head tilts and his lips form a frown listening attentively.

“No,” you stutter out. “Just listen to me for a second Pete.” He nods with a quick apology. Then his full attention is on you. His eyes unwavering staring into yours. Suddenly you can’t breathe, but you try to speak either way.

“You know how you get-“ you pause to rephrase. “How Flash is a dick towards you?” Peter nods slowly waiting for you to continue. You hadn’t told him about the guys bothering you, and want to keep it that way.

“And how, today he made fun of you for not having a girlfriend?” Peter nods, getting wary.

“Well, I mean-“ you stutter over your words “if you want, and feel, you know, comfortable or whatever,” you swallow the lump in your throat. He nods again, smiling softly to try and ease the tension in your shoulders and urging you on. You squeeze your eyes shut and blurt it out.

“I could pretend to be your girlfriend at school and stuff,”

When you peak an eye open, you see Peter's shoulders slumped and his eyes wide. In utter disbelief.

“Then no one would ever give you a hard time,” You quickly explain so your point doesn’t come across wrong.

You wait for Peter to say something. You wait for him to tell you no, or to say yes. You wait for him to say anything at all. But he’s radio silent.

Worry begins to creep up your spine. The pit in your stomach grows inch by inch every second he’s quiet. What if this is the wrong conclusion? What if you stepped too far? What have you done?

Fuck. You shouldn't have come. You shouldn’t have been stupid enough to think this was a good idea.

But out of nowhere, as if he just realizes that he’s the person you’re talking to, he speaks up.

“You would- do that for me?” He asks as his eyes grow soft and his eyebrows raise hopefully.

“Well, I mean, sure.” You nervously chuckle out. Rubbing the back of your neck with your palm.

“And anyways, you’d keep the creepy guys away from me.” You note as Peter seems to step back taking everything you’ve said in. What if he starts laughing? What if he is messing with you? He wouldn’t do that, right?

“I- I-“ you hold your breath as he begins talking, the pit in your stomach makes you feel like you might throw up. If he doesn’t hurry up you’re sure you’ll apologize profusely and run out of the apartment before he can say anything.

“I would love-“ Peter smiles “to be your boyfriend Y/n.” 

Oh.

You let out a shaky breath. It worked. You don’t believe it. He said yes.

“Really?” You ask, a small quizzical smile on your face.

“Yeah.” He says grinning wide. 

Well shit. It worked.

Tag List:

@riordanness

@princess-ofthe-pages

#peter parker #x reader #mcu peter x reader #mcu #peter parker x you #peter parker x reader #mcu peter parker

[callofdudes]

Yesss!! Cod g/t brain worm! I just really need as much tiny!y/n, ghost, soap, and gaz with guant!price fics as I can handle!

Giant!Price and his little tinys helping him cooking in the kitchen. Like tiny!soap amd ghost pushing the ingredients to price when he needs them, while tiny!y/n mixes the pot and tiny!gaz is the taste tester!! It's so cute🥺🥺

P.s. I am sending something kinda similar to this to other authors as well. BUT I AM CHANGING THE PROMPT!! I just want to see everyone's take on cod g/t. So if you're uncomfortable with multiple authors also writing something not super similar to this, but still a cod g/t fic, I understand and you can just ignore this. Thank you🩷🩷

Shut up this is so adorable. I immediately thought of them as those little tiny chibi like characters. So just know that is what I'm picturing as I write this. Their little beans now. I hope you enjoy it, this was an interesting experiment.

When a family makes a home.

Price was in charge of taking care of his little ones. While you weren't always the most military efficient, Price brought you guys everywhere with him. On leave he had shelves above his bed where he had set up beds and configurations for sleep, all for you guys.

At night dropping you all off at your little platforms and making sure you were snuggled in so you wouldn't fall off. Even if you did, his chest would be there as a landing pad.

Even so, sometimes you guys would come and snuggle with him. Mostly you or Johnny, which frequently leads to you guys trapped under his weighted blanket.

If there is one thing you all like to do together though, it's baking. Price was taught by his mother how to cook and bake, and that was something that always stuck with him. Making bread or cupcakes. He wasn't always the best decorator there ever was, but it worked out.

Especially with his little helpers. Price got up and ready for the day, having a shower and dressing in something fresh. Coming outside to see four little people standing outside the door expectantly. Like cats almost.

He chuckled softly, walking down the hall with you all following after him. Johnny hopped and grabbed Simon's hand as they ran with him.

Gaz tagged along behind with you, having a conversation about something or other. The morning laziness was nice, especially since Price didn't get time off a lot. What with work?

You headed to the kitchen and Johnny jumped excitedly. "We'll help!!"

"We always help, Johnny." Simon pokes his cheek, making the Scot pout a little.

Price bent down, gently picking you all up, Johnny and Gaz getting comfy. Simon huffed and stepped into Price's hand with you behind him.

"So what are we making??" You asked, leaning forward to inspect the clean counter and washed-down stove.

"Omelets, I'm fixing for one today. That alright?"

Gaz gave his biggest thumbs up. As a taste tester of course he got to be the first to approve. 😌

"Perfect." Price got out a pan. "Alright," He headed to the fridge, narrating quietly as he got out eggs, milk, onions, peppers and whatever else they needed. He set them in a pile and placed his hand over the man to make sure it was hot.

He poured some oil in the pan and you all stood around watching. Gaz had a little spot by the spice rack where he usually sat. In his words, his job was to "sit there and look pretty." Which he did very well.

Price felt the pan was hot and reached his hand out. "Eggs."

Simon got up, Johnny and him each taking a side to flip the carton open. "How about this one Simon??"

"Looks heavy as fuck."

"This one it is then!"

Simon sighed, going over and taking off his little gloves, helping Johnny wiggle the egg out and carry it back on wobbly legs to Price.

"Thank you." Price cracked the egg in the pan, watching it sizzle and start to cook. "I'm going to flip it a few times and then you can have it y/n."

You smiled, nodding and rushing over. At the ready Captain Price!

"Ok, one, two, pull!" Johnny pushed the jug of milk forward with all his might, Simon grabbing the handle and tugging, his feet struggling under the marble countertop.

Slowly dragging it over.

"See.. this isn't too hard!"

"Thank you, both of you."

Johnny smiled, hopping on Simon and squeezing him. "aye aye captain!"

Simon pinched Johnny's cheek. "You're horrible."

You watched, smiling and looking into the pan. Price poured a dab of milk in and smoothed the egg around, ordering up another egg which Johnny and Simon quickly fetched.

Once Price popped it in he handed you the flipper. "Have at it kiddo."

"Yes!" You jumped in, standing on the edge, close but not too close, stirring the egg and flipping it with all your might!

Price went to the fridge again and poured three glasses of orange juice. He set down a big one and two small ones. Then getting out pineapple and mango for Simon and Gaz. Two little glasses.

You take a few sips while you watch the pan, grabbing the handle again and squishing it under the omelette, grunting and pushing it up and flipping it. Getting the folded side over too.

"How's it looking y/n?" Price asked.

"It looks good!

"Careful with that knife you two." He said over to Johnny and Simon. Simon looked over at Price. They'd gotten out the peppers and onions, Johnny holding the handle while Simon guided the blade down on the vegetable.

"Don't worry, If Johnny loses a hand I won't worry."

"Hey! You'd worry if I lost a hand." Johnny rested his chin on the handle, pouting out his lip at Simon.

Simon grumbled a little. "Yeah,.. just hold the knife."

Johnny grinned, knowing that was a yes, and went back to work.

Price looked at Gaz who sipped his pineapple mango. "Comfy?"

Gaz looked at him, then the others. "Sure beats having to chop peppers captain."

Price hummed and nodded. "Of course." He finished off his drink and grabbed a plate from the cupboard. Heading over to you. "Alright kiddo, I'll squeeze in here for a moment."

You hopped out of the way and Price took the flipper, putting the omelette on the plate. "Alright, a couple more eggs."

Simon scuttled over while Johnny held the handle of the knife, stepping into the carton and grabbing an egg.

"Careful Simon." You warned. Simon huffed, pulling the egg and wiggling it out. He hopped back down, starting to walk over and - crack.

Simon slipped in the egg white that spilled, the whole egg cracking and flooding down on him. You snickered, covering your mouth quickly.

"Son." Price chuckled, holding out his hand. Simon lifted his mask and spat out egg white. Covered from head to toe.

"Shut up." He grumbles before any of you can say anything. "You've been egged!" You snort.

Johnny came over with an armful of pepper chippings. "I got us- ah!" He slipped, egg white staining all up and down his back.

Gaz burst out laughing, followed by you. Johnny whined, standing up and shaking out his dripping gooey hands.

"Oh come on. Who did that??"

Price held out his hand, Johnny seeing Simon also completely drenched in egg. Well, he was glad he wasn't like Simon... He was swimming in it!

Price lightly shook his head. "Ok y/n, you and Gaz keep an eye on the stove, I'll get these two cleaned up."

"Yes sir." You bent down, grabbed a cloth from the stove handlebar and lifted it. Poking your head up carefully as you walked with the large thing.

"Careful," Gaz warned, also getting up and making sure you didn't slip. You huffed, throwing the towel on the small spill, shuffling your feet while Gaz came over and picked up the eggshells.

Once all is clean you get some pepper pieces and put them in the pan. Gaz and you grabbing another egg out.

Gaz went around again and turned down the heat. He spotted the unattended omelette on the plate. Casually walking over and sitting down. He pulled the corner close and took a big chomp.

"Hey, this is pretty good."

"Are you already eating it??" You snickered. "You won't get to taste test."

"I already did. And besides, he won't notice."

You both waited until Price returned with freshly washed clothes Johnny and Simon. "We survived!" Johnny waved, both hopping down onto the counter.

Price chuckled. "Now where were we?"

"Putting another omelette in."

And so you got to work. Simon and Johnny helping with more ingredients and getting the spice shakers to Price. You helped flip and stir, making up some better egg batter to pour in. And Gaz sat and looked pretty.

When all was said and done Price cut up some pieces for you four and had his plate. "Want to test it Gaz??"

"He already-"

Gaz shushed you softly, batting his eyelashes innocently at Price. "Yes, I do." Price tore a piece and gave it to Gaz, who gobbled it down. Giving a thumbs up. "It's really good-" he said through a mouthful.

You each took your plates and followed Price. Getting help down onto the floor and waddling after him with your omelettes. An adorable sight.

You made it to Price's office and he helped you all onto the desk. Grabbing on his laptop, a blanket and a Nintendo Switch.

He put the blanket on the end of his desk and you all sat around the Nintendo Switch, happily eating and watching videos.

"Hey Price??" You poked your head up. Price looking over.

"This is good."

"Well, you helped make it, so pat yourselves on the back too." He ruffles your hair with his thumb.

Johnny giggled, Simon rolled his eyes, and Gaz just continued to look pretty.

It was a peaceful morning.

Price went back to tapping away on his keyboard while you guys watched different videos. Cheering, laughing and talking as you ate.

Price never felt bugged hearing you guys talk. Just glad he had you guys around with him.

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish #captain john price #kyle gaz garrick #captain price x y/n #platonic reader #g!price t!141 #giant! Price x Tiny 141 #john price x y/n #john mactavish x reader #simon riley x y/n #kyle garrick x reader #kyle's job is to taste food and look pretty #Ghost got egged #a tad rushed since its been sitting here in my drafts since tumblr did that stupid thing

[yourlocallovesickie]

I saw your doc ock post!!! I also just got into him!!! Ummm idk if you’re still writing but really anything regarding him as the recipient of stuffing, farting, diarrhea, and/or constipation would be great!!! Thank you!!!

(sorry that this is so late! hopefully its worth it, ive been very busy but also writing this on and off for a while. Thank you for the request it was a lot of fun :) enjoy!)

BEFORE YOU READ! This story contains lots of scat, stuffing, and m@sturb*tion, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK 18+ i indulged myself a little more than usual lol

Doc rubbed his stomach, or at least tried with that annoying metal band in the way. He'd definitely never really been skinny, and the suit was designed to fit his body, but after the explosion it seemed to have clamped down onto him, and especially now that he was bloated; rolls of his tummy sticking out from the top and bottom of the belt. His poor stomach was pressing so hard on it the metal was bowing ever-so-slightly. The rubbing didn't help the ache, the only response from his gut being a horrible cramp and gurgle, weeks of trapped gas and waste and now what was probably a weeks-worth of cheap snack food swirling around. Being a super-villain you don't really have the best dietary options and can only really eat what you can steal, and primarily from gas stations unless you want to cause a scene over some steak. Another cramp surged through his intestines and he bent over to give room while he flexed his asshole with a grunt, pushing and pushing until his guts felt like they were going to burst. Nothing. Not even a fart. There had to be some way he could get things going, he'd been stuck in his lair barely making any progress on his generator because of this stupid bellyache, and it only seemed to get worse. But it wasn't like he could just stop eating! Then, he got an idea.

One of his four giant metal actuators crept over to the small fridge in the corner of the room; one of the many things he had invented to accomodate his stay in the ruins of his lab. The actuator opened it, and Otto was happy to find a full carton of milk. He'd gotten a little lactose intolerant as the years went by, not bad just enough to give him a solid case of the runs and some gas for a while, which he would gladly take on for relief. Another cramp shot through his gut, sending a gurgle out through his bowels. Excitedly, he bored down with his hands on his knees and pushed. His asshole gaped open, kissing the insides of his underwear, but again nothing. He groaned and opened the carton, ready to just chug it straight out. He didn't have any clean dishes anyway.

With the fullness in his stomach, which seemed already packed to the brim, the milk was not going down easy. Every few gulps he'd have to let off to calm down the nausea starting to build, and let out a few milky burps that only end up making him feel fuller. If before he was bloated, by half the carton was gone he was huge. His stomach gurgled nonstop, and he sat idly on the ground, milk in hand and a pack of crackers to help it wash down as his stomach expanded around the belt, coming over it on the sides with a red, angry hue. The pain was unbearable. Gurgles and groans that sounded sicker and sicker by the minute filled the room, accompanied with his animalistic grunts and curses as he desperately tried to get something out. He could feel the milk begin to seep into everything he had eaten, and then finally! Moving down his intestine. He could feel the burning inside him, and knew that his next load if it ever came was going to be liquid, but he looked forward to it if it meant he could actually poop. He didn't remember the last time he unloaded but it had definitely been over a week, maybe more. And he was usually a pretty consistent guy.

As the hours went by he had finally finished the jug and now sat on the floor, hands desperately kneading into his stomach as he let out dry burps and moaned through cramps. The milk was starting to run through his system, the pressure that once lie under his belt now pressing against some mass behind his asshole. Crawling on the floor, he threw his ass into the air, uncaring that he was still wearing pants and underwear, and pushed with everything he had. The mass moved maybe a centimeter.

"Come on..." he grunted to himself, and pushed again, feeling all of the hot mush in his rectum push against the hard turd. He was sweating now, teeth grit and eyes screwed shut as he lay unabashedly with his legs spread wide. He guessed he couldnt get anymore embarrassed than this, and two of his metal arms flew down to remove his pants. He hooked his naked legs over his arms and scooted down into place, his other arms steadied himself against the wall, holding him up as he shook and strained. Inch by inch, he could feel the hot liquid shit forcing the mass through his bowels, working him so hard he was breaking a bit of a sweat. "Please--" He grunted as hard as he could, flexing his asshole once more and a small pocket of air around the turd squirted out of him, blasting a jet of hot warm stink onto the floor in front of him.

His guts roiled, pushing desperately to get more out. He grunted and groaned, sounding somewhat primal as his eyebrows furrowed and face turned red in concentration. Several short and slightly damp farts shot out, each one carrying the mass a little more until it was finally resting against his asshole. He took a deep breath before giving it one final push, asshole puckering to reveal the large brown lump inside him, which didn't move. His guts groaned and churned around it, pushing the diarrhea that rest snugly behind it forward and compacting it even harder against the clog in his system. Trapped gas squelched and his eyes were starting to grow wet. Along with the strain, the embarrassment of the situation was very very real, even alone having his naked ass exposed like this felt alien.

The pressure in his stomach got worse, and the bottom of his belly and bowels bloated up, the pressure from the belt creating an even worse pain so bad he felt he would pop. He had to do something, and as another unsuccessful push traveled through his guts he grew desperate. His legs hiked up farther, and one arm came down to rest by his ass, hesitating. Was he really about to do this?

Gggrrgllgg... His stomach answered him, twisting in an agonizing affirmation, and his asshole was forced open another time. His fingers ventured inside, the rim wet and soft from forcing out what little gas he could, and lubing itself up to prepare for what was cooking in his guts. His middle finger slipped inside, and the foreign sensation made it feel like he was already messing himself, but he quickly found the log blocking said fate. It was hard and round inside him, stretching past the walls of his colon and stopping him up good. He knew there was no way he would be able to fit his fingers around the turd to pull it out, so instead he resigned to breaking it up. The sensation of having his fingers stuffed in his own ass, literally about to dig the shit out had already given him quite a tall erection, and he used some of the precum beginning to spit out of his cock as lube before venturing back into his hole.

The sensations were incredible; the pressure of his diarrhea crammed up behind the monster of a log he was currently dismantling, the sexuality of his fingers sliding in and out of his own butt, his massive erection steadily pumping thick hot precum out on his thighs... Even the actuators began to purr and click as they held his position on the floor for him. 20-30 minutes passed and the log was finally venturing closer and closer to the exit, now in still very large but easier to push out chunks. Sliding his finger out from his ass one last time, giving his aching belly and encouraging pat, and moaning out an even more encouraging grunt, Otto began pushing again. His asshole bloomed open, sore and irritated, and he could feel several large knobs of solid feces begin sliding out, fast. Wet farts forced themselves out, pushing his turds to go even faster until one exceptionally juicy fart was plugged by a soft, wet 'ppllrrfffbbt' as his asshole stretched around the first turd. His stomach groaned, the belt forcing even more pressure than he was applying as a hard, slippery shit shot from his asshole, letting out a series of wet sharts that stained the dark floor of his lair with a muddy brown. The turd fell on the floor, resting beneath his asscheeks with a soft noise unheard over the crackling of the rest of his load and his grunting. His face was certainly red from the struggle, and sweat rolled down his face as he filled the room with animalistic moans. His hole didn't even have time think about closing to rest before two more turds were forcing their way out, nudging over the first one to make room in their pile on the floor.

The bottom of Otto's asscheeks were smeared a dirty brown, and the whole room smelled of shit, an odd turn-on the physicist found as another hot smelly jet of farts covered the pile. The pressure was slightly better, but his stomach roiled and bowels moaned, and he knew he was nowhere close to finished. The next load that slid out of his hole was significantly softer and more malleable, pockets of chunky brown liquid sliding out the sides of each piece of mushy shit. The release was incredible; more than a weeks worth of waste all forcing its way out of him at once. As his asshole bloomed harder, forcing a small spurt of shit that began a trickling stream of thick diarrhea, he took one hand to his hard cock. Slowly, he began pumping it, and his moans of pain and grunts of relief turned into those of pleasure.

By this time he was having full on diarrhea, the milk having degraded all of the shit in his body to a thick, chunky liquid like a chowder. His legs were raised in the air, asshole on full display as it worked, the lips blooming open to kiss out more disgusting mud. The sounds were much louder and wetter, his farts becoming more frequent and intense, blasting chunk after chunk of poop all over the floor in front of him, going feet past the huge pile he'd created. Each wet noise from his body send a throbbing wave of arousal through his cock and stroked up the base, sending him closer and closer to coming, but he had more to go.

His ass squirted steadily for about 3 or 4 minutes, and by the time it finally tapered down his poor abused hole felt like fire. He actually had to push to get the final chunks out; mostly just degraded sludge and loud, hot farts. His stomach felt empty, a welcome feeling considering the past week and more of pain, and he realized how hungry he actually felt. Looking down at his pile, or more a smear, of poo he thought about how full he'd felt, and how bloated. All of that having been stored up inside him, brewing and going soft in his rectum. The idea sent him over the edge. At the same time the very last slippery turd slid out of his butt into the shitcastle, his cock throbbed and thick, hearty ropes of cum spurted out of it, adding what appeared to be whipped cream to a hot fudge sundae. With one last, airy fart splitting open his asscheeks, he laid down completely on the floor beside his pile, absolutely exhausted. One of his actuators crawled up, almost seeming embarrassed as it presented him a napkin, and upon his go-ahead, slinked around his legs to wipe up his ass. It was beyond disgusting, coated in diarrhea and would definitely smell awful for a while, as would the rest of his lair. He just hoped it wouldn't hinder him too much as so he couldn't focus on his project, now that he could finally get back to it.

#scat tw #coprophilia #my writing #sickfic prompt #bloating #fart kink #farting #eproctophilia #diarrhea #sickfic #fanfic #doc ock #stomach ache #tummy ache #dont let this flop #Please i worked hard #scat writing #coprophilous

[jjungkookislife]

milk! (ch. 3)

pairing: jungkook x f. reader

genre: roommates to lovers, smut [18+]

summary: all you really wanted was some milk for your cereal...

wc: 1.5k

warnings: consensual somnophilia (?), dry humping, scratching, fingering, unprotected sex, hair pulling, spanking, degradation, creampie

a/n: ah, this is the last chapter of milk! thanks again to this wonderful anon for sending it in <3

date: February 21, 2023

Mornings were rough enough as is but knowing that you'd rise from Jungkook's bed, waddle to the kitchen in your fluffy slippers, and open the fridge just to find you were out of milk once again, made you want to stay in bed forever. However, Jungkook's alarm is going off on the bedside table and he's not making a move to shut it off. Groaning, you climb over him, not surprised when he doesn't even stir.

Yawning, you take a moment to stretch your arms over your head as you ignore the dull ache between your legs. You were used to long nights with Jungkook, falling asleep wrapped up in him after three or four rounds, and every morning you woke up famished and sore. Jungkook snores away in dreamland as you turn his alarm off, only to be greeted by a cute photo of the two of you on his lock screen. It's a picture you took on your first date two weeks ago.

"Sleepy, Koo," you whisper as you make your way to the kitchen, lazily rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you stumble your way to the cabinet to grab a bowl and fill it with cereal like usual. Jungkook had been a forgetful roommate and as your boyfriend, he still forgot to grab milk when he'd finished it, so you weren't expecting to find any in the carton that sat on the top row of the fridge.

A creature of habit you are, so you reach for the milk anyway, loosely gripping it to shake it and confirm that it's empty.

Except it's not.

It's not empty!

There's milk!

You have milk!

You finally have milk!

"Oh, sweet, sweet boy!" you exclaim as you set the milk back down and shut the fridge hard enough for your condiments to rattle, but you don't care, too enthused as you rush back to your sleeping boyfriend's room.

"Jungkook," you whisper as you kick off your slippers by the door, carefully tiptoeing as you make your way to the bed.

Jungkook doesn't respond, his chest rising and falling as he snores lightly. His head is on his Super Mario pillowcase with his left arm tucked underneath. His pretty lashes rest on his cheeks and his fluffy hair is a mess as it sticks out at odd angles. 

But he's yours.

This sweet, kind, forgetful boy is all yours and you love him.

Whoa!

Love's a big word.

But he bought you milk.

So love it is!

"Jungkook," you try again as you slowly get back on the bed, grimacing when it squeaks under your weight. Wait, weren't you trying to wake him up? "Jungkook!"

"Hm," he hums, as he readjusts, still under the sweet bliss of sleep.

"Baby, wake up. I want to thank you," you say with a grin as you straddle him, pulling the sheets away from him and toward his feet. Jungkook groans, shivering slightly, but he doesn't wake. You huff, leaning forward to press a kiss to his sternum. Your fingers find their place on his little brown nipples and you rub them gently.

"Baby," he groans, eyes slowly fluttering open. "You're not playing fair."

"Kook," you say as you bring your fingers to your lips, wetting them before rubbing his nipples once again. The guttural groan that escapes Jungkook has your hips rocking against him, his boxers no match for your wet cunt.

"Fuck," he curses, suddenly awake as his cock twitches, half-hard and needing very little attention to grow harder. "What did I do to deserve this wake-up call, my love?"

"You bought milk for my cereal," you state in a 'duh' tone.

Jungkook chuckles as his large tattooed hands grip your hips, his forehead resting on your shoulder as his lips plant a kiss on your skin.

 “All this for some milk?” He asks gruffly, sleep still clouding his voice. 

“Yes!” You huff as you cup his face and raise it so you can look him in the eyes. “Because you remembered.”

Jungkook guffaws, shaking his head, a hard feat while your hands hold him. “I knew if I kept forgetting, you’d come storming to the bedroom to wake me up.”

“You fiend!” You laugh as you kiss him. Jungkook grins into the kiss for a moment, deepening it when his hand grips your hair. 

“Kook,” you moan softly as he shushes you with his lips. Your hands move to his broad shoulders, nails digging into his back. 

 Jungkook loses himself in you, his kisses growing deeper as he moves you beneath him. He growls as he strips you of your clothes, kissing every inch of your body before his fingers push into your wet cunt. 

“Mm, fuck,” he curses as he fingers you, his thumb rubbing your clit. You moan his name, eyes fluttering shut as you fall apart for him with ease. 

Jungkook gets you on your hands and knees, lining himself up at your entrance before sinking in. Cursing, Jungkook grabs your hips as you moan his name, taking a moment to adjust to his length.

“Fuck,” he curses, shaking his long hair out of his eyes as he presses a palm to your lower back. You arch further for him and turn your head on his pillow so you can breathe. 

“So pretty,” he murmurs to himself, but you feel your face flush. He smirks, hand gripping a handful of your hair to pull you upwards. His lips smash against yours, tongue meeting yours in a sloppy kiss that leaves you pulsing. Jungkook groans deep in his chest, eyes shut tight as he takes a moment to enjoy the feeling of you wet and warm around his cock. He rests his forehead on your shoulder, kissing your skin generously before his fiery tongue licks a stripe up the column of your throat, finding his home in the spot behind your ear that makes your thighs quiver, his name heavy on your tongue. 

Slowly, your hands reach back and over your head to scrape along his scalp and he shudders. “Fuck.”

His hands freely move down your body, cupping your breasts and rolling your nipples until you cry out for him. 

“Baby,” you gasp when he releases you, shoving you lightly until you fall on the palms of your hands and his large hand smacks your ass. He licks his lips as he hears you curse, moaning his name as he grips your hips and fucks you onto his cock. 

Jungkook groans, pulling out nearly all the way just to thrust into you until he bottoms out. Your dulcet moans fill his bedroom as he finds a steady pace that satiates both of you. His fingers rub your clit, pinching it every so often just to hear you whine before you’re begging for more. His hair falls over his eyes and he shakes it out of his view, only for it to curl in front of him, anyway. He breathes in heavily, eyes focused on where your body connects, enamored by the lewd sounds of your coupling. 

“That’s it, baby. Take my cock like the good slut you are,” he grunts, eyes fluttering shut as pleasure courses through his body, the harsh slaps of his balls against you nearly send him over the edge. 

“Jungkook!” You rasp, face stuffed in the pillow below you as you take the merciless fucking, toes curled and mouth agape as you try not to drool too much on his pillowcase. 

“Fuck, just like that, Koo! S-so close!” You stutter, swallowing thickly as he slams into you a few more times, your breath escaping your lungs with each powerful stroke. Your nails dig into the sheets beneath you, eyes squeezed shut as you beg him to fuck you harder, faster. Your body is tingling with pleasure, so close to the edge, you can almost taste it. 

“Shit! Fuck, that’s it, love. Take it,” Jungkook nearly growls as he watches your ass meet each of his thrusts. You’re working hard for it, creaming his cock as you finally scream, and your thighs quiver until you’re crying out his name, muffled by his pillow. 

Jungkook isn’t too far behind, groaning as his thrusts grow sporadic, your name on his lips as he finally cums, filling you to the brim. He gasps, curses, and rolls his hips one last time before pulling out of you and landing with a flop beside you. A wide grin on his lips. 

“I could get used to waking up like that every day,” Jungkook smirks, sticking his tongue out when you smack his chest playfully.

“Oh, really?” 

“Definitely,” he grins, rolling on his side to look at you, his fingers dancing down the length of your thigh before he’s looking up at you. “I could get used to waking you up by my side for the rest of my life.”

 “Jungkook,” you whisper his name, knowing that’s what you’d like as well and despite the burn of unshed tears in your eyes from happiness, you know you could be forever happy at his side.

"Be mine forever?" you ask as you lace your fingers with his, your head resting on his chest. The soft thumping of his heart makes you melt as he presses a kiss to the top of your head before he speaks.

"I already am, baby. I already am."

<< previous

thank you for reading! ♡ if you liked it, please let me know! 💌

© jjungkookislife - I do not allow reposts or translations of my work on any platforms, this includes Youtube.

#bangtantarmynet #btsgoldnet #btshoneyhive #clubzerooclock #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader insert #jungkook x you #jungkook x y/n #roommate!jungkook

[nnycore]

Hunger was one of those annoying, unavoidable things about being a human.

Even though Johnny C. was pretty confident that he could survive on sheer force of will if he had to, living hungry was uncomfortable, and while there were plenty of sacrifices Nny was willing to make for the sake of becoming a feelingless, empty husk, hunger (at this time at least) was just a pointless preventable discomfort. 

And so he took to the kitchen.

To say that Nny’s kitchen was barren was an understatement. His fridge contained exactly four items: a carton of milk that expired a month ago (why did he even buy that? he’s lactose intolerant), a tupperware full of something unidentifiable (he really didn’t want to know what was in it), a jar of pickles (great for snacking!), and a single cucumber. His pantry wasn’t much better; all he had there were some cans of tuna (also expired, he accidentally bought them in oil instead of in water and refused to touch them), a bag of chips (only the crumbs were left), and three cans of spaghettio-s. There was also the matter of his lack of tableware. And proper cutlery. He had the basics: ice cream scoop, pizza cutter, a fork, and of course, knives. Lots and lots of knives. Nny was like a magpie when it came to those things. Any time a new knife caught his eye, he just had to have it. Whether it was the design of the handle, the curve of the blade, or the way it caught the light, something about them just drew him in. Of course he didn’t need it. He knew that. His set of kitchen knives could get the job done just fine. Hell, he could probably do his job with a spoon if he had to (actually, that’s not too bad of an idea… maybe that ice cream scoop would come in handy? FUCK that’s why he bought it! damned memory problems…). 

That’s not the point, though. The point is, Johnny’s living space was absolutely abhorrent, and he had nothing to put his fucking spaghetti-o’s in and the screams from the basement were getting loud enough to be annoying. Fuck he didn’t have time for this, he had things to do! People to kill! Walls to paint! Well, one wall. Regardless, he was a busy man.

Nny grabbed a can and a knife and headed down the stairs. While he walked, he worked the blade of the knife around the edge of the can, cutting the top off with a horrible screeching noise. He really should just invest in a can opener. Once the top was hanging on by just a shred of metal, he ripped it off with his teeth and gulped the pasta down. A glob of sauce missed his mouth and landed on the stairs with a plop. 

“God… DAMMIT!” he screamed. 

“Are you gonna pick that up?” a high, croaky voice asked him.

Fuck, on top of this, he had to deal with a stupid disembodied rabbit corpse following him around, squeaking out useless suggestions. Well, not useless, he supposed. He just didn’t want to hear it. 

Nny glared at the floating head. “Fuck off, Nailbunny. I’m not in the mood today.”

“You’re never in the mood, Nny.”

“And why do I have to be, huh? Who am I trying to impress? Because it isn’t you, it isn’t the doughboys, and it sure as hell isn’t the people down in the basement.”

The rabbit pouted. “Alright, I see how it is… but what about that little kid, huh? What’s his name… Tom? Todd?”

“Squee?”

“Yeah, him. Don’t you want to be a good example for him?”

“If Squeegee is looking to me for an example of anything other than what not to do, he’s already too fucked to be helped.”

“Aw, come on, don’t say that! You have plenty of good qualities.”

“Like?”

“Well… uh…” the rabbit faltered. “You’re very polite.”

“I kill people, Nailbunny,” he deadpanned.

“Well, when you’re not killing people, you’re always very nice. Even when you are killing people you can be polite.”

“Like hell I am! Name one time I’ve ever been nice to someone I killed.”

“There was that one guy… Almost a year ago, remember? You two had a nice chat right before you killed him. Very enlightening. I could see you being friends with him if things had gone differently.”

“Yeah, if things went differently. Which they didn’t. Now are you going to let me clean up my mess or what?”

Nailbunny said nothing and drifted away in response.

Nny sighed. Conversations with his head-voice-entity-things were always exhausting. Why were they so adamant on him questioning everything about his existence? Why did every conversation have to be deep and thought provoking? Was it not enough to simply chat about the weather? Or how ironic the death he planned for his latest victim was? Honestly, he put so much thought into the way he killed and there wasn’t even anyone around to appreciate it. But then again, he might just be talking to himself, and if that was the case, he didn’t even want to think about what subconsciously psychoanalyzing himself meant for his already nearly non-existent mental health.

“Nobody fucking helps me in this house,” he grumbled as he retrieved the cleaning supplies from under the kitchen sink.

Returning to the scene of the mess, Johnny realized just how small the glob of tomato sauce was. He had gotten his heavy duty stuff (yellow gloves instead of his usual black ones, a mop, and some windex) out for nothing. “I guess I’ll just…” He paused, dragging his hand down his face in exhausted frustration. “...get a towel then.” As he turned to slink back up the stairs, the steel toe of his boot caught on one of the steps, sending him tumbling down into the basement. Johnny C. landed in a heap at the bottom of the stairs, his mop and cleaning supplies scattered around him. He groaned, annoyed at the unexpected turn of events. As he struggled to get up, he heard a soft, timid voice from the corner of the basement. 

The source of the disembodied voice stepped into the dim light, revealing a young boy with wide, fearful eyes. It was none other than Squee, the kid from the neighborhood who always seemed to cross paths with Johnny in the most unfortunate situations. "Uh, hi, Mr. Nny. Are you okay?"

Johnny C. scowled, attempting to save face despite the embarrassment of his fall. "Of course, I'm fine. Just testing the structural integrity of the stairs, you know, for safety reasons. How did you get down here, anyways?”

Squee looked skeptical but didn't press the issue, instead fidgeting nervously with his fingers. "I-I heard noises, and I thought it was safer down here. But then you fell, and I didn't know what to do." He hesitated before asking, "Um, why were you screaming and making a mess upstairs?"

Johnny sighed, realizing that the evidence of his spaghetti-o mishap was still splattered on the stairs. "Just hungry, Squee. And those damn voices in my head won't leave me alone."

Squee furrowed his brow, clearly concerned. "Voices? Like, in your head?"

Johnny waved his hand dismissively. "Yeah, don't worry about it. Just annoying chatter. Happens all the time."

As Johnny started to gather his cleaning supplies, Squee tentatively approached. "I... I could help you clean up. If you want."

Johnny blinked, genuinely surprised by the offer. He was used to people running away from him or, at the very least, avoiding any involvement with his chaotic life. Squee, on the other hand, seemed genuinely willing to assist.

"Well, kid, you might regret saying that, but sure. Why not? Just don't get any blood on you," Johnny replied with a smirk.

Squee hesitated for a moment before nodding nervously. Together, they began to clean up the mess on the stairs, and Johnny couldn't help but notice the mixture of fear and curiosity in Squee's eyes.

As they worked, Nailbunny floated into view, watching the unlikely duo with a bemused expression. "Looks like you found a cleaning buddy, Nny."

Johnny shot a glare at the floating rabbit head. "Shut up, Nailbunny. It's just a one-time thing. I don't need help from anyone."

But deep down, as he glanced at the timid yet determined Squee, Johnny C. couldn't deny that maybe, just maybe, having someone around wasn't the worst thing in the world.

#jthm #johnny the homicidal maniac #johnny c #jthm nny #nny #nny and squee #squee #jthm squee #jthm fanfic

[sadhours]

just the two (ok maybe four) of us • part two

by @buckysgrace and i

contents: 18+ minors dni, smut, p in v, sex in front of others

read on ao3

“Don’t forget Friday,” Kim looked over her shoulder, glancing at Billy from her vanity. One of her eyelashes was decorated with mascara while the other remained normal, “You remember what’s happening, right?” He licked his bottom lip as he sat at the edge of her bed. He fumbled with his shirt for a moment.

“Yes?” He questioned, narrowing his eyes a bit as he tried to remember what was on Friday. He raked his mind, trying to search for what she may be talking about. His mind was still fairly fuzzy from their session early this morning. She had been just as loud, if not worse from how overstimulated she still was.

He felt like laughing, knowing that he really had gotten the last word with Steve. Even though Steve had surprised him last night. Gina was louder than usual but he was sure she was just pretending to be nice.

“Steve’s performing at this bar,” She started slowly and he already felt himself groaning in annoyance, “You promised you’d go.” She whined, linking her fingers together as she begged him. Billy raised his eyebrows, knowing from that statement she was lying.

“When did I ever promise to watch him perform?” He laughed as he questioned her, knowing that he had no interest in seeing the dweeb perform. He was fairly certain that they were lying about just how well he could sing.

“He’s really good,” Kim said quickly as she bounced her feet against the floor, “And he doesn’t have many friends. I’m sure he’d love it if you came.” She said as she fluttered her eyelashes at him, looking at him hopefully. Billy grumbled, unsure of how he was supposed to say no to her cute little face.

“Does he have any friends?” Billy questioned, looking at her seriously, “And Gina doesn’t count.” He said seriously, noticing the way she was beginning to speak quickly. She paused as she settled herself towards the mirror again.

“He has a friend,” Kim confirmed as she began to work on her makeup again, “Besides, it’ll be at a bar. You can get as drunk as you want.” She said simply, brushing off the way he was beginning to grumble and whine again.

“What do I get out of this?” He asked her seriously. She glanced over her shoulder, a knowing look in her eyes as she put her tube of mascara away. She sauntered towards him, rubbing her slender fingers across his broad shoulders.

“Whatever you want,” She promised, pecking his lips with her glossed ones, “I will be under your command for that whole night.” She said sweetly, her lips curling into a little smile as she peered at him. He jolted his head back and forth, pretending to think about it.

“That’s dangerous of you,” He told her seriously, but smiled anyway as he tilted his head up to kiss her again. He wondered if they could sneak in another round before class started. He decided against it, remembering the last time they’d spent all day in her bed, “Fine but I’m not happy about it.” She squealed softly, giving him a big hug.

“Thank you!” She exclaimed a little too cheerily for his taste. His eyes narrowed a bit, still wondering why she cared so much about him becoming friends with Steve. They were fine before him, they would be fine afterwards.

He followed her out the room, watching the way her hips moved in the tight leggings she was wearing. He admired the gentle curve of her ass and her exposed pale skin. She opened her arms dramatically, toppling into Gina as she gave her a hug.

“You’re cheery this morning,” Gina pointed out, smiling as she passed Steve a bowl of cereal. Billy snorted, thinking that Steve was fairly pathetic if he couldn’t make his own bowl. He opened the fridge and pulled out a carton of eggs and some milk. Billy would show Steve how to really wow the girls, “And loud.” Gina snorted as she reached for the cereal box.

“I’m making chocolate chip pancakes,” Billy reached his hand out, stopping her before she could fully grab it, “Your favorite. And it’s the only way I can ever get her to wake up in a good mood.” He grinned, looking over his shoulder to watch the way Steve was grumbling into his bowl. Kim’s face was red.

“Who's paying for it?” Steve muttered underneath his breath, but still loud enough for Billy to hear. Billy thought about sniping back that Steve could clearly afford a much bigger house for Gina on his own, but fell silent as Kim wrapped her arms around his waist.

“Be nice,” She whispered softly, swaying back and forth with him as he began to mix the ingredients together. He breathed in, forcing a smile as he nodded back towards her, “I’ll make it worth your wild.” She added as she pressed a gentle kiss against the crook of his neck.

He made seven pancakes total, deciding that he would be nice enough to leave Steve the smallest and most burnt pancake. Kim sent him a look but didn’t say anything, her own smile on her lips as she rambled to Gina about some of the gossip she’d heard in one of her classes.

“Thanks,” Steve replied dryly as Billy plopped the pancake down in front of him, “But I’m full.” He nodded his head, his features wrinkled up in irritation. Billy grinned, clasping a hand harshly against his shoulder.

“You deserve it big boy,” Billy grinned widely, liking the way he easily got underneath Steve’s skin, “It sounds like she came for the first time in a long time.” He couldn’t help the smirk that formed as Steve’s jaw dropped and his eyebrows rose.

“Excuse me?” Steve spit out, looking completely stunned. Billy traced his tongue across his bottom lip, making sure that the girls were still too deep in conversation to notice what he was saying.

“Oh just a conversation I heard the other day,” Billy lied, though it pleased him to see how Steve’s features contorted into worry. Billy shuffled a large bite of pancakes into his mouth, taking his time to chew as Steve waited on the edge of his seat, “She just mentioned how she’d been having to fake orgasms recently.” He shrugged his shoulders, laughing to himself as he knew there was no such conversation. Steve turned to Gina, his brown eyes wide in concern.

“She said that?” He asked, his cheeks reddening a bit as he gulped hard. Billy nodded his head as he chewed, sending Kim a little wave as she looked over. He played it off, making it look like they were getting along.

“Oh yeah,” He replied to Steve, “You know I could offer you some tips. It would cost ya of course, but it would keep Gina interested.” Steve’s eyes were wide as he stared at his plate, looking like he was debating everything he’d ever done in the bedroom.

Billy smirked to himself as he finished the rest of his pancakes, knowing that he had clearly gotten under Steve’s skin. It was all worth it in his opinion. The little dweeb thought that he was better than him when he clearly wasn’t.

“I can drop you off,” Billy offered as the girls began to pick up their school bags, “We’ll be in the same building today.” He told Gina, smiling as he rubbed Kim’s exposed skin gently. Gina laughed.

“Well aren’t you sweet,” She rolled her eyes but nodded her head, “Sure. I’ll see you later babe.” She waved a hand, noting how Steve’s classes didn’t start until far later in the afternoon.

Billy licked his bottom lip, making sure that Steve was still watching as he gripped Kim’s chin. He tilted her head back, making her look up at him before he puckered his lips and slowly spit into her mouth. She sighed, moaning gently as she swirled her tongue around her mouth before she swallowed it. Her eyes were filled with lust once again as she moved her body closer to him.

“Hi,” She breathed out, her eyes raking over his features, “You’re bad.” She giggled, telling him what he already knew. He smacked her ass hard, grinning as he squeezed her ass in his hand. She bit her lip as she pulled away, heading towards the door.

He picked his keys up, glancing towards Steve’s parted mouth and wide eyes. He looked as if he’d never seen something so deranged before. It filled Billy with pride, thinking about how easily he could upset Steve’s world.

“Have a good day, Pretty Boy.” Billy grinned, sending Steve a sly wink before he slammed the door shut behind him.

Steve was still trying to process Billy literally spitting into Kim’s mouth. Are girls into that? Does Gina want him to spit in her mouth? He’d be lying if he said it didn’t make his dick twitch when he watched. Maybe he wants to try it. He can’t really picture himself doing it though, and he’s not sure what that exactly means. God, he needs a shower.

—

Steve’s not sure what he expects when he gets back to Gina’s that night. He was kind of hoping Billy would have some fraternity shit but he’s in the kitchen when Steve goes to put the pack of beer he brought in the fridge. Billy stops him short and pulls one from the pack, winking as he does so. Steve sighs and grabs one for himself after he puts it away. Of course the asshole’s cooking again. But hey, Steve has his own talents. In fact, his guitar is in his car. He thinks about grabbing it and messing around a bit on the couch.

“Where are the girls?” Steve asks, cracking open the bottle of Stella with his keychain beer opener. Billy uses a lighter to open his. Steve can’t decide who wins that contest.

Billy downs half the beer in one swig, but Steve’s not surprised. He’s heard what hazing is like. Assumes Billy can drink him under a table. He licks his lips as he pulls the bottle away and tells Steve, “Kim’s room, I think.”

“What are they doing?” Steve wonders aloud, eyebrows raised.

The blonde grins from ear to ear, a sadistic look in his eye as he suggests, “Maybe they’re fucking.”

“What?” Steve gapes, like Billy’s uncovered a secret or something.

“Scissoring?” Billy frowns, tilting his head. “Maybe they’re sixty-nining.”

Steve rushes to Kim’s room, Billy following close, grabs Steve’s shoulder as he’s about to twist the doorknob open, “Which do you think is hotter?”

“What are you talking about?” Steve whispers back, looking at Billy with squinted eyes.

“Scissoring or sixty-nining? Which would you rather see?” Billy replies hushed, but like it’s obvious what he meant.

Both, Steve thinks. Both would be really cool to see. He feels perverted suddenly, standing there discussing this with Billy. So he ignores him and opens the door, his stomach twisting with anticipation. Then he feels like a fucking idiot when he sees the pair of them on Kim’s bed, text books open. Of course they weren’t fucking. This isn’t some porno, Steve reminds himself. Besides, that would be cheating and Gina wouldn’t do that to him. As badly as he would like to watch the girls fuck, they wouldn’t do that.

“Hi,” Kim says, waving to the boys.

Gina turns her head towards the door, smiling wide when she sees Steve, “Babe, I didn’t know you’d be here so soon. Thought you had practice.”

Steve watches as she climbs off the bed and saunters over, wrapping her arms around his neck. Billy’s still standing behind him. He should probably do something to compete with the spitting this morning. But Steve’s a bitch and he can’t, all he can do is kiss her quickly. He’s too nervous, doesn’t really feel like doing anything sexual to Gina with Billy’s breath on his face.

“Yeah, well, Matt had to work late,” Steve explains, “We’ll practice tomorrow.”

Gina nods, running her fingers through his hair, “Kim and I are almost finished. We’ll be out soon.”

She kisses Steve’s cheek before walking back over to the bed and he shuts the door, turning to look at Billy with that dumb fucking smirk plastered on his face. “You’re an asshole, ya know that?” Steve groans, pushing past the guy and goes out to his car.

He grabs his guitar and small amp, bringing it in and setting up by the couch. Steve sits and opens up his case, picking up his all black Stratocaster and plugs in the quarter inch chord. He keeps the volume on his amp low, trying not to disturb the girls. A quick strum tells him he’s gotta tune. As Steve is fiddling with the strings and making sure they’re all in tune, Billy wanders into the living room with a towel hung over his shoulder. He scoffs, looking thoroughly annoyed. Steve takes that as a win but ignores the blonde and he eventually goes back to cooking. Steve files through the catalog in his head. An obvious choice would be the song he wrote for Gina. However, he’s played it so much for her that he doesn’t really need to practice it.

He starts strumming again, really just kind of messing around before he decides. Fingers through a solo or two before realizing there’s a song he’s been kind of fucking up when they play it live. He starts it, seamlessly even though he can’t seem to do that when he has an audience. Soon enough, Gina recognizes that he’s playing guitar and she and Kim come poking their heads out of her room. They look excited and Steve has to bite his lip to surprise his smile. He tries to play it cool, just offering them a glance as they sit on the couch beside him, practically in each other's laps. There’s a bit in the song that he kind of stumbles on, it’s hard to move his fingers that fast but hell, he wrote it so he better nail it before Friday.

“Play Freebird!” Billy calls from the kitchen and Steve knows it’s a dig, but he actually fucking knows how to. So he does, or he at least starts it and the blonde comes stomping into the living room, “You’re not actually supposed to.”

“Sorry,” Steve laughs, “You requested it.”

Billy’s eyes fall onto the girls and he looks even angrier, the way they watch Steve with dreamy eyes. “I thought musicians had integrity.”

And well it makes Steve laugh, because Billy would be one of the assholes to shout that whenever someone’s playing guitar. Steve’s heard it enough at open mics. And the same thing happens when Steve actually starts playing it, they get angry. It’s hilarious.

Steve ignores him and goes back to messing around and Gina’s poking his thigh with her foot, “Play my song.”

“Your song?” Billy raises an eyebrow.

Kim giggles, turning around to tell him, “Steve wrote a song for Gina. Isn’t that sweet?”

Billy smiles at his girlfriend, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Steve can see how he clenches his jaw after and he starts playing the song. Watching his fingers as he moves them up the fretboard until he’s got to sing. But he still gets too nervous to look at Gina so he keeps his eyes down.

“I am only half a man without you…”

Gina squeals whenever he sings that part, this time is no different. He can see in his peripheral vision that Kim squeezes Gina’s bicep too. Ha. Take that Billy.

“And I want you, baby, I need you. Seems untrue but I know I do. Each day is gonna be so blue, if we don’t get to see this through.”

He’s better at singing in front of people now, thanks to steady bookings and open mics and the occasional karaoke night. When he finishes the song, Gina’s crawling over and wrapping her arms around his waist. She kisses along his neck and whispers in his ear, “Thank you. I love you.”

Steve kisses her softly, “Love you.”

He smiles at her as she pushes his hair off his forehead.

—

Steve’s on the couch, scrolling through Reddit on his phone when Billy plops down next to him. He leans over to look at Steve’s phone with an amused face, “Can you see tits on there?”

He gives this annoyed look to Billy before replying, “Yeah. There’s porn on Reddit.”

“Pull some up,” Billy suggests nonchalantly and Steve is tempted for a second but it’s also too easy to make a dig at him.

“Is that what you do in your frat? Just a bunch of guys looking at porn together?”

“Sometimes,” Billy shrugs, “What? Like you’ve never looked at porn with a buddy?”

Steve shakes his head, “Can’t say I have. Seems kind of gay.”

Billy snorts and it makes Steve uneasy. He nudges his shoulder, “Come on. Show me.”

Steve sighs, clicking on the search bar which drops down his past searches. They’re mostly music subreddits and another for programming. He foolishly decided he would take a class in it this year and he’s drowning. He types ‘gone wild’ into the search bar. “This is like the big one, I guess, it’s mostly just girls promoting their only fans.”

Billy hums while Steve scrolls, “You think they get a lot of people from here?”

Steve shrugs, “If they’re hot, I guess.”

Kim and Gina come in from the kitchen, they’d done the dishes after dinner.

“What’re you guys looking at?” Kim asks as she sits next to Billy.

Steve drops his phone to his lap, “Nothing.”

“Naked chicks,” Billy answers truthfully, unashamed.

“Oh yeah?” Kim tilts her head.

“None of them as hot as you,” Billy purrs, wrapping his arm around Kim’s waist and pulling her onto his lap while he starts kissing her neck.

Steve squirms as he scoots further away, his skin flushed with embarrassment. Gina sits next to him, grabbing the remote. She doesn’t seem bothered by what they were looking at but Steve still feels ashamed. Gina picks a movie easily, some horror movie and cuddles up to Steve.

Billy’s lips hover over Kim’s skin as he peppers kisses up her neck. He pulls her hair away, getting a better angle before he licks at her skin again. She has a certain spot, just a few centimeters below her left ear that makes her whole body shiver when he touches it.

She gasps, just as he was expecting as he nips at the spot on her neck. He grins against her skin, knowing that he can’t sing but he sure can make her with just the lightest touch. He feels his cock stirring in his pants, wondering if Steve is watching him.

“That part used to scare me too,” Gina speaks up, totally wrapped up in the movie to notice, “Kinda cheesy now, don’t you think?” She’s questioning Steve and Billy finally looks over, noticing how Steve’s eyes are mixed with curiosity from watching the two. Billy’s lips curl up into a smirk as he winks at him, rocking Kim’s flushing form back and forth.

“Are you wearing panties?” He whispers low, his face inches from Kim’s red cheeks and she shakes her head slowly. He squeezes at her side, “Go take them off and grab a blanket.” He urges her, watching the way she takes off without protesting.

When he turns back around Steve’s features are written in disbelief, a telltale sign that he has been listening. Billy just shoots him a sly grin as he waits for Kim to return. Steve shakes his head, looking quite irritated as he turns away. Billy doesn’t give a damn.

“I got cold,” She says, sounding a little embarrassed as she crawls back onto Billy’s lap and covers them just as quickly. He doesn’t doubt it, but doesn’t reply as he’s shifting to pull his hard cock out and slide it into her wet cunt. He licked the corner of her mouth as he feels her stretch around him, “Mhm.” She slips out, turning her head quickly as she tried to pretend to be occupied with the movie.

He grins as he rubs her hips, pushing down on them until he’s fully bottomed out inside of her and just lets her sit there. They’ve done this a handful of times, but his favorite may have been when he was introducing her to his fraternity group. She had been the one to instigate it that time, but a little alcohol and weed always left her frisky.

Billy watches as Steve tries to shuffle further away, but is unable to by the size of the couch. Billy bites down on his lip and he’s scooting just a hair closer and kicking his leg out until it’s pressed against Steve’s, just because he can.

Billy’s always liked having an audience watch him, especially when he’s with Kim. It’s happened more than once where someone has walked in on them and he’s just fucked her through it. She always gets shy and bashful after, but the look in her eyes tells him that she likes it just as much. Although she may be sweeter, she’s just as big of a freak as he is.

She shifts her hips a bit, obviously struggling to keep from bouncing on his cock by the way her hands are gripping the blanket. He presses his nose against her cheek, nudging her softly until she’s turning downwards and pressing her lips against his heatedly. He kisses her slowly and dirty. Sliding his tongue inside of her mouth and licking away her spit as he notices Steve shifting in his spot again.

He can feel himself throbbing inside of her, his cock aching at the way she squeezes him so tightly. He’s tempted to reach between them and play with her clit, but decides against it. She never lasts long once he starts to do that, and he wants to savor the feeling of her tonight. It only makes it more worth it once he actually starts fucking her. She’s even louder, more feral.

“So like,” Billy’s turning to face Steve again, grinning at how Steve is obviously trying to avoid eye contact, “Does your little band just play music you wrote or like, do you play Taylor Swift too?”

“I only play that for Kim.” Steve says finally, his brown eyes warm as he turns to look at her. Only she’s not paying attention. Her fingertips are digging into Billy’s shoulder as she stares down at her lap, her features contorted together in pleasure like she’s fighting the urge to move. And Billy can tell that she is by the way she’s squirming against him.

“Hey,” Billy smirks, obviously pleased with her reaction as he lightly digs two fingers into her side. She jolts, her lips parting and shutting quickly as she tries to bite back a moan from her movements, “Steve was talking to you.” He pretends to frown, acting like it was rude. She blinks a few times, her eyes glazed over.

“Huh?” She breathes out, her eyes dilated and wide, “Oh, oh yeah. He’s really good.” Her tone is pitchy and rushed and she’s back to pressing her fingertips into his skin. Billy kisses her exposed shoulder, hiding his own grin as he feels triumphant as he turns to Steve. He starts to plot in his mind, thinking that he should have Kim on his cock the whole time so she doesn’t pay attention.

The night trickles by slowly and Billy can feel Steve growing more and more annoyed by the way Billy’s leg is pressed up against his. Billy’s ego soars in the fact that Steve can feel him stiffening each time he pushes up into Kim. He can feel Steve’s irritation each time a whimper slips free from her mouth, like he’s fully aware of what is happening.

Billy is tempted to pull out his phone and show Steve one of the many pictures or videos he has of Kim. He’s passed his phone around a dozen or so times around in his fraternity, liking the amazed look guys always get when he shows off just what his sweet little girlfriend is willing to do for him.

Kim’s squirming more and more as the night progresses and the look she sends him let’s him know she’s ready to retreat to her room. However, he’s not going to throw in the white flag that easily.

Steve perplexes him. Usually when he starts getting touchy with Kim in front of some poor bastard they start doing the same to their girlfriend. Steve doesn’t make a move to touch Gina in a similar way. He sits there still, doing his best to ignore Kim’s actions.

Gina’s soft sounds of sleep rattle Billy from his thoughts and he can hear Kim sighing in deep relief. Steve shifts for a moment, his back facing them as he attempts to pull Gina into his arms. Billy feels himself tensing up, sure that Steve is going to drop his girlfriend face forward onto the floor.

He finally gets a good balance as he rises, saying nothing as he carries Gina back towards her room. Kim is giggling as he shuts the door.

“That’s sweet,” She says gently, her eyes wandering over Billy’s features, “Steve is really sweet.” Billy scoffs in response, moving his hand up to grip her chin.

“You know it’s rude to talk about another man when you’re stuffed full of cock,” He smirks, sliding his tongue across his teeth at the way her eyes widen in pleasure, “Kinda makes you a bitch.”

She gapes as she’s shoving him backwards, his back lightly hitting the cushions as he smirks up at her. He licked his lips, moving his hands to her hips to steady her as she looked down at him.

“You need to be nice,” She drew out slowly, rocking her hips forward to earn a soft groan from him, “Are you jealous?” The glint in her eyes tells him she thinks it’s funny.

“Of that dweeb?” He grips her hips as he raises her along his cock before he roughly drops her on top. She moans loudly, her eyes fluttering shut tightly as he continues those rough motions, “What’s to be jealous of?” He questions, but she’s too far gone to answer.

“Oh God,” She cries out, her cunt dripping along his thick cock as he continues to rock her up and down the length of him. She rests her palms against his chest, starting to build a similar rhythm as moans pour from her lips, “Right there.” She was grinding her hips forward, desperately searching for her release.

Billy liked when she got like this. With her lips parted, her eyebrows knitted together and her face flushed. He groaned as he rubbed at her clit, watching the way she spasmed against him.

“Nasty little whore,” He licked his lips, gripping her thighs tightly as he rammed up into her harshly, “Do you think he could fuck you like this?”

“No, no,” She pleaded with him, her nails twisting into his skin in bliss as she cried out, “Only you!” Her eyes were glazed over, dark and youthful as she peered down at him. He groaned, pressing down on her sensitive bud harder to earn a louder cry from her.

“Do you belong to me?” He spit out harshly, his own pleasure beginning to twist and lick at his spine. He was finding it harder and harder to speak but he wanted to get the point across.

“Belong to you, Billy,” She whimpered, her thighs clenching tightly around his hips as she fell apart on top of him, “Oh god, yes, yes.” She wiggled, falling forward onto his chest as she came with a cry. He groaned, thrusting up even harder as he chased his own release. His balls smacked against her skin, echoing in the quiet living room as he silenced his own moans with her lips.

He licked the inside of her mouth, tasting her sweet sounds as he came inside of her again. She whimpered as she rubbed her hands across his chest, panting against his mouth as she tried to relax against his touch.

“Feel good?” He asked as he pushed her red strands behind her ears. She nodded, giggling breathlessly as she pecked a kiss against his nose. He wrinkled it for good measure.

“Tired,” She breathed out and she moved her slender arms around his neck, “I think you might have to carry me.” She suggested slyly, a giggle bursting free as she hid her face in the crook of his neck. He smiled, placing his own kiss against her soft cheek.

“Alright,” He pulled his soft cock from her cunt, holding her up gently so he could slide himself back into his pants. He stood up before he grabbed her hips and hoisted her over his shoulder. She screamed out, giggling as he patted her ass, “I’m only doing what you asked.”

“You’re such a dick.” She was giggling, her feet dangling high in the air as he carried her to her room. He smacked her flesh again, licking how weightless she felt in his arms.

“You love it.”

#billy hargrove fic #billy hargrove smut #billy hargrove x original character #billy hargrove x oc #steve harrington x original character #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington x billy hargrove #steve harrington x oc

[quanblovk]

Who did it?

Out of nowhere, Dragato angrily approaches the dining table and slams his fist down while holding an empty milk carton.

Sir Dragato: I don't care how great or noble you are.....ANYONE WHO LEAVES THE MILK CARTON IN THE FRIDGE JUST BECAUSE IT HAS ONE DROP LEFT IS UNBECOMING OF A WARRIOR!!!

Sir Falspar: oh! There's milk left? Can I finish it? I love milk!

Sir Dragato: yes Falspar, you can.

Sir Falspar: yay! ^o^

Sir Nonsurat: It wasn't me, I was out all morning making sweet love to Arthur's wife!

Sir Arthur: I know I let you have affairs my wife but do you have no shame blurting that out loud?

Sir Nonsurat: What is there to be ashamed about? I take pride in our forbidden romance! It's the most beautiful form of love!

Galacta Knight: Really?! I didn't know love could be so deep...

Sir Dragato: Don't listen to him, Galacta Knight. Nonsurat! You're being a bad influence on our new recruit.

Sir Nonsurat: hmph....

Sir Dragato: Now WHO DID IT?! I demand that they immediately go to the store and buy new milk!

Sir Arthur: Now now, Dragato, this isn't something to fuss about. You could always go and buy new milk yourself. No need to fight.

Sir Dragato: Arthur...you don't understand. We are star warriors, the greatest army in all the galaxy. The very fate of the universe are within our hands and yet....a person who leaves things unfinished...you think they should be allowed to be in this army?!

Sir Arthur: *GASP* You're absolutely right...How could I be so blind? We will investigate this matter immediately! Clear the table!

Sir Nonsurat: Eh-?! Wait, right now?

Sir Dragato: What's wrong? NERVOUS BECAUSE YOU'RE THE CULPRIT?!?!

Sir Nonsurat: Nonsense! I'm lactose intolerant!

Sir Dragato: Oh....Hey wait! What in the four stars have you got against dairy products?!

Sir Falspar: I don't think that's what it means-

Suddenly, the door bursts open as two people walk in. It was their comrades, Garlude and Jecra. They seem to be in a good mood!

Jecra: Good afternoon, gents! Haha!

Garlude: Good afternoon!

Sir Falspar: Oh hey guys! We're trying to find out who didn't go to buy new milk just because the carton had one drop left.

Jecra: WHAT?! I didn't know we were interupting something so serious....

Garlude: Truly something unforgivable....to think there was such a person amongst us.

Sir Nonsurat: No way....you guys are actually serious about this...

Sir Dragato: OR MAYBE IT WAS YOU!!! HUH, MILKBOY?! What do you have to say for yourself?!

Milkboy (Falspar): It wasn't me! Also milkboy sounds really weird, please don't use that word ever again.

Sir Dragato: Way ahead of you, realized it the moment I said it....

Sir Arthur: come join us, Jecra! Garlude! Your testimonies would be of great use. Help us find the culprit!

Sir Nonsurat: A-are you serious? But I promised dear Guinevere that I'd take her to that fancy new Floralian restaurant-

Sir Dragato: SAVE YOUR DAMN DATE FOR LATER, MOON BOY. WE'VE GOT BIGGER PROBLEMS.

Moon Boy (Sir Nonsurat): *gasp* MOON BOY?! AND YOU DARE BELITTLE OUR LOVE?! Draw your weapon, WE DUEL!!!

Sir Dragato: AHA! SO IT WAS YOU! YOU'RE BEING SO DEFENSIVE ABOUT IT!!!

Sir Nonsurat: HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU THAT I'M LACTOCE INTOLERANT?!?

Sir Arthur: Enough! Both of you! Stop acting like ruffians! This is no time to fight amongst ourselves, we should focus on the main problem at hand. Now, then. Everyone sit down.

They all complied and took their seats at the dining table. However, it was rather small and their wasn't enough seats. So Falspar just climbed on top of Dragato. Everyone seems unfazed by this, including sir Dragato himself.

Jecra: As expected of Sir Arthur...such a great leader!

Garlude: He's a man who takes charge and controls the situation....just like his father...

Sir Dragato: Of course! He's our leader afterall. With him, we'll be able to weed out traitors in no time!

Yamikage: Hey.

Sir Dragato: Oh hey, so as I was sayi-....

Dragato turns around to see a ninja hanging upside down from the ceiling, looking at him with a rather bored expression. Though his eyes quickly light up when they meet with Sir Arthur's. They both wave a little at each other before returning to their usual expressions.

Sir Dragato: .......I-

Yamikage: Hey, Dragato, Hey everyone.

Sir Falspar, waving from the top of Dragato's head: Hey Yamikage~!

Sir Nonsurat: Greetings to you too.

Galacta Knight: Hello!! T-that'll be the last time I talk, I gotta get back to my train of thought.

Jecra: Hey. Ninja.

Garlude: Hello, Yamikage. What were you doing up there?

Yamikage: Classified. I heard something about a traitor so I came down.

Sir Arthur: Oh no, there isn't a traitor-

Sir Dragato: THERE IS TO ME!!

Sir Arthur: Ah, we're just looking for the person who didn't go buy new milk after drinking it all. You'd be of great help! Come join us.

Yamikage: Hmph, I see. That's a rather silly thing to do for a man like you but I'll play along.

Sir Arthur: Now then, if we're all settled. I'd like to start with Sir Falspar first. You wake up the earliest out of all of us, not to mention you have a fondness for milk. Tell me, what did you do this morning at the kitchen?

Sir Falspar: Well alright......It goes like this.

Sir Dragato: ......Aren't you going to-

Sir Falspar: No no, leave something for the next part!

Sir Dragato: what? What do you mean by that-?!

[TO BE CONTINUED

when i feel like it -3-]

#kirby nintendo #my fiction #kirby fanfiction #my art #digital drawing #doodle #kirby right back at ya #hoshii no kaabii #galaxy soilder army #gsa #sir Falspar #sir Dragato #Sir Arthur #Sir Nonsurat #sir galahad #sir percival #sir lancelot #Jecra #Knuckle joe's father #Garlude #Yamikage #Who did it? #queued post

[tenjiiku]

every heartbeat

early mornings, izana likes to wake you up 10 minutes before your alarm will go off with the soft melody of his guitar. the sunlight streams in from the floor to ceiling windows of your bedroom — warming his cold skin as he slips out of the comforter and sits on the sofa near the aperture.

you awake 5 minutes after he finishes the instrumental he wrote you a year ago. he can sense your tired body lift up, the blanket making a sound against the queen sheets.

“‘zana,” your voice is soft, sweet, and only ever for him, “come back t’bed.”

he sets his guitar down, a hint of a smile on his face, and makes his way back to you. your eyes are in the shape of crescent moons, he brushes your cheekbone before laying down. you take his head in both of your hands and lay him against your bare chest. he traces flowers into your skin with his calloused fingers before falling asleep once more.

this is the best part of his day.

.

.

.

his favourite place to sit is between your legs. aside from the very obvious sexual innuendos of his confession; he adores it for an entirely different reason. your lotion smells of cherry blossoms and strawberries. his favourite scents.

“—and it’s like, now she hates me even though everyone — like — says that she’s totally in the wrong!”

he fixes his reading glasses. the glow of his laptop illuminating his features in your dimly lit living room. you sit on the sofa. he sits cross legged on the carpet leaning against it, your two legs caging him in.

he hums as you finish your current rant, “mhm.”

“‘zana,” your hands aimlessly playing with his hair pause and rest on top of his head, “are you listenin’?”

closing his laptop slightly, he turns his head towards you. you lean a back a little with widened eyes. he bites the inside of his cheek at your reaction.

“yumi-chan keeps helping herself to your snacks, and when you confronted her about it she called you delusional.”

your face turns back to normal, and he moves his head back to its original position, opening his laptop. the right side of his mouth lifts up in an almost-smile and he adjusts his glasses as they slide down the bridge of his nose. you continue with your ministrations, treating his hair as some sort of stress relief toy. but you are very gentle — you are always gentle with him. he loves when you get angry at someone else because that means you direct all your love and concern to him.

“yeah! can you believe the gall of her?!” you huff at the end, growing breathless.

“you can always put a lock on your lunch box,” he suggests.

you tug at his hair, clearly a little put off at his suggestion.

“wouldn’t that be overkill?”

“who’re you trying to impress?”

you do not respond. he waits one, two, three, four, five seconds.

your voice is so quiet, so meek, so cute, “…you know any lunch boxes with locks?”

he turns his head to look back to you. he shifts his body left, patting the space next to him. he already has amazon open on his web browser.

“come ‘ere.”

.

.

.

you go to the grocery store together, every sunday. this was the first time he had lost you.

his eyebrows furrow in frustration, as he passes by different aisles, giving them a glance before ultimately never meeting the bright yellow of your jacket. or, his, jacket — he gave it to you when ran gave it to him as a birthday present, he did not like the colour. in one hand he carries fish food. in the other, a new pack of toothbrushes. a pink one (his) and a green one (yours).

finally coming to the milk aisle, he spots the ugly bright yellow colour and breathes a sigh of relief. you were not dead, thankfully. he does not realize how fast he had been walking until he approaches you: peacefully holding a carton of alternative milk.

you do not even look at him when you ask, “‘zana, you think oat milk tastes good?”

he pants a little, out of breath as he leans against the glass door of the fridge, “i…, don’t know.”

you pause for a moment, scrutinizing the box of oat milk as though it had committed a crime punishable by death. you shove it back into the fridge and close it.

“i think it’s a load of bull.”

he watches you. your other words do not quite register in his mind. he is just glad he found you before you realized he was not there. a part of him thinks you already knew that, but trusted him enough to leave him alone. it makes the knots in his stomach loosen. it feels uncomfortable.

he grabs your warm hand. it heats his cold one. they’re much more softer than his.

“‘zana?”

he intertwines his fingers with your own, swinging your joined arms back and forth. “we can try it, if you want.”

you look up at him, and smile. it takes so little for you to know what he needs. his stomach tightens inside — back to how it was. it feels so nice. he wants to kiss you, he thinks. but you lift your joined hands up and place one on his before he can.

“nah,” you grin against his skin (you’re trying to murder him, he surmises), “let’s go.”

you walk home hand-in-hand from the grocery store, and he knows he has nothing to worry about if either of you get lost. because you will always find a way back to each other.

.

.

.

whomever arrives home first is in charge of dinner. today, it was izana’s turn. he makes fresh rice and instant curry — you were never picky. loving you was so easy.

“i wanna go to the bahamas,” you mumble, randomly, with a mouth full of rice.

he sits across from you. your legs are tangled together underneath the kotatsu. some cheap reality show plays on the television as background noise. your apartment is lit up — bright and warm — a stark contrast to the dark night sky outside.

he swallows before asking, “any flights available?”

you gulp down the large bite you had taken, looking at him incredulously. he stares at you, waiting.

“we, we can’t just go—,” you say, “we have work.”

“oh,” he drops his spoon a little, “yeah. right.”

you both grab your respective cans of beer at the same time, drinking it to fill the silence. but, like always, you are the first to stop and break the quietness.

“don’tcha just wanna run away sometimes?”

you put your cheek in the palm of your free hand, the other one gripping your half empty beer can. you force a laugh at the end. he can feel you getting hot.

“i hate— i hate money and work and,” you pause, coercing another giggle and rolling your eyes, “i hate capitalism.”

“yeah,” he is terrible at carrying conversations, and he never does know where you go with yours, “it does suck.”

he shifts his eyes towards the genkan where your coats hang, side by side. he cannot see it from here, but he knows your heels are next to his boots.

after a pregnant pause, he hears a sniffle. he looks back at you. your eyes are glossy.

“anata?”

you do not look at him. your brows are a little furrowed and your lips tremble — out of anger, he guesses, “it makes me so mad, sometimes.”

izana does not know how to properly comfort you. he knows you are not upset about whatever it is you were directing your true anger towards, though. and he hopes you know that he knows that. for now, he takes the beer can from out your hand, rests it on the table, and covers your hand with his palm.

“let’s go somewhere tomorrow,” he whispers, like it is a secret mission he is inviting you on, “emergency vacation.”

you look at him. he knows that it is a good sign. so he persists. “doesn’t have to be far. didn’t you wanna try that new cheesecake place?”

and when you smile through tears, he knows you understand that, in his own way, he is there for you. that he is here for you. that he loves you, and wants you to rest well.

“yeah,” you tangle your fingers with his own, meeting him at the end with the other half, “yeah, that’d be nice.”

.

.

.

izana does not typically vomit when he gets drunk — but he does become utterly honest. he fills 1/2 of the personality of a stereotypical drunk person, and the only person he trusts himself around when he gets to that point is you.

“your darling,” he has his arm swung around rindou. he knows he’s dragged him back to his apartment. to you. “he got pretty wasted.”

“yeah, i can tell.” your voice is sardonic and it makes a lazy smile paint itself on his face. he can feel rindou move his arm from his shoulder to yours. he feels like a sack of potatoes.

“thanks, rin.” you express your generosity. izana giggles, hair falling over his squinted eyes. you were so kind and so nice to him and everyone.

you shut the door behind you both, sighing a little.

“come on, big man, ya gotta help me here.”

“mmfgfh.” he groans, lifting himself up but still leaning against your body on purpose because he wants to stay like this a little while longer. to make you mad, a little.

you scoff, responding to his gibberish, “yeah, i know. crazy, right?”

he finds himself tossed onto the bed. he can feel you unbuckle his belt and take his work pants off. he lays limply, unmoving — trusting.

“jeez, honey, what’d you drink?” you ask, loosening his tie and throwing it onto the ground.

“hm hm somethin’ sweet.” he smiles, eyes seeing your silhouette in the dark as they adjust to the lighting, “and sour and bitter and gross.”

when he comes to his senses, he sees that you are on your knees. he grimaces a little at your position, and bends his body to rest on your neck to make himself as uncomfortable as you probably are.

“i hate goin’ drinkin’ after work.” he mumbles into your skin.

“yeah,” you simply retort, “arms up.”

he complies. now he is completely bare, only in his briefs. you stand up and push him to lay against the washed sheets. he snuggles into his pillow, eyelids suddenly feeling heavy.

“‘kay, stay here.”

you begin to walk away. before he can stop you, you are already back with a cold glass of water.

you sit on his side of the bed, placing a hand on his back, urging him to sit up. “drink.”

he takes the glass. he can feel you watch his every move and it makes his cheeks hot. he coughs a little, gulping the water quickly so you can be beside him.

but you only chastise him. “slowly, gosh, don’t choke.”

he sets the glass down onto the bedside table. he lays back down but you remain sitting. he likes this situation. he feels so safe. you come in closer and brush his hair out of his face.

“you’re lucky it’s a friday.”

“love you,” he mumurs incoherently, but genuinely, “i love you.”

he sees you smile. you lean down, and place a kiss on his forehead. he thought butterflies were bullshit. he still think they are. the feeling he gets in his chest from you is so much more than butterflies.

it is indescribable. only known to two. he falls asleep soundly to this.

.

.

.

your hair was so much more softer than his own, like most of you. but you trust his rough parts to handle yours. he lathers shampoo into your hair, forming suds. the bath water ripples with each massage, and you hum a little at his relaxing kneading. you have your back turned against him, but still entrance him nonetheless.

“it would’ve been s’nice if we domesticated bears, like, centuries ago.”

“hm.”

“we could’ve had little baby bear pets — like dogs,” you bring your knees to your chest, wrapping your arms around your legs, “i can’t.”

he croons, taking his soap lathered hand and moving them to your neck. “bend your neck a little.”

“or, like, what ‘bout raccoons,” you bend your neck, he continues, “why can’t we have them as pets.”

you shiver a little before explaining, “i saw one dead on the road today and cried.”

“oh,” his movement slows down, “that’s gross,”before becoming normal again.

you lift your hand, raise it up towards your head and lightly slap his hand cleaning your scalp.

“don’t call it gross! it was sad! poor guy.”

the water ripples with each movement. izana drowns out your rant about there being ‘justice for raccoons’ and spots a kiss mark he left you on your back last night.

the memory makes his hands fall from your hair, and wrap around your waist. he nudges your cheek with his nose and you yelp at the sudden contact.

“‘zana, stop! stop, that tickles!”

your annoyance turns into giggles as he blows raspberries into your cheek. he grins — almost invisibly — against your skin. the bathroom floor becomes wet from the swishing of water afterwards.

.

.

.

the next day, you wake up with more kiss marks and bruises. one has even made its way on your neck. izana grew a little determined after your bath. he sits up in bed, rubbing his eyes, as you come into the room, rummaging through the closet. you don a pretty blouse — noticeably with a turtle neck — and pencil skirt.

“oh, wow.” he sniggers as your butt hangs out the closet door.

you shut the door loudly, turning to him with narrowed eyebrows.

“shuddap,” you hiss, tugging the collar of your shirt down to reveal a discernible — for a lack of a better word — hickey.

“look at what you did to me!”

he leans back, cocky. “looks hot.”

you cross your arms, huffing.

“i have a meeting with the other team supervisors today! sales people are comin’ in today!”

“hope it goes well,” he blows you a kiss, and laughs as you throw up a middle finger and stomp your cute butt out the door.

.

.

.

in the evening he gives you one more. you are a creature of habit and you are terrible at keeping grudges. he likes that about you. he was a sloth when it came to following a schedule and could carry other’s mistakes with him until he reaches his grave. you balance each other out.

“wish we could stay like this forever,” you sigh, cheek laying against his chest, mindlessly tracing hearts into his skin.

“thought you were mad at me this morning.”

you lift your head up, chin resting on his torso. he tilts his own a little down to look you down. you mumble something under your breath. he doesn’t hear you. you exhale a little and say it again.

“can never stay mad at you.”

he knows that it is true. which is why he gives you a third love bite to join the others on your neck. 3 was his lucky number.

one, you. the other, him. and last, the small little world you have created with another.

#izana x fem reader #izana kurokawa x reader #izana x reader #writing

[lokisprettygirl]

The Night Screams at The Slumber Island (Loki x Female Reader) (Horror Romance) (Dark) (Au) (18+)

Read Chapter 2 here // Series Masterlist

Chapter 3

Summary: Loki sings for you to make you comfortable.

Warning: Mentions of recurring nightmare and trauma, mention of past abuse, trust issues, spooky stuff

As her figure leaped at you, you fell down. The knife was thrown into the corner of the room, you screamed and closed your eyes. And you kept screaming, at that moment you had no idea what was about to happen to you, you just thought you were going to die by the looming presence on top of you. It also reminded you of those when he was on top of you and you were incapable of fighting for yourself.

You only stopped screaming when you heard the knocks on the door and that's when you opened your eyes to find nothing above you, your eyes glanced over the portrait and Minola was in there, you sat up to process what had just happened but you couldn't make any sense of it. It felt real, it didn't seem like something you had just imagined in your head.

You got up, wiped the sweat off your forehead as you heard the knocks on the door again, you were surprised to see your neighbor standing out there, he had a wifebeater on with a black shirt on today. 

"Are you alright darling? I heard you screaming so loud in there " He asked you as he leaned himself against the frame.

"I am..uhhh I ..saw a big rat, hugeee" you lied to him and he hummed. He thought you'd end up closing the door on his face but to his surprise you invited him in instead.

Truth to be told, you didn't want to be alone after what just happened. You didn't know if what you saw was real or just a figment of your imagination but you just didn't want to be alone for a change "Thanks for checking upon me" you smiled as you moved aside to let him enter the door.

"Of course we are neighbors, we're supposed to look after each other" he smiled at you and that made you nervous. You didn't like this, the longing stares, that smile on his face, he seemed the type of guy to break hearts every step on his way. "Would you like a cup of tea or coffee?" You asked him and he nodded, he surveyed the room and didn't miss the bedsheet pooled in front of the fireplace. You walked over and picked it up quickly to keep it on the couch.

"Did you cover her up?" He asked you and you hesitated to answer him for a moment, eventually nodding. You didn't want him to think you were scared of her or anything because that sounded foolish. 

"I don't like how lifelike she looks, it unnerves me a bit" you said to him and he smiled, you stepped inside the kitchen so he followed you. You looked at the knife stand and kept your eyes on it, in case he attacked you or something. 

He leaned himself against the frame of the refrigerator and you could feel his eyes on you, 

"What type of tea you enjoy?" you asked him

"Strong but not too strong that it's bitter, with a dash of milk, a little sweet but not enough to make me feel dizzy" you chuckled as you heard that, that's how you liked your tea as well. 

"Are you from England?" 

"Yes" you nodded as he said that "She was one of the women who owned this house, you knew that?" 

"Sorry?" 

"Minola, that woman in the portrait, she build this little community in the early 1900s on this island, along with four other people" your mouth opened as you processed the information.

"So taking that portrait off that wall would be disrespectful?" You asked him and he smiled again ,

"Do you think it'd be disrespectful?" 

"Yes I guess" 

"Why don't you want her to be here? Are you experiencing something bizarre?" He questioned you and it made you feel uncomfortable.

"Can you pass me the milk from the fridge?" You asked him as you took two steps towards him, still maintaining your distance from him, you didn't want to get too close.

"Of Course madam, I'll do whatever you need" he turned around to take the carton of milk out and you breathed deeply, your eyes wandered over his shapely ass. As far as you knew this island didn't have any gym or fitness center.

He stayed at his spot so you walked towards him and grabbed the carton. Pouring the tea in two cups you walked into the living room again and placed it on the table in front of the couch. He sat down and patted the spot next to him but you stayed two feet away, 

"I'm fine here, please enjoy the tea, it will get cold" you picked your cup from the table and he nodded. It was hard for him to get through you and he wasn't used to ladies being so distant with him. He took a sip and hummed in glee, the tea was perfect.

"Just how I cherish" you smiled as he said that, sometimes you felt that you didn't have to be so cautious around him but then that's how you thought about him and look where that got you. 

"Why did you come here darling? A lady like you doesn't seem fit for this place" you walked towards the couch and sat down in the opposite corner, if worse comes to worse you could smash the coffee cup over his head.

"I just wanted to escape I guess" 

"What about your family? They're fine with you being here?" 

"Are we playing twenty questions?" You chuckled to not come across as rude and he smiled,

"You said your mom used to worship the god Loki, where is she now?" Your eyes teared up immediately at the mention of her. They took everything from you.

"She died a few months ago, and I have no other family, well none that I was close with anyways" he placed the cup down and scooted closer to you but you stood up immediately, he looked up at you and his eyes seemed..not predatory, he seemed safe, why did you feel that way around him? 

"I won't hurt you I promise you that..I know you're scared and wary of me, as you should be considering I'm merely a stranger for you but just allow yourself to open your mind a little, you need a friend darling, especially here and I'm here for you" he mumbled softly and your eyes wailed up.

"You should go" you told him strictly as the anxiety built in your pores, he stood up immediately as he didn't want to offend you any further. He was about to pass by you when you heard the scream of the lady again and jumped in your spot, his eyes teared up as he looked at your terrified shaking form, a stranger in your own space and now you heard the screams of the night, you must be so scared and he just wanted to hold you to calm you down. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. He didn't think he'd feel whatever he was starting to feel for you.

"If I crouch down or sit down, would that make you feel safer? Less threatening If I'm not towering over you?" He asked you and you heard the scream again. You didn't want him to leave, you felt scared and you knew he could tell, he noticed your shivering form. If he wanted to hurt you he'd hurt you right? Or maybe he was just looking for a good opportunity like they did. 

"I uhh..I'm so scared loki" your lips trembled as you spoke, he sat down on the couch and looked up at you, another scream and you sat right next to him, but still keeping a distance between you two. 

"Just the wind alright?" He mumbled softly and you nodded, he grabbed your cup of tea and passed it to you so you took it "Can you stay a little longer? Until..the screams ...the wind stops howling?" 

He nodded immediately and you smiled even though all your senses were overloaded at the moment. Every little noise made your heartbeat faster, you were extremely cautious of your surroundings. 

"Can you umm..sing a song for me?" You asked him and he chuckled. Maybe he can do that to distract you.

"Ofcourse, let me just go and bring my guitar, would that be okay?" You nodded as he said that, why wasn't he scared? Even if it was just wind it sounded too eerie to not spook someone. You stayed glued in your spot and when he returned he sat down next to you again, his body tilted towards you and he placed the guitar on his lap 

"Any request darling?" You Chuckled as he asked you and you thought about it.

"Do you like Eric Clapton?" You asked him 

"His music? Definitely" you heard the riff of the song Layla and you immediately recognised it, the thunder outside roared and you scooted a little closer to him.

"What will you do when you get lonely, no one waiting by your side?" His voice was so deep and refined, you felt as if you were listening to a perfectly polished vinyl recording.

"You've been running and hiding much too long, You know it's just your foolish pride"

He smiled and looked into your eyes as he sang the next few lines, making you shiver but not from fear this time.

"Layla, got me on my knees, Layla, I'm begging darling please Layla, Darling won't you ease my worried mind?" The way he looked at you in that moment made you feel like you were on a romantic date somewhere.

"I tried to give you consolation, When your old man had let you down, and like a fool, I fell in love with you, Turned my whole world upside down

Layla, you have got me on my knees

Layla, I'm begging darling please

Layla, darling won't you easeee my worried mind" He finished the song with the guitar solo and for a moment you forgot everything and just allowed yourself to enjoy the moment because it seemed unreal, things like that didn't occur to you, especially not after what had happened because you had sworn to stay away from all of them, your doc said it wasn't healthy but you couldn't trust anyone ever again in your life. Especially not a man. 

After he finished the song you smiled and gave him an applaud.

"You're amazing, very talented Loki, thank you so much" he smiled as he rolled his eyes playfully, he wasn't good with receiving compliments.

You looked at the clock, it was 4 already, the screams had stopped and you felt better, you had to get up early to go to the market so you thanked him and he told you that he would sing for you anytime you want, making those butterflies rage inside you again. 

As you laid down in the bed you thought about him, since that incident you had gotten hyper aware of people's intention and how you saw them, you could always tell if they were trustworthy or just wanted to hurt you and use you. The voices in your head screamed whenever you met a certain type of man, that's how you felt around Phil and Clint this morning, even Steve but with Loki those voices in your head didn't scream as much as you thought they would. When he sang for you and asked you if you'd feel safer around him if he was not towering over you, that alarming voice got silent in your head. 

And you couldn't have that, you can't allow someone to break you again, you didn't think you'd survive it again. Not after him. Not after them.

🤎🖤💚🤎🖤💚🤎🖤💚🤎🖤💚🤎🖤

Taglist @mcufan72  @stupidthoughtsinwriting  @fraoid3  @wheredafandomat  @michelleleewise  @daddylokisqueen  @123forgottherest  @usagishira  @elegantcheesecakecrown  @sashas-recs  @lukira1337  @vickie5446  @spageddyhoes  @witchypandamonium  @javagirl328  @slpnbty2001 @mochi661 @lovingchoices14  @annoyingsweetsstranger  @army24--7  @el-zef  @asgardianprincess1050  @loz-3 @whylokiissocute @holotacopeely @thomase1 @daggers-and-mischief @constablewafflebottom @marvel-love24 @crimson25

#loki #loki x female reader #loki x female reader horror romance #loki x reader fic #loki x reader #loki x reader insert #loki x reader angst #loki x you #loki x reader fluff #loki horror romance #loki au fics #dark themes

[e-wills-afterhours]

Pretentious Coffee, Chapter 3

Pairing: Hiccstrid

Rating: 18+

------

Astrid was sprawled out on the living room futon, brow furrowed at the ceiling. Midterms were over and she had survived them somehow; there had been no explosions; lightning hadn’t struck her; she had not fallen off the face of the Earth and floated into some abyss of academic Hell. Saturday had arrived with its merciful respite. Pajamas and hot cocoa would sustain her now, not anxiety, sleep deprivation, and flash cards.

Her plan for the day involved slowly fusing to the cushions and her greatest concern was whether or not she’d take shower. Maybe, if feeling especially daring, she would forego leftovers and order a pizza later—that was living on the edge the weekend after exams.

Her phone buzzed. She knew who it was, but she ignored him as she had done for the past two weeks.  She was amassing a library of text messages she wouldn’t read.  There was nothing that could be said to smooth things over; no salve for the burn of a nasty breakup. She did not want to think or feel. She wanted to reboot her brain with twenty-four hours of thoughtlessness.

She sighed, absently bouncing her heel again the armrest as Ruffnut emerged from her bedroom, hair in a tangled mass of blonde and glitter. From where Astrid lay, she could smell the booze and a hint of stale cigarette smoke emanating from her roommate’s clothing—the same outfit she had left the dorm in the night before. The same outfit she had, apparently, fallen asleep in.

“When did you get in?” Astrid asked, wrinkling her nose.

Ruffnut shuffled to the fridge, squinting into the light as she opened the door.

“Dunno. After two, I think,” she grunted, grabbing the milk carton. She unscrewed the cap and start chugging.

Astrid rolled her eyes and sat up. “I still don’t understand how that’s fun.”

“You’re such a square. All you do is study, workout, and sulk over what’s-his-face,” Ruffnut retorted. She wiped her mouth on her arm and glimpsed Astrid over. “I think this state,” she gestured to Astrid’s lounging, “is an improvement for you.”

“I don’t sulk,” Astrid muttered, rounding her shoulders. She gazed out the window at the snowfall because her eyes were more honest than her mouth.

Ruffnut snorted. “You glare at your phone every time it chimes, like it’s his dumb voice.”

Astrid huffed but said nothing, glaring down at the phone in her hand like it had agreed with the other blonde, betraying that owner-device confidentiality. Part of her passionate temper was the tendency to be obvious even when she tried not to be. “Fine” was never fine. “I’m not upset” was often code for “just about ready to throttle someone”. Everyone close to her knew it, so only her complex, innermost thoughts were truly hers.

“He won’t stop texting me,” she admitted. “I haven’t responded. I want to change my number.”

“You won’t though,” Ruffnut said, grabbing a banana. “Like him, you can’t stand to leave things unfinished.”

“When did you get so insightful?”

Ruffnut took a bite of the banana, talking around the mouthful as she chewed.

“We’ve been friends since the tenth grade, Astrid. You’ve been with the same guy the entire time, so I learned a few things. You guys were never gonna work. Too similar. Really, it was like you were dating yourself, but with a penis.”

“You believe that ‘opposites attract’ nonsense, then?”

“I believe you shouldn’t be dating yourself—even if he is attractive,” Ruffnut answered, in another stroke of her unorthodox, unintentional wisdom, “even if he has aforementioned penis, which I’m assuming is as impressive as the rest of him.”

“Okay, fine. If you’re so knowledgeable, why are you still single?” Astrid retorted, folding her arms.

The other blonde laughed. “Because I’m knowledgeable.” She shoved the rest of her banana in her mouth and chewed it quickly, swallowing the mash. “But you like the punishment of monogamy and commitment.” Ruffnut contorted her face in disgust. “So, I’m going to help you out and give you some advice.”

“Oh, I can hardly wait,” Astrid droned. “Please, open my eyes to the world of binge drinking, blackouts, and puking in strange toilets.”

“Come out with me.”

“Noooo—“

“Come out with me,” Ruffnut insisted. She plopped down beside Astrid on the futon, overwhelming her with the stench of sweat and alcohol. “Tuff and his housemates are having a party tonight. Get tipsy—not drunk—enough to give zero shits about anything. Fuck a few random guys until you forget Mr. Tall, dark, and douchey. Then, start over from ground zero.”

Astrid inched away from her, eyeing her skeptically. “Ground zero…of public drunkenness and casual sex?”

Ruffnut nodded and stared her down with bloodshot puppy eyes. Everything in Astrid’s rational brain told her that her roommate’s idea of a fun party would not end well—it would probably end in another hangover that even coffee, water, and a lanky, sarcastic barista couldn’t fix. So much for useful advice. Hard partying wouldn’t solve her problem, only smother it under a bunch of potential new ones whose names she might not recall in the morning. She didn’t need cheap beer to get over her ex. She certainly didn’t need a superficial list of conquests to feel empowered.

But blaring music and the anonymity of a cramped house full of strangers had some appeal: she could fade into the corner with her drink—one drink—and it could be a needed change of scenery. It certainly beat lying around pretending she wasn’t thinking about unread texts and seething over things she couldn’t change, and words that had been left too long unspoken.

If nothing else, Astrid could at least do Ruffnut a solid and make sure her roommate got home safely, with all of the articles of clothing she had left the dorm with.

Astrid didn’t want to cut loose like the weekend before. That had not had the most favorable outcome, but perhaps there was some merit to stepping out of her comfort zone? All she had known for the past four and a half years was to keep on the straight and narrow. Wasn’t college about reinventing oneself and trying new things? Maybe undergrad Astrid was a bit square? Maybe that had contributed to the dissolution of her relationship?

Maybe undergrad Astrid actually liked parties—if she could ever allow herself to like them…

“Fine,” she relented. Ruffnut squealed and clapped. “I’ll come with you tonight. I won’t get drunk though—someone needs to drive us back here. I refuse to stay the night in some strange place with strange guys.”

“Okaaaay!” The other blonde sang, skipping towards the bathroom to shower, or so Astrid hoped; Ruffnut desperately needed one.

As the door shut, Astrid called out, “But I’m definitely not sleeping with anyone!”

#hiccstrid #hiccstrid fic #hiccstrid modern au #pretentious coffee au

[philtstone]

45, Sam Wilson

#45 -- shining like fireworks lol this is way longer than it was supposed to be and also was crafted around the #25 prompt, because I can't read. but I made it work. zainab i know youve already written something like this but i wanted to try my hand at it too! my homage to the epistolatory fic...

"You made me a scrapbook for my birthday?"

Okay.

Maybe he should rewind.

Sam won't lie and say it hasn't been a rough few months. So technically, the weight of the world doesn't need to be on his shoulders. He keeps thinking he oughta take a page out of that Spider-kid's book, and just be a friendly neighborhood Cap, or something. It's just between intercontinental warhead measuring competitions (something he can say around his nephews without Sarah raising both eyebrows), dickhead suits (come on, Sarah), flying green men, and regular old food shortages in his own damn home state ... well, it's hard not to feel it all, when you care.

He used to call Bucky and bitch about things, before. Or rather -- he'd call Bucky, and Bucky would start bitching about things, which gave Sam the opening to also start bitching about things. Funny how that worked out. But they weren't even living together then. They were miles apart! Since he and Bucky got that stupid bachelor pad apartment six months ago, they've barely spent more than three consecutive minutes in each others' presence. They've both been out of the apartment for such mutually overlapping long stretches of time that every time Sam checks the fridge, the brand new carton of milk he got on the last grocery run has gone lumpy. The worst of it is, he hasn't had any chance to talk to Bucky about it properly, and there's a weird, tireder-than-usual Sam part of his brain that worries maybe this isn't the best solution to Bucky's isolation issues. Wasn't that part of the reason they decided to move in together, anyway? A solution to loneliness? Humans weren't made to live all alone, grown assed men or not, Sam thinks.

All of this is making Sam in more of a bad mood than he needs to be, given that it's his birthday.

It is his fortieth birthday, so maybe that, too, is contributing.

By rights, he should be turning forty five. That part though, Sam refuses to think about at all.

"Yeah, yeah, complain about how old you are," Bucky says, leaned too far back in his own porch chair, long legs stretched all the way out against the rail, and nursing the twin of Sam's own cool beer. "Is it 'cause you need reading glasses now?"

"Bucky," Sam grits out, because he's not sure how to communicate, I am stupidly glad you, one of my dearest friends some-fucking-how, are here, I've missed you, I really didn't expect I would this much, but also I am five seconds away from drop kicking you into a small body of water, so help me God, in a non embarrassing, well-adjusted kinda way.

"Aw, it is," says the most annoying man alive, who at one hundred and seven has the general face and physique of a particularly genetically-blessed thirty-eight year old. The fact that technically, if you do the in-and-out-of-cryo math, Bucky clocks out at two years younger than Sam is possibly the single worst fact in the universe, right now.

"Both of you shut up and let Sam finish opening his presents," says a third voice, and Sam, miffed, turns to glare at his sister, while Bucky, the bastard, is grinning like a set of cheap fireworks.

Sarah had promised that they won't do nothing big til tomorrow, and that this afternoon was just for family. Sam should've expected that meant four neighbors and three of their childhood family friends and two cousins, also, but by four pm, most people have filed out and lunch is a demolished mess of scraped-clean plates and almost empty pots on the big fold out table on the backyard porch. He's already opened AJ and Cass's humble contribution: a baseball mitt, which Uncle Sam can use to teach them baseball, much to Bucky's endless amusement ("Didn't you say baseball was an old people sport? You played baseball in school, Samuel? When you were even younger?" Yeah, he's real close to Bucky-cide, today). He knows Sarah's got him an old record player of their dad's upstairs, which he'd been planning to get fixed up all those many years ago, before their lives were torn apart; the fact that it has survived, and they have survived, makes Sam feel a certain kind of way. What Sam wasn't expecting was the lumpy, large, rectangular package that emerges from under the porch table, wrapped in brown paper and presented to him by his nephews.

"And that one's from B," Sarah says. Sam's too busy staring at it incredulously to clock the amused twinkle in his sister's eye.

"You got me a birthday present? Forreal?" Sam doesn't know if he wants to laugh or be suspicious or tear up like an idiot. Jesus, it's not like he's Bucky, getting all misty at basic kind gestures. Bucky shrugs and takes a drag from his beer.

"What, you can get me stuff, but I'm banned?"

"You're not banned, oh my God. I'm just surprised."

"I get people presents!"

"I know you do!"

"So, it's your birthday, I got you a present."

"What is it?"

"Now he's making it weird!" Bucky says, helplessly, to Sarah. AJ and Cass have started giggling.

So Sam rips off the wrapping paper, muttering to himself.

Which brings him back to an immutable, inescapable fact.

Bucky Barnes made him a scrapbook for his birthday.

"It's not a scrapbook."

"It's literally a scrapbook. Holy shit, are those stickers from Joanne's?"

"Hobby Lobby," offers AJ solemnly.

"Look, okay, it was Sarah's idea! Just read the fuckin' -- I mean, uh --"

At this point, the boys' giggles are threatening to turn medical. Sarah mouths nope, all him, from behind Bucky's chair, while Sam gapes helplessly at the shockingly neat mess of .... post it notes?

No. No way.

"You put all the annoying sticky notes you left me about the fucking soured milk in a scrapbook?"

"Oh, guys, come on!" Sarah throws her hands up in the air. "That's two in half a minute! You want these boys to grow up cursin'?"

"Half of them are yours!" Bucky points. "Which, by the way, were also annoying!" He's not quite embarrassed, but there's an airy, funny kind of laugh bubbling up behind his words at the ridiculousness of it all. Sam's feeling it too. He reaches into his pocket and takes out his reading glasses.

Bucky cracks; he chokes on his laughter, stuffing it roughly behind one metal fist; AJ has plastered himself against Sam's side and Cass is literally slumped, hiccupping, on the floor. Even Sarah's having a hard time fighting it.

Primly, Sam begins reading at a random place in the middle of the book; the note is written on an overlarge, bright blue POST-IT.

SAM. WON'T BE BACK TIL THURSDAY. PICKED UP THAT WEIRD MILK YOU LIKE FOR YOU. -JBB

Bucky, just got in. Leaving again tomorrow 0600. Hope Ross isn't being too much of a pain in the ass. Lactose free milk is a sexy modern invention, NOT weird. Its kind of gone bad tho. Did you not drink any of it???

Also, u dont have to sign post its. - Sam

I WASNT GONNA DRINK YOUR MILK. ITS YOURS. THANKS FOR TAKING OUT THE LEFTOVER TRASH, HAD TO RUN. GOT YOU MORE MILK FOR WHEN YOU GET BACK. YOU WILL DO GREAT. RIP STR MALONE A NEW ONE - JBB

I know who you are! Milks bad again. Jesus, i need a vacation. I didn't rip any senators new ones

Wanted to, tho. You keep switching burner phones so i cant text you this shit

LEAVE NOTES. THEY STICK TO THE FRIDGE NICE - JBB

Oh my God, you did not get a cat while I was gone

SHE CAN LIVE IN MY ROOM. GOT YOU MORE MILK AS A BRIBE :-)

She tore up ALL THE CURTAINS. I LIKED THOSE CURTAINS. And do your own laundry instead of getting me milk!

I DO LAUNDRY! IVE DONE YOURS THREE TIMES IN A ROW.

FUCK. MILKS GONE BAD.

You tried to drink it? What happened to its Sams milk?

Your cat peed in my shoe by the way!

IT WAS GOING BAD!!!!! -JBB

It's always goin bad!! - STW

Hey B, heard about the op from Rhodey. Im in Delacroix tmrw, come down if you can. Take care of yourself, man.

At this point, Sam stops reading. That was a couple days ago. He looks up again, pulls his glasses off. As irritable as he was earlier, there is relief in seeing Bucky perfectly in-tact, effortlessly whole. Maybe a little tired around the eyes, but Sam thinks that's maybe a detail about him that's never really gonna go away at this point. He'd been worried, yeah. Annoyed, that they hadn't talked properly before parting ways. Missing his friend and pissed off about the milk. What was the point of living with a person if you never fucking interacted, and then they got blown up?

"I can't believe you kept all of this shit," Sam manages.

Rubbing at one eye, Bucky shrugs, looks down, then up, like he's not actually embarrassed about it at all. He says, "I had to prove to my therapist I was living successfully with a roommate somehow."

Sam snorts. After a beat, Bucky adds, "Hadn't had a roommate in years. It would've been weird to throw them out."

Yeah, Sam thinks. Yeah.

"Hey, man," Sam says, while Sarah (still chuckling), begins cleaning up the plates on the table with Cass's help. "I missed you too." Bucky smiles -- "You better tell me where you found that mangy stray cat, though."

At which point Bucky's mouth drops open in what is apparently mortal offense, and the rest of Sam's birthday is spent arguing over viable pet names for the tiny white demon kitten from hell.

#this is far from perfect but im kind of just pleased i wrote something at all #do i look like i know how the marvel timeline works. no. so sams forty #my writing #taylor swift prompt meme #sam wilson #bucky barnes #sarah wilson #the falcon and the winter soldier #marvel #sam x bucky #tfatws

[thewayofthemandalorian]

wreck my plans - epilogue

Pairing: Marcus Pike x F!Reader

Series rating: M

Chapter rating: M

Word count: 1,853

Notes: All my love and appreciation to @ezrasbirdie​ my beloved for beta-reading this entire series and being my top cheerleader. You are the best and I appreciate you so much! This is just a short and sweet epilogue to wrap things up and see what happened in the aftermath of everything. Thank you to everyone for reading and reblogging/leaving feedback on this story.

Comments/reblogs appreciated

Chapter warnings: Kissing, non-explicit sexual content (including f!receiving oral), proposals

previous chapter || masterlist (main) || masterlist (marcus pike)

AUGUST (AGAIN)

The cherry blossoms sway in the hot summer breeze as you walk to work hand in hand with Marcus. The power’s been out for twenty-four hours and since you’re now the owner/operator of the cafe, you need to make sure everything’s okay and nothing’s gone bad. 

“I just hope I don’t have to throw everything out,” you say to Marcus for the seventh time, knowing that the generator is running as needed and everything will likely be fine. 

Marcus squeezes your hand. “It should be fine, honey.” 

“When should the power be back on at the Bureau?” you ask, fishing the keys out of your purse. 

“Hopefully not long. Although part of me wants to stay home. I’ve enjoyed the extended staycation I’m getting.” Marcus had had the past week off work. You’d mostly lounged at the house, gone on day trips, spent lazy mornings (and afternoons) in bed tangled up together. 

It’s been nine months since you moved in with Marcus, since Kevin was sent away for twenty years without parole. You still don’t know how you got so lucky with Marcus. He’s the perfect man for you. Sweet, caring, considerate, generous. He takes care of you. And listens to you. He’s everything that your ex-husband wasn’t. He does things for you because he wants to, not because he has a sense of obligation to. You love him completely, and you were once certain that you would never love again. You’re happier than ever with him. 

The idea of marriage has crossed both your minds. But as you told him one night a few months ago in bed, you weren’t sure if you could see yourself getting married again. Marcus had understood. He felt the same way once after Teresa left him. But now that you’ve met each other? Anything is possible. You know that Marcus is the one for you, just as Marcus knows you’re the one for him. The two of you had left it open-ended, but it was becoming something you were considering more and more. You want to spend your life with him by your side.

With a jangle of the bells hanging at the door, you push open the cafe door. The air is stale without the conditioner. You could use the generator to its full value and power the entire cafe but you don’t want to run the risk of taking any power or energy away from the fridge or freezers. 

With some slight trepidation, you open the fridge and grab a carton of milk, seeing how cold it is. It feels fine. “I think everything’s okay,” you say to Marcus before glancing at the display case of baked goods. They are a new recipe, gladly taste-tested by Marcus after you made them last week in the kitchen. He’d still tasted like the cinnamon swirl donuts later as he kissed you, pushing you up against the wall as you giggled against his lips before helping him take off the forest green t-shirt you love so much on him. 

“We should probably take these,” you say, “so they don’t go stale.” 

But before you can get a box, there’s a thrumming sound, the tell tale sign of the air conditioner and freezer coming back on. “Thank god,” you cry, the stress releasing from your body in waves. 

You still take the donuts home. You know how much Marcus loves them. 

- - - -

“When do you know how many students you have?” you ask Marcus over dinner. The power’s on at your place, but it’s still off at the Bureau, so you and Marcus have another day together; he’s going to helping out with the cafe tomorrow, making sure everything’s as it should be. You won’t be re-opening until Wednesday.

“Should be soon. These next few days were supposed to be my last days before my sabbatical.” Marcus has decided to take the teaching job as a trial run. It was one thing when he was undercover. It’s another thing entirely when he’s doing it for real. If he likes it, he’s going to give up the FBI and become a full-time instructor. It’s odd, he thinks, not being an FBI agent. At least for the time being. If he hates it, he’s going back to the Bureau. But you don’t think he’s going to hate it. He’s teaching the figure drawing class again and he’s kept his same model as before on retainer. It had been an easy yes on your part, and you had successfully negotiated a higher pay, which bolstered your income nicely. The only hard part would be keeping your hands off each other completely. 

You sense his nerves about it. “You’re going to be great. You are great.” 

Marcus smiles at you. “So are you, you know that?” 

He tells you so many times, but every time he does it makes your heart grow in fondness for him even more.

“Charlotte texted. Power’s still out at her place, so she’s going to Sam’s.” Though you didn’t see your sister on a daily basis like you had this time last year, she was still number one in your life. 

After dinner, as Marcus is washing the dishes, you come up behind him at the sink and wrap your arms around his middle, resting your face against his warm, broad back. “Hi, baby,” you murmur. It seemed a bit incongruent the first time you called this man of authority “baby” when it had slipped out, but he absolutely preens every time you call him that. “I know the power’s back, but I still want to do what we had planned for if it was still out.” 

Twenty minutes later finds you and him in his studio. More artwork hangs on the walls. He’s brought home the framed drawing you and he had done and it now hangs on the wall. As you finish lighting the candles and strategically placing them around the room (the sun hasn’t completely set yet), Marcus gets his sketchpad and charcoal. 

This has become a semi-frequent activity for you. It usually ends the same way, with him whispering sweet words of encouragement in your ears before he takes you slowly and sweetly on the floor, spread out on a dropcloth. He’s generous and attentive and always makes sure you get your pleasure first before he gets his own. Sometimes it’s quick and frantic, but even then, Marcus makes sure you’re both getting what you need. You love him and his need to show his love for you. He needs you to know that he loves you and shows you in many ways, every day. 

“I still want to do one where it’s both of us,” you say as you settle on the couch. 

“An artist is never their own subject,” Marcus says primly, trying to hide something. You narrow your eyes at him. “Okay, okay,” he relents. “It was meant to be a surprise, but I’m still waiting on a camera with a timer.” He already has a photo printer for work that he’s also taken home (since it was his to begin with). “Do you want to do it together?” he asks, already knowing the answer. 

Your position is a bit off, he reaches out and adjusts you. Though this is not new, his touch still sends shockwaves through your body. You will never get tired of his touch, of him. 

He draws you, the intimacy heightened as a result of the candlelight and setting sun. The ambience is different and you love it. It’s always different, each time he draws you, but this time? There’s something else. 

The words hang on your lips for a long time, not wanting to distract him. They stay put even as he begins to kiss you on the couch, working his lips down, down, down… Even as your legs go up over his shoulders, all you can say is his name in ecstasy. 

It isn’t until you’re lying in bed together later that Marcus makes mention of it. “What’s on your mind?” he murmurs. 

You mean to broach the subject a bit more gracefully, but it just slips out. “What if we get married?” 

Marcus blinks slowly, making sure he hears you correctly. You never thought you were going to marry again after your divorce, but then Marcus Miguel Pike walked into your life, into your heart and you never want him to leave. You can’t picture a life without him. 

“I know I said I wasn’t sure,” you continue. “But I-I love you so much and I never want us to be apart. You’ve made me realize what I want in life and that’s to be with you, by your side. I’ve never felt this way about anyone else. I never will.” You don’t realize you have tears streaming down your face until Marcus brings a hand to your cheek to wipe them away tenderly. He kisses you sweetly, says your name with such affection it nearly makes you sob with how much you love him. “You’re the love of my life and my best friend. I never thought… Never dreamed that after him… But then I met you and I’m so glad that I did because being with you is all I want; I can’t think of a better way to spend my life than being married to my best friend. So I’m asking if you want to marry me.”

Marcus’s own eyes are glazed with tears. He says your name again. “Of course I want to marry you, are you kidding?” he tries to tease. Your laugh is watery and he kisses you. “I love you so much, how could I ever want to live a life without you in it?” 

Marcus sits up. “Give me one second,” he says, making his way to the dresser. He rummages around in his sock drawer — where you had found his gun and badge — before coming back with something in his hand. He gives it to you. It’s a small velvet box. “I’ve been planning on giving this to you. I was going to give it to you next week on the anniversary of the first time we officially met. It’s meant to be either an engagement ring or a… well, I guess a promise ring? Because even if we don’t get married, I want to be with you.” You open the box. It’s a simple ring with diamonds etched into it. It’s perfect. “I had this whole plan of asking you at dinner, I was going to take you to the bistro where we officially met and ask you there. But this is much better.” He takes the ring out of the box and slides it on your finger. It fits perfectly. 

You meet his lips for a kiss. You can’t believe that this is your life sometimes, that you’re in love with the man of your dreams. It had never been in the plans to fall for someone so soon, but as soon as you met Marcus, those plans had been wrecked. And you couldn’t be happier that they were.

The End

--- taglist in reblog

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x you #my writing

[fimbriaetubae]

Paul

There’s a mouth in the wall, with teeth. It wants all of me. It didn’t start that way. It was a sliver in the wall, barely a crack, thin lips stretched over white teeth, red gums, and drooling, a little. It’s the glisten of the drool that caught my eye. Walls don’t usually glisten. They don’t drool. But there it was. Salivating. I crouched on the torn linoleum floor in front of it. It seemed to respond to me, the corners of its mouth lifting. I felt myself smile a response, involuntary, like. On all fours with my forehead to the wall, I tried to look into it, see the end of it. It shut itself tight, tight, like I offended it. Alright. I sat back on my heels and it bloomed open like a flower red and white and drooling, a little. Alright. Maybe it was hungry. What does a wall eat?

Pantry check. I had not much left. Instant cake mix, ramen, a dented old can of tomato soup. In the fridge, half-empty condiment bottles, milk, a few eggs, and a wilted clump of green onions sticking at the bottom of the vegetable crisper drawer. Alright. Maybe the ramen. In front of the mouth, I struggled to tear the plastic wrapping where the little dents were, the plastic slipping between my clammy fingers. I broke off a piece of dried noodles and handed it to the mouth, palm outstretched like feeding a horse. In case it tried biting. Nothing. Didn’t react at all, like, it receded into the wall, almost, the ramen not to its liking, I guess. Alright. I’d try the egg. I’d try feeding it raw, I cracked the egg on the floor and pried it open into my hand, cold and slippery and almost falling off, but I balanced it, carefully, carefully, like, on my palm, and I brought my hand real close to the mouth in the wall. It opened wide, wide, straight teeth flashing white. I dropped the egg in, in its expectant gullet. Alright. It liked eggs.

Under the fluorescent gray light of the corner shop I had two missions. First I had to secure more eggs. The mouth devoured all I had left. It liked the eggs, and I liked slipping eggs into the mouth, like a father bird to its fledgling. So I needed eggs. I needed to acquire some eggs. And maybe something else, too. What else could I feed my new friend, my little bird? Cat food? I turned the can in my hand. A fluffy white cat on a pink background. A gourmet meal of shrimp and salmon. I read the ingredient list. Fish broth and salmon and tricalcium phosphate. Alright. Ninety-nine cents the can. I grabbed some, as many as fit in my hands. Egg cartons too. I didn’t want to make too much noise, didn’t want to bring any attention to myself, rattling the cans against each other. I should’ve really, really grabbed a basket on the way in. I looked stupid, felt clumsy, idiotic, with my arms full of eggs and cat food, balancing them best I could. I grabbed another egg carton. God, what an idiot. How embarrassing. My hands were too full. I had to face the cash register. 

The second mission was to see the girl. Everyday I went to the corner shop. To see the girl. To look at her from between the towers of canned beans and packs of toilet paper rolls, to see her at the cash register, her black hair shining under the fluorescent light. Just one glance, just one glance to sustain me until tomorrow. I just had to look at her, just once, just once today. She was reading something, a book. What was it? I tried looking at the cover. She looked up, saw me. I dropped the eggs. The cans of cat food went spilling, clattering, bouncing, all over the corner shop floor. I dropped to my knees, trying to catch them quietly, quickly, quickly, gathering them as they rolled away, rolled away, all over the floor and under shelves. “Hey Paul.” The voice came from above me, softly. Didn’t look up, only could stare at the cracked tiles of the corner shop floor. Next to me, from the corner of my eye I saw her kneel, picking up a tin, handing it to me. I felt myself recoil like from a flame, a spasm, like, rising to my feet. I had most of the tins. Not the ones under the shelves. No time for these. I had to leave. Quick as possible. What an idiot. How embarrassing. I stumbled to the cash register. 

Her name tag read Athena. She scanned the cat food. I counted the beeping sounds, staring hard at the packaging of the candy bars on the bottom shelves. Trying to read them, but couldn’t couldn’t focus on anything but my too fast beating heart. What an idiot. Twelve beeps, then a pause. “Sixteen dollars and seventy-five cents.” Clawing for the wallet in my back pocket, I handed some bills in the direction I thought her hand might be, shoving the eggs and cans into my backpack, quickly, quickly. “Hey Paul. Have a nice evening, yeah?” I ran out of the store, the bell chiming behind me. 

Back home. God, how embarrassing. Red-faced and out of breath, I locked the door behind me. What an idiot. I didn’t even say “Hello”, or “Thank you, Athena,” like, you know, a normal person would. God. How embarrassing. I rested my head on the door, closing my eyes. Idiot. Ugh. Alright. Took a breath in. The mouth needed me, it needed eggs and maybe the cat food, too. Cross legged in front of the mouth, I cracked an egg into my hand, holding it, the silky white slipping off. Alright. It opened its mouth, expecting the egg. I dropped it past its drywall lips. “There’s this girl at the corner store.” I said to the mouth, dropping another egg into it. “Her hair is just so black, you know? It’s, like, the blackest, shiniest hair.” Egg white dripped from the corners of the mouth, a shiny trail on the wall. “And her nose? It’s like Roman, or Greek, or something. You know? With, like, a little bump on it. It’s charming.” Egg after egg, I told the mouth about the girl. How I went to the corner shop everyday. I knew her schedule. When she worked. I went to the corner shop. Bought something or whatever. So I could see her again. God, did that make me some kind of creep? An idiot and a freak. I reached for another egg. The two cartons were empty. The mouth opened wide again, white teeth flashing, wanting more, expecting more. Expecting more from me. There was something that needed me. Alright. I’d try the cat food.

I came back to the mouth with a spoon and a can opener. “And she’s so nice to me, you know? Always saying ‘hi Paul, nice evening, yeah, Paul?’” I presented a spoonful of cat food to the mouth. It gobbled it clean. “And it’s, like, I can’t even look at her, you know? Like, physically, can’t.” The mouth continued chewing the gourmet meal of shrimp and salmon, smiling. Alright. It liked cat food. It opened wide. I fed it another spoonful. “And it’s like, how does she even know my name? Why is she so nice to me?” The spoon clinked against the empty can. Expectant ,. the mouth opened. “Hold on a second. I gotta open another one.” I struggled with the can opener, my hands slippery wet with eggs and cat food and drool, dripping from my fingers. “But it’s like, what could she possibly want from a guy like me, you know? Can’t even look at her.”

The mouth needed me more than my work did, really. Still. Still I had to work. Leaving the mouth was painful, but I had to make money, make money to buy cat food, cat food for the mouth in the wall. It was 3.32 in the afternoon. Only twenty-eight minutes before I had another hour left of work. My hands looked gray in the fluorescent light. Gray hands on a gray keyboard. I pretended to type, clack, clack, clack on the keyboard. 3.34. I kept my head down, invisible, or at least, unnoticeable and unnoteworthy. And unneeded, unnecessary, here. At home the mouth needed me. I had fed it before leaving, left an open can next to it, but how could it reach, with no arms? It was helpless. It needed me more than a pet needs its owner. Cats, they can survive on their own. They eat their owners if they die, you know, they have an instinct for survival. And limbs. Four of them. The mouth had none. No limbs at all. Entirely dependent on me. The mouth needed me, it needed me like a child needs its parents. 

Athena was behind the corner, in front of the cigarettes and the lotto tickets. Ducking behind the corner of the shop, I watched her from the dirty front shop window. Deep breath. She always worked at this hour. I knew that. Which is why I came. The bell chimed when I pushed the door open. “Hi, Paul,” she said. “Hi,” I croaked back, looking down. A first. Pushed the word out of my mouth, birthing it with a ugly frog’s croak. I couldn’t look at her. I hurried to the pet food section. There. A feast of shrimp and salmon. I took some. Maybe another flavor, for the mouth? Shredded turkey in a delicate sauce. I took some of those, too. And some eggs. Alright. Deep breath. She was at the cash register, and I had to pay for the cat food. My mount Everest, the cash register, and the girl behind it. 

“You have a cat, Paul?” asked Athena, scanning the tins. “Um, sort of. Yeah, it’s like a cat, yeah,” I said, mumbling, trying to look at her but looking at the cigarettes just behind her. At the edge of my vision, her brows wrinkled. Why did I say that? Sort of, sort of like a cat? Why couldn't I just give a normal answer? With some effort, I dragged my eyes downwards to stare at her hairline. Almost the eyes, really, the hairline. Just a bit north of the eyes. Her hairline, black, with a widow’s peak shaped like the letter M. Where her glossy, glossy hair met her skin, the follicles sprouting out in an orderly fashion. I could stare at her hairline forever, all the little details of it, the texture of her skin, her shiny hair. “That’ll be ten and seventy five, please.” Her voice startled me. I shoved some bills in her direction and ran from the store. 

The mouth was sad. Gray, dull, matte, lacking its usual sparkle of salivation. I sat in front of it, spoonful of cat food in my hand. Nothing. It ignored me, sad, sullen. In the two days I had known the mouth it had never acted this way before. I lifted the spoonful of shredded turkey to its lips. It ignored me, but I saw a bead of drool form at the corner of its lips, glistening. Aha. Alright. It would be a test of will. I waited, the spoon raised to its lips. Pressed the spoon to its drywall flesh, its closed shut mouth. And waited. It caved. Scarfed down the spoonful. Aha. I prepped another spoon of shredded turkey. 

“I saw the girl again, you know? The one I told you about yesterday?” Prepped another spoon. “She always works at this hour. But I’ve got this fear, that like, she won’t be there. That I’ll turn the corner and she won’t be in the shop, this time she won't be there, you know?” Chewing the turkey shreds, the mouth pondered, delicate sauce on what would be its chin if walls had chins. “It’s like, I’m afraid of seeing her, but, also, I'm, like, afraid one day she’ll be gone and I won’t ever see her again, you know?” Another spoon down its gullet. “So everyday I go to the store, and I hope I see her behind the counter. But I’m also, like, real terrified, you know? Sweaty, like, and I start shaking like a leaf, like pathetic, really, and I never say hi or hello, when you know, she does.” The mouth nodded, as much as a mouth in a wall could nod, listening. “I can’t even look at her, you know? But I still go. Everyday.” The mouth smiled, full and satisfied. Glowing, even. Or drooling, something like. All better. The can was empty.  I smiled too. 

Another day, another dollar, another trip to the corner store to stare at the floor. I needed more cans of cat food, again, and I needed another glimpse of the girl, again. The food sustained the mouth, and the glimpse sustained the Paul. I had spent the day pretending to work, and I was exhausted. Typing away at the computer, clack, clack, clack, one thought in my mind. How was the mouth? Was it hungry? Was it lonely? Did it need me? It needed me. Was it dull and gray like I had found it last night? One thought on my mind. How was the mouth? Alright, I was thinking of the girl, too, the girl on the backdrop of my mind, always, but the mouth, the mouth on the forefront. I watched her from between the shelves, watched her, Athena, rearrange the cans of baked beans and tomato sauce so the labels faced forward, neat, neat and tidy. Her black her swayed when she worked, black, glossy and shining. Watched her hair swoop over her shoulders, pretending quickly, when she looked up, to be reading intently the ingredient list of the cat food cans.

“That’s a lot of cat food, Paul,” she said, scanning the tins, “you’re not feeding him too much are you, Paul? Fat cats aren’t healthy, Paul.” Her lips were shiny, glossy, like. Pink. White teeth between them. White pink flashing when she talked, and when she smiled. A bit of dark fluff on her upper lip, like a little halo. Staring at her lips was almost like making eye contact. Just a bit too south of the eyes. But almost, almost like looking her in the eye. I tried to shrug, casual, like, but my shoulders were rusty, stiff. “It’s, uh, not a cat?” I said. “A dog, then? Wouldn’t it be better to feed him dog food?” Her brows, black and glossy like her hair, furrowed, a deep line between them. That line was great, lovely, full of charm. I wanted to stare at it. Stare at the line between her eyebrows. Maybe just for a second, but maybe also for hours. “It’s, uh, it’s not really a dog, either, not really,” I said, handing her the money.

The mouth was worse. Grey, lacklustre, withdrawn into the wall almost completely,  a hair-thin crack barely visible. No drool, no glistening red gums, no white teeth peeking through, just a sliver I struggled to find again, feeling the wall for the littlest dent. I sat in front of it with a can of food, hoping, hoping it would perk up again, if I just fed it. If I just fed it, it would be better again. I scooped some food onto the spoon and presented it to the crack. Nothing. I waited. I waited. Hours passed, and I waited, and my arm hurt from holding the spoon to the mouth, and I waited, and still, and still, nothing. It hadn’t eaten since the morning, twelve hours ago, at least, and still, nothing, nothing. It had to be hungry. Maybe it was tired of cat food. I cracked an egg into my palm, and held it to its lips. Nothing. 

I paced the apartment. What if I killed it? It depended on me. A nestling chick depends on its parents. It needed me and I killed it. I shouldn't have left. I knew it needed me. After what happened yesterday, I should’ve stayed home. Took care of it. I went to work like nothing happened. I left it alone to die. From the kitchen to the wall, and from the wall to the kitchen, I paced my apartment, pacing, and pacing and tearing hair from my scalp, from wall to kitchen, from kitchen to wall, spoon in one hand, hair in the other. I tried feeding it again, and again, and still, nothing. I killed my friend, the mouth in the wall. 

Dawn turned the room gray. It woke me up. I had fallen asleep on the floor, sinking down, I guess, my head on the wall below the mouth. Cold. I was cold, and the floor was hard against my bones. The mouth died because of me, my neglect. I pressed my head down harder on the linoleum tiles. A drop fell on me, like water. I looked up. The mouth, it was drooling. It drooled, salivating, like tears.

The mouth regained some of its lustre, some of its colour, slowly, slowly, one spoonful at a time. It ate, it ate, again and again, resisting sometimes, drooling, but always, always giving in. And I was there, I was there, raising another spoonful of meat to its lips, and another, until it was almost, almost the way it was before, when I first found the mouth in the wall. I fed it again, another spoonful, another empty can joining the piles around me, another cracked eggshell tossed behind me, and the mouth was better, and better. I didn’t go to work, I couldn’t. It didn’t matter. The mouth was better, its gums shining red, bursting forth with saliva when the spoon got near it. The mouth was better, wrapping its wet tongue, red and shining and long, longer than any human tongue, licking it clean and clean again, curling around the spoon handle, around my fingers, in between them, furling and unfurling like a bud blooming open, and licked my fingers clean. 

No more cat food. Empty tins all around me. Eggs. I still had eggs in the fridge. I got up. A whimper came from the mouth. A wet little whimper, faint. But I heard it. I had to hear it again. I crawled to the mouth, my ear to the wall. The corner’s of the mouth twitched. A smile, like. I had to hear it again, hear its whimper. I could teach it to speak, sing, like a father bird to its nestling chick. I lifted my hand to the mouth, and its tongue came to greet me, wrap around my fingers, a snake salivating between them, crawling, circling, from my palm up, to my wrist, around and around, I felt its strength, pink and wet and like a rope, a strong rope, pulling me closer, pulling my hand to its lips. 

“Eggs,” I said, beaming, “we still have some eggs left,” the vine-like tongue wrapping circles around my arm, the mouth squealing in the sounds of a guinea pig. With my free hand, I unwrapped the tongue from my arm, but the tongue slithered between my fingers, a glistening trail of spittle behind it. Alright. “If you let me go, I’ll get you some eggs.” Every inch of the tongue I uncoiled from my arm wrapped itself tighter around the other, deeper between my fingers. “Come on, now, you like eggs, no? Let me go one second and I’ll get you some, yeah?” It tightened its grip, tighter and tighter, painful, twisting and pulling, closer and closer, closer to the shining white teeth of the mouth. It had canines. Sharp. I yanked my arms free, falling back.  Crawled away, away from the wall. It squealed, whimpering, its pink tongue snaking around the floor, groping eyelessly. But I was out of reach, crawling away. With one last squeal, it coiled its tongue back in its mouth. 

Out of reach. I took a deep breath in, my heart beating out of my chest, I held it in, I held my breath in. Closed my eyes. Let the orange membranes of my eyelids filter my thoughts. Maybe I had overreacted. Or misinterpreted. It was like a dog, really. Over-enthusiastic, as dogs can be. Alright. Exhaled. I was fine, the mouth was fine, it was just hungry. I’d get the eggs, and it would be like it was before. Just needed the eggs. The mouth had withdrawn into the wall again, into a hair-line crack. Alright. Eggs. I felt tired all over, spent. The tongue was strong. Like playing tug of war with a wolf. 

The egg in my palm jiggled. I trusted the mouth, I did, really, it was like a dog. I’d prove it. I had fed it hundreds of eggs, and hundreds of spoonfuls of cat food. This was fine. I trusted the mouth. I just had to keep it fed. I raised my hand to the sliver in the wall. No reaction. “Hey, it’s alright, yeah?” I whispered to the wall. A whimper came from it. “It’s alright, it’s alright, I know, I know, you didn't mean it,” I said, stroking the wall like a dog, a pet, my pet. It sobbed, loud, shuddering, wall- shaking, wailing sobs, and spit like tears rained down from the mouth. “It’s alright, it’s fine, I’m sorry too, you know? I panicked, you know, overreacted, but it’s alright, it’s alright, we’re fine, yeah?” I raised the egg to its trembling lips. The mouth opened up, blooming red and white. I put my hand in, put my hand in and dropped the egg. It ate it like an apology.

I lost my job. It’s alright, really, I was alright. Only the mouth cried when I tried leaving, when I put on my coat and headed for the door. Wailing cries. So I missed work, first a day and then a week, and then I lost my job. But I was fine. The mouth needed me. I was needed. I had never been needed before. I had been replaceable, a disposable person, before the mouth. A little wind-up automaton going to and from work, work that nobody needed and nobody depended on. I was let go and replaced. I lost my job, but I felt like a person. Needed. Irreplaceable. I had been blind to my own disposability. Not anymore. Now I had the mouth. The mouth needed me, really, really needed me, depended on me, me, and no one else. I lost my job, but I felt like a person. So it was alright. I was alright. Never felt better. 

The mouth whimpered when I walked to the kitchen. It sobbed, so hard, so painfully, when I answered the door for deliveries, that it shook the walls to their foundation. I couldn't leave, not when I heard the mouth cry. It pierced through me, painful, like. Maybe it thought I’d never come back if I left. So I couldn’t leave. I didn’t want it to hurt, to be in pain, thinking I abandoned it. And I fed it, one spoonful after the other. Shredded turkey in delicate sauce, a feast of shrimp and salmon, thon à la florentine, the spoon clinking against the empty tins, the tins piling up around me in mountains growing, and growing, all around me. The mouth cooed when I fed it. A happy sound. I wanted to hear it again. I raised one more spoonful to its lips, its tongue liked it clean, curling pink around the metal, purring, like. It licked my fingers, too, and I let it curl around them, between them, tugging gently, wet and silky. I knew what the mouth wanted. Food. What it needed. Me. I was its father, and I was its limbs. I was its arms, and its legs, and its father, getting it one more can of cat food. I was needed like no one before had ever been needed by anything or anyone. I was its limbs and I was its father. 

The doorbell rang. I hadn’t ordered anything. I ignored it. The mouth gave a little whimper. “It’s alright, I’m not leaving, I’m just in the kitchen” I said, soothing, like. Another whimper. I had to hurry, before it started wailing. The doorbell rang again. No time for that. “It’s alright, I’m just in the kitchen, just opening a can, I'll be there in a second.” The whimpers were getting closer and closer together. The can opener slipped, not biting through the metal. The doorbell rang, again, this time not stopping, but ringing and ringing. The mouth was wailing, like a siren, but wet with slobber. In my hand, the can opener was crushed. Unusable. How would I feed the mouth now? Its cries were getting louder and louder and more banshee-like, and the doorbell was ringing and ringing, and I fell to the floor and I covered my ears with my hands and I pressed my face against the hard floor, and still I could hear the wailing and the ringing, and I was crying too now, shaking, my tears wet against the linoleum, and still I heard the wailing and the ringing, and I pressed my hands on my ears hard, hard until it hurt, and still, and still the crying pierced through me painful hard. 

Silence. A hand warm on my shoulder. I was crying, sobs shaking through me, but I was the only one. The mouth was silent. The doorbell was silent. And there was a hand on my shoulder, warm. “Paul, are you alright?” I wasn’t. I wanted to be free of the hand so I could be one with the floor. Free of the hand so I could dissolve into the linoleum. I pressed my face down harder. The hand didn’t free me. “Paul, what happened? I haven’t seen you in weeks.” The voice was Athena’s. The hand might be hers as well, and it was rubbing circles on my back.

My head was on her lap, somehow, and she held it there, her hands in my hair, for hours, maybe, the only sound Athena’s voice, saying things I didn’t hear. My tears dried on her skirt. Woollen, like, itchy on my cheek. It brought me back to myself, the itch. As suddenly as it had started, I had enough of crying, sick of it, like, emptied out of tears. Emptied of everything, really. Intellectually, I knew I should be mortified. Athena was swaying, slightly, rocking me. This was alright. A few weeks ago I couldn’t look her in the eyes, now her skirt was damp with my tears. Maybe I’d be alright. 

I sat back on my heels, pushing myself away. There was a brown bag next to her, a delivery bag, like. Greens were poking out of it. Greens. What use were they to me? What I needed was cat food for the mouth. The mouth. It was silent. No whimpering or cooing or crying. I looked for it on the wall. Gone. Silent, but how long would that last? What if Athena heard it? What would she think of me if she knew I’d been feeding a crack in the wall? God. I couldn’t look at her. My clothes were soiled with cat food and drool and egg white. I hadn’t showered in days. The mouth whined when I went to the bathroom, and it started sobbing if I took too long. And there were the tins, mountains of them, mountains of cracked egg shells. It reeked of tuna, salmon, shrimp turkey. I stared at the floor next to her. 

She took my hand and I let her. “Hey, Paul, it’s alright.” Couldn’t look at her. She didn’t belong here, in a room full of empty tins and broken egg shells, with an unwashed man who smelled of sweat and rancid cat food. A man who had cried in her lap because a little bit of noise had overwhelmed him. A man who had been feeding cat food to a crack in his wall. Her hand burned mine, I pulled it back from her clutches. I wanted her gone, gone. I stood up, as far away from her as I could, against the wall, I didn’t want her near me.

“Paul, are you alright?” She asked with her yappy little voice. I was boiling, dripping with sweat through my clothes. It was too warm in my apartment. “Get out,” was all I could force through my teeth. I looked at her, looked at her, really, for the first time, looked at her witch’s nose and her hairy face, her invasion of my home, my home, where my wall was. And for what? A care package for a man she didn’t know, who didn’t even want her there, no, I wanted her gone. Away from me. She was insane, clearly, obsessed with me, probably, dangerous, dangerous, maybe. “Please, leave.” I heard the begging tone, whining, in my voice, and hated myself for it. She did, I think. I stared at the floor, the sight of her turning my stomach. 

Alone again, with the mouth. It was chirping again, a good sound, a happy sound, now, now that the hairy-faced witch-nosed woman was gone. All I wanted was to hear the good sound again. Chirping, like a bird, cooing, like a child, and I crawled towards it, crawled towards it, towards the good sound, on my knees, a knife and a spoon in my hands. I would give everything to the good sound. No can opener, no problem. I stabbed the knife through the tin, scissoring it open, up and down, tearing the metal away. Spooned some food. The mouth chirruped. “Yeah, you like that one, don’t you? Yeah, a feast of salmon and shrimp, for my little bird,” I brought the spoon to its lips.

The familiar tongue met with my fingers, oozing and wet and pink, circling them around and around. I surrendered my hand to the feeling, feeling good, let it play around my palm, my little bird. It snaked, silk-like, up and up, around my arm, chirping and cooing and bursting with bubbles of drool. Beaming like the whole sun was in my chest, I gave it my arm, let it pull it between its teeth. What was an arm? I had two of them, and it had none. Now it had mine. And it continued, the tongue, up and up, tasting me, my skin, around my neck, tasting the sweat and grime, savouring in it, beneath my ears and my hair, caressing, slick, like, as it went round and round my head, around my face, until I couldn’t see, or hear, or breathe, the tongue rope-like and thick, surrounded me, licking me, licking me clean, licking clean the tears and the snot and the sweat, tasting them, and me. 

It wanted all of me. My sweat, my tears. I had never been wanted before. The mouth would have me. It would have all of me. It took my arm, and it took my face. I surrendered all I had to the mouth in the wall. It was an easy surrender. I had never been wanted before. The mouth wanted all of me.

#short story #horror writing #body horror #my writing

[anxietywriter]

Things about College Students for Writing

this is for all those college au's! I'm an american student going to a private college and ik some writers like to write college au's even if they don't go to college so yeah!

the carton milk during breakfast is not good. actually worse than the milk my high school had. the milk just sits out in a tray with ice, bought it once. consistency of slime. tuition is 50k ffs

I live in one of the older dorms, the paint is peeling, there was a dead cockroach, windows that face walls, microwave and mini fridge, a desk, tiny closet, and a bed for like 6k

as a freshman, I had to attend a bunch of mandatory meetings at the beginning of the year that basically amounted to "you're in college now" inspirational speech

I live in a dorm that is mainly freshman and we have occasional one on one meetings (like 5-15 min) with our ra to talk about how we're adjusting or doing socially, emotionally, and academically

the walls are thin

ppl play music really loud in the bathroom, my room is directly in front of the bathroom so I can hear it. all of it.

good news, I don't have to listen to ppl fucking bc my school is religiously affiliated and the dorms have sex-segragation either by building or by floor

bad news, the not listening to ppl fucking is out of sheer luck bc looking at the social media, ppl are horny af

the professors so far have been way better at acknowledging and validating mental health issues than high school

comedy improv shows late at night on Fridays that hilariously contrast with the whole "religiously affiliated private school" image

more than once saying "we don't tell my therapist about this" while staying up late doing dumb shit (like binging an anime on a school night or completing a jigsaw) or having a meal they wouldn't approve of

making friends is hard

why is the ac so shitty

as always, clear difference between the stem buildings and the humanities buildings. the art building is literally outside in the open, science building has a bunch of glass rooms and an elevator??

the art students will not forget about the Incident, involving a homeless man who tried to live in the art department bathroom

Not accessible at all for wheelchair users or the physically impaired. So many stairs. You can call for a golf cart escort to class but it still takes a hit second

Lots of events happen both during and after class during the school week, but there's always hardly any worthwhile weekend events

there's a leaky roof in one of the art rooms

certain food places are supposed to be open at certain times, but they aren't (especially if they're supposed to be open at like 7am, like they are never open that early even though they're supposed to be)

generally reliable opening and closing times list of the main food places are available, but you have to hunt them down and find them on campus because the info is not available online

the info online about when the bookstore opens or closes is wrong

food trucks on the opposite side of campus near the science and art buildings for hungry students after class

no parking spaces, ever, and there's like 2k students and not all of them have a car

professors playing uncensored music

the amount of dogs I see on walks, they're so happy

bunch of cats on campus that just roam around, used to be feral and were spayed/neutered. students love them

therapy dog that students also love

weird realization that some freshman are already like 20 and some peeps in beginner/intro classes are sophomores or juniors too

laundry room is usually full unless it's past 6 pm or before 10am

have to do dishes in the bathroom sink

no kitchen in the dorm rooms (some have a kitchen sink in the lobby but that's it) unless it's an apartment style dorm

$12 for a dozen eggs on campus

can't graduate early because scholarship stipulates four years there

it's easier to stay up late than it is to get up early

p much no dress code on campus unless the class requires a specific type of dress

finals week is called dead week, you can and will get fined for being too loud late at night and early in the morning. everyone is studying or working.

#writing prompts #prompt list #story prompts #totally not forgetting to schedule prompts #totally a late night prompt #totally not forgetting bc i keep getting distracted by fics #yo but like i am reading yet another secret identity/mistaken identity/identity reveal fic an #they're idiots but they're loveable idiots