#easy laundry soap

[northbirdblog]

Homemade Laundry Soap

Try making some of this Homemade Laundry Soap! It's easy to make, using natural ingredients, and gentle on sensitive skin!

[ghostsinthecellar]

every single time trash-and-laundry day rolls around I tell myself to get everything ready the day before so I don't have to rush and scramble the morning of and I never do

[peachesofteal]

Through Me (The Flood) - secret baby fic Simon Riley / female reader #33 Ghost helps fix up your house or makes repairs - for @glitterypirateduck's Ghost writing challenge

His phone rings again on the following Tuesday morning.

It's been a day and a half, since he's seen you and Orion last. Since he made you promise to call, no matter what, if you needed something. Or if you needed a break, or some company.

Anything. Anything, and he'd be there.

You had tried to push him off a bit, tried to assert your independence, which he appreciates, he values. He likes to know you can take care of yourself and the baby when he's not here. But when he is-

"We're really fine, you know. You don't have to be... available for us, whenever. I mean, like if you have other things. Or people, you don't have to be here all the time. I've been doin' it on my own, and I'm fine. We're fine. I don't want you to feel like you have to-"

His fork clatters to the plate, and your eyes go round as he rises from the chair and steps toward you, firm hand cupping your arm. "I'm here because I wan' to be."

"O-okay, I just don't want you to be here because you think you have to... because you're all the sudden saddled with a kid."

"I'm not here because I feel like 've been saddled with a kid. I'm here because I want to be, because I wanted you the night we made him, and I still do. I want you both." Your mouth drops wide before snapping shut abruptly, warmth rising in your cheeks. You're so cute like this, flustered and nervous, and it reminds him of the night he met you, a sweet little kitten, all alone at the bar. "And you've done more than just a fine job, sweet girl, takin' care of yourself and our baby for me, but when 'm here, it's my job."

So, his phone rings, and it doesn't matter that he's in the middle of spotting Soap at the squat rack.

He drops everything.

"Hi." You're a little out of breath when you open the door, eyes wide and wild, chewing on your lip. Orion is asleep in your arms, blissfully unaware, head lolling on your shoulder, clad only in a diaper.

His head buzzes, still trying to reconcile the truth of this entire thing, the fact that this is his, you and his baby. His.

"What's wrong?" He's massive in your door frame, and ushers you back inside, clicking the lock into place behind him. "What's goin' on?"

"It's... I'm sorry. I shouldn't have called. I just... I don't know how to fix it and you said I could... call, right? So-"

"Hey." His thumb gently presses into the inside of your elbow, and then he squeezes slightly. "It's okay. I want you to call me. What is it?"

"It's the laundry." You blurt, and then freeze, eyes flicking down to see if Ry has woken up. "I broke the washer, and today is the day I do the baby's clothes, but I can't get it to work and... it hates me." He chuckles.

"It doesn't hate you, sweetheart. Let's take a look." This, he can do. Things with his hands, mechanical things, physical puzzles, easy. It's not the first time he'll have fixed an appliance, and it won't be the last.

He takes the machine apart as quickly as possible, pieces laid out exactly where he needs them, washers and screws and everything all accounted for. It's the belt, he discovers rapidly, an easily fixed problem with a new part.

"I'll have to run down the street quick," he tells you, drawing up to his full height and motioning towards the entryway, "but it's a quick fix." You nod, stepping out of the way, small smile on your lips. He promises he'll be right back, that he'll have it done in no time, and you pad along to the door, standing back as he pulls it wide.

"Simon..." you whisper, and he turns, "thank you."

"Of course."

True to his word, he's back before the hour. The low murmur of the TV echoes from the living room, and he gravitates there before returning to his task, driven to lay eyes on both of you, to make sure you're here, you're okay-

and the sight of it stops him in his tracks.

You're asleep on the couch, shirt pulled up and bra unhooked from it's strap. Orion is cradled against your chest, his tiny fingers curled in the flesh of your breast, mouth lax around your nipple. There's a dribble of milk sliding down his cheek, and the sight of it all makes Simon dizzy. He knew you nursed him, but seeing it for the first time fills him with something he's not sure how to reconcile, adding onto the heap of adoration and possession pounding in his heart. It's a different kind of puzzle, the same kind of barbaric instinct and need roaring in his blood, the one that tells him to tuck you away and never let you go.

He stares for a second longer, scratching this moment into his memory as much as he can before he realizes how tired you are. You do a good job of hiding it, smiling and buzzing about, but in the early afternoon light, he can see the exhaustion so clearly, and kicks himself for not noticing sooner.

When Ry starts to fuss, your brow furrows in your sleep, and Simon can't stop himself. "Shh, shhh." He soothes, pulling him free as gently as he can. You twitch, hands searching, and then your head snaps up in a panic, breaths stuttered. "It's okay. I got him, you just closed your eyes, is all. It's alright."

"Sorry." You croak, sitting up and fumbling with your top. "I didn't mean to fall asleep."

"It's okay, mama." He's on his knees in front of the couch, in front of you, and you stare down at him, mystified. "What does he usually do after he eats?"

"Uh... burp? And then he goes down to sleep." You yawn. "A change, if he needs it."

"Alright, 've got it, you go rest. After I put him down, I'll finish the washer."

"Oh, no... I can-"

"I've got him. Nothin' I can't handle." He shifts Orion, supporting his head as he props him up over his shoulder, rubbing his back slowly. He wants to do this, wants you to let him do this, wants you to trust him.

He needs it.

You hesitate. "Are you sure?"

"If I need anythin', I'll wake you." There's a burp cloth on the coffee table, and he places it under Ry's chin. "Huh, lad? If we need mama, we'll get her, right?" You soften, posture relaxing a bit, and then you nod.

"Alright, then."

[waves-against-a-cliff]

After the End - Post-Apocalypse Omegaverse AU

Summary - They're starting to think maybe this omega isn't so sweet.

Tags - Omegaverse (duh), alpha/beta/omega dynamics, non traditional dynamics, all of the 141 are alphas, you're an omega. Eventual smut, dub-con, knotting, mating press, polyamory, alphas love alphas. 141 x reader, injuries, masterbation

Masterlist

Patreon, Ko-fi and Throne

Now you were back in your little cabin in the woods. You had even lit a fire and dragged your mattress with its nesting contents into the small living room to get properly cozy. You sighed as you buried your face into the nest and relaxed further into the arrangement of blankets, pillows and dirty laundry.

Despite yourself, your omega whined and paced. She wanted their scent here too. You hadn't smelt them when they were up close because of the cotton up your nose but just that whiff on the wind had begun the beginning of the end.

You whined into the sheets and buried further into them. The idea of one of them surviving the traps sounded better with each passing moment. A feral alpha that was strong enough to withstand your defenses and persistent enough to find you. The thought made your chest warm and small purrs leave you.

"She has us running in fuckin' circles Cap," Gaz said to Price before he even noticed that he was upside down. "Trap get you?" He asked as if it wasn't obvious.

"Gettin' cheeky are you?" Price shot back and Gaz grinned as he grabbed the knife off the forest floor and walked towards his Captain.

"Nah, just takin' the piss Cap'n," He walked to the rope keeping him upside down and cut it. Price was fine, he was only a few feet off the ground. 

"Do you know where Soap and Ghost are?" Price asked as he put his beanie back on and took the combat knife back from Gaz.

"I found Ghost, he's stuck in a pit. And I don't know- oh speak of the devil and he shall come!" 

Soap emerged from the bushes, his hair singed at the ends and soot on his face. "Damn omega nearly blew me up!" He cursed and Gaz snorted which got him a dirty look. "Awa an bile yer head," Soap huffed and Price chuckled. "Where's LT?"

"In a pit." Price and Gaz responded at the same time. Soap let out an amused huff.

"So how are we gonnae get 'im out?" Asked the Scot and Gaz nodded to the rope.

"Reduce, reuse, recycle right?"

"Always ken ye were some kind o' hippie."

Ghost looked up into the snowing sky when he heard the rustle of bushes. A deer? A bunny? Maybe it was the omega coming to put a bullet through his head. "Oi, don't fall in too you idiot!" Gaz barked and Ghost laughed silently.

"You still alive in there Ghost?" Gaz asked as he peered his head into the hole.

"Unfortunately," Ghost replied and Gaz rolled his eyes.

"He's fine. Tie the rope to that tree."

After a few minutes the rope was tossed down and Ghost climbed up with a grunt. "My ankle is throbbin'," he grumbled to himself. It wasn't going to stop him or really slow him down significantly but it was a pride thing really. "Let's go get that 'mega."

Words spoken so easily are not actions done with ease.

They should've expected that it wouldn't be easy but some part of them hoped that you hadn't set up more traps. Gaz cursed as he fell into a pit and screamed, "Fuck!"

Price rushed over and his eyes darkened at the sight before him. This pit was not like Ghosts, instead it had sharpened sticks waiting for whoever was unlucky enough to fall in. Ghost pulled Gaz out, "You broken?" Price asked immediately even as he fussed over the puncture wound in Gaz's thigh.

"Negative," Gaz grunted. Ghost looked down at the two of them, a storm brewing in his dark brown eyes. "I'll be fine, just need to patch it up."

Price couldn't help the growl that left him when Gaz tried to stand. "No, you're gonna sit back down and we're gonna make camp."

You peaked outside as night fell and took in a deep breath then recoiled when you smelt them on the wind. They're closer warned your omega even as heat built up in your abdomen. 

You close the door quickly and wiped away the cold sweat. The near beckoned to you and you went back in, a dull throb from your clit making it harder to relax this time. 

You hissed defiantly and tried to ignore it until it became near painful. You growled to yourself and shoved your hand down your pants, no preamble or work up. Your body wanted an orgasm? You could give it an orgasm.

You were completely soaked, your slick coated your thighs and panties as you circled your puffy clit and bit down on your lower lip at the shocks of pleasure. Your mind wandered to territory where it shouldn't. That pretty one with his slender fingers toying with your clit while the one with a beard lapped at your gushing pussy like it was the fountain of youth.

You hissed out a breath and gyrated your hips against your own hand as you dipped two fingers down and sunk them in with embarrassing ease and a squelch. Your palm applied pressure to your clit as you pumped your fingers in and out. Petting that spot you could hardly reach and your legs tensed up as the pleasure built.

Your hips bucked and small moans left your mouth as you came on your fingers, slick gushed out around them and coated your thighs and soaked your panties. 

It was embarrassing just how quick you came from just those images, the other two weren't even in it but you refused to think about it. Your body hummed, the small waves of pleasure bringing you down into a cozy sleep.

[appleblueberry-pie]

Can u do yandere house wife Yuuta Okkotsu from jjk?,love u

If i could suffocate and kill you with affection, i would. Here's more food.

HUNGRY, STARVING, Greedy....

He felt nauseous, happy, dizzy, light and so fucking horny. The gurgled cough coming from underneath him inspired him to continue jabbing the knife into the disgusting lowlife's lungs and chest. Over and over and over again. He inhaled, raised the knife, a tight and sweaty grip on it. The handle was hot because of how long he'd been gripping it for. And finally, putting all of his upper body strength into fatally puncturing the body, him and it jolting as he repeated this again. The last time felt the best. It felt so easy to do, so messy and blinding with crimson red, yet that scream ripped out of his throat as he gave a passion into the last stab, the corpse now motionless underneath him.

Oh god, he would probably be somewhere better in life if he didn't meet you. But he can't imagine it ever being better, ever. Just knowing he can make you proud by being his again tonight makes him squirm and smile to the ceiling, blood coating him generously. His hard on made him wince and he shuffles off of the body, tossing the knife somewhere onto the ground.

That's the third person this week. A few more, and he'll finally reach the top targets meant to be executed this year. He's been taking his time getting rid of these targets that can't seem to leave you alone. Starting small with all of your exes and moving up to people that had a larger impact of your life, he's ridding all competition so he can finally spend the rest of his life with you permanently. He wishes your beauty and shine could be hidden from the world, but taking extreme measures for you worked just fine by him. So, he'll stay low for now.

Yuuta was your good boy. So sweet and kind. Humming you a song to sleep almost every night and caressing you in his arms to wake you in the morning. Who needs an alarm clock when your fiancé is there to gently caress your face to wake you from your peaceful slumber on time every morning? It's so hard to leave him when he makes you the best meal choices for breakfast, helps you choose your work outfit for the day and walks you to the door with those big beautiful eyes begging you to stay. Fortunately, wrestling your tongue with his for half a minute gives you enough time to rush out the door and make it to the car before he gives another excuse to keep you at home.

And when you come back home, he's there to help you undress. Maybe with some light begging, puppy eyes, a staring match and light convincing, he can jump into the shower with you. His hands would lather you with soap, the light smell wafting all throughout the bathroom. Carefully, working from your shoulders, down your arms, to your chest and stomach only to start shaking when you begin teasing him and baby talking him about how good of a little wife he's been to you. He accidentally squeezes your breasts a little harder than he would, making you wince.

He'd apologize and you slip out that it's fine in a soft tone. It makes him jump across lines to do it again, finally connecting your back with his front, letting his hands roam lower. And like every other time, it starts with him getting confident, taking the lead and feeling you melt into his hands. Your warm and soft skin molding between his fingers and making his cock twitch uncontrollably. It's so embarrassing how much he's panting. You can tell he can't handle taking the reigns, and before he can stop you, you completely control his brain. Doubling back down on him, sloppy kisses on his neck and chest, lightly squeezing and rubbing his tip in a way that almost makes him squeal.

To summarize without going too far into details, he can't ever be the one in charge. He's too scared.

Sometimes you massage his upper body, knowing how tense he can feel when you two sleep at night. Maybe the laundry load was too hefty for him or the groceries gave him a hard time. You can never figure out why such simple tasks make his muscles as hard as they are during the night. You worry for him sometimes and you ask what he could possibly be doing for him to feel that way. Maybe you two should talk about it? But he reassures you it's fine every time.

Sometimes it's hard to believe that Yuuta has always been your good boy, because you found out recently he leaves sometime in the night and comes back a few hours later. Leaves the house entirely. And it's peculiar. You thought he gave up doing sorcerer work a long time ago, so why does he.....?

You tried to let it go, tried to let it slip your mind. But then it kept happening. Once turned into twice, which turned into five times, which turned into no more of this bullshit please. You felt like it was your turn for a massage now.

And each time he leaves, he comes back to bed feeling tense all over again. And it angers you. You and him swore to keep no secrets from each other. He becomes extremely offended when you assume he is hiding something from you, but this is proof that he seriously is. Leaving the house every other night to come back home without your knowledge where just stresses you out. Where was he going? Is he doing something illegal? Is he hurting someone? Is he....unfaithful? Just thinking about it makes your stomach hurt.

One night, Yuuta returns to bed in just his boxers, showered and as relaxed as he can make himself. Eyebags as prominent as the day he first got them and tired. He slips under the covers you kept warm for him while he was gone and he sighs in bliss. Finally, returning home to you once more makes his mind go black. His hand runs up your back slowly, but he scrunches his eyebrows when he sees you pulling into yourself away from him.

"...Baby? Are you awake?" You don't answer, but he can see that you are. Yuuta sits up a little and sees your strained face. He can now also see that your face was glistening with tears and you continue to turn away from him. His heart and face drops at the sight and he sits up some more to try and see your face, his hand now on your arm to try and pull you back towards him. "Y/n? Please look at me. Why are you crying?" His voice was soft and understanding, with heavy concern mixed in, making you more nervous.

Your stomach twists and turns at how much he worries for you, but it just continues to make you assume the worst. You shake your head and gasp out a sob. You can hear him repeating 'no' behind you and he sits you up to properly talk to you.

You stare at his face silently, slowly regaining your composure. "..." He stutters lightly before beginning. "I'm always here for you when you need it, baby. Just please don't hide anything from me. I can't bare it when something's hurting you and you won't tell-" "Where do you go?"

He sits up straighter at the question, not expecting you to answer. "....What?" You wipe your face, quickly growing angry at the irony of his previous statements. "Where are you going when you leave at night, Yuuta?" You watch the color leave his skin and his lips purse. He averts his gaze for a few seconds before looking back at you, a slight panic in his voice and stutters increasing drastically. "I don't.....I-I-I don't know what you're talking about, dear." "Dear?? Yuuta, you just said we don't lie to each other." "I'm not!!" You give him a nasty stare. One he never thought he'd get from you. It makes him close his mouth immediately and you let the silence grow. ".....You just lied to me again." "I can't tell you." Yuuta gains the courage to blurt out the words and he watches your face contort once more, and immediately regrets his decision.

"That's bullshit! You said we tell each other fucking everything! What's so important that you have to hide it from me for who knows how long?? Are you cheating on me?? Oh god." You turn away from him, not wanting to know if you could've possibly been right with the assumption, getting up to create distance. Yuuta immediately yanks your arm back to him and sits you back down on the bed, turning your face to him to make real eye contact with you. "I wouldn't ever think about cheating on you. I love you. That has never been a thought in my mind ever since I first laid my eyes on you." "Then what are you hiding?"

He thinks about the possibilities of telling you the truth. How possible would it be that you would forgive him? How possible would it be that you just stay angry at him for a few days? How possible would it be that you would shove him away? That you would leave him?? He can't tell you. It sacrifices too much. He just wants to be your man. Forever yours and nothing else. No outsiders intervening, no arguments, no fighting. And he always lets you win, but......he just can't let this one go.

Once he started shaking his head, you knew you couldn't just let this happen. You were scared to understand what he was doing. It had to be something horrible or demented, because why can't he tell you? Does it have to do with you? You were tired of thinking. Yuuta watches you look away from him and walk towards the bedroom door. "Please leave." He blankly stares at you for a few seconds, mouth agape and still. Like he couldn't properly register what you said. But you continued walking out and he followed, his mind lagging behind with speech. "......W-wait. What?....What??"

He began to speed his pace, wanting to grab your arm, your waist, something. Because that couldn't have been what you sai- "Get out of my house." You picked up one of his random shirts, one of his pairs of pants, some shoes and threw them at his feet. "Get out. I don't want to see you right now."

Yuuta began feeling lightheaded and dizzy, his veins popping out of his skin from stress, his hands shaking. His worst nightmare was coming true, all because he wanted to keep you safe. Is this what he gets for being reckless? He couldn't even get words to flow out of his mouth, too scared. Just flimsy excuses that seemed to do more harm than good. ".......I didn't even do anything wrong!" "You're a liar, you've been leaving the house at night for over a month and you can't even tell me the truth! Why should I live with someone like that?"

You were yelling at him now. He watched you scoff before putting your own clothes on. You only managed to get some pants on before Yuuta dropped to his knees in front of you, pulling your wrists to his chest and he stares up at you as if he was a crazed man. Tears coated his wide eyes. Fear shown clear as day. You could feel him shaking.

He began to splutter out words, as if his mind was on autopilot, while feeling like he had to drag them out of the corners of his mind just to make coherent sense. "I didn't do ANYTHING, I promise! IpromiseIpromiseIpromise, just don't fucking leave me! I'll do anything you want, please. I just- I-I can't live without you, I love you." He heaves a sigh, still shaking, before continuing. "I love you so....much. I need you so bad. Everything I've been doing has been for you and will always be for you. Please don't leave. Please."

You were scared to say or do anything. The way he held onto you, squeezed your wrists as if you were his lifeline, was terrifying. Was this the man you wanted to marry? One who kept promises and...did something outside of your knowledge to stay with you? It felt like you didn't have any choice but one, even though his life was entirely yours.

Yuuta rested his head on your stomach, wanting to feel and absorb your heat. He wouldn't let you go unless you told him he could stay. "........."

You stayed silent. He stayed silent. You were still and he continued to shake like a leaf. His mind continued running and you stared down at him. Blank stare at his pathetic face. Waiting for what you wanted. He knew what you wanted. But he couldn't tell you. He stared back up at you, tears building in his eyes once again. You didn't have to say a damn thing and he already knew what you wanted from him. That's how it's always been between the two of you. You let him decide to give you exactly what you want, and he'll sacrifice whatever he needs to just to please you. Whether that would be his money, his time, his soul and heart. And you always provided back in return, your love. And it's all he ever needed to keep satisfying you. But you might tear yourself out of him entirely if he gave you what you wanted, needed. And he didn't want to sacrifice anything. He didn't want to say a word. But he didn't have a choice when his sobs racked out of his chest, his chest that hurt as if someone was squeezing the blood out of it forcefully. He didn't have a choice when his headache throbbed from the back of his head to the front, weakening him. And he didn't have a choice when he knew his mind and heart collectively moved his tongue for him.

He slowly choked out the words, "I killed them." He heard you voice your horror and he held you tighter, wrapping his arms around you to tightly keep you against his yearning body even though you resisted, wailing and speaking louder. "I killed them all. They're dead. But- but I did it all for you, I promise!" He squeezes your clothing tightly, and choked out his words. "I just wanted you to love me. Just me." His words were slurred, but you could make out every bit. The killer held you tighter, sobbing into you. You weren't anything but a woman he had an unhealthy attachment towards. Having that realization towards the man you thought you could entrust your life to was like your castle walls crumbling in a matter of seconds.

You didn't know what to do. He was repeatedly calling out your name now, wanting you to say something, anything to him. It was late at night. The cops couldn't be called. And even if they could be called, they wouldn't help you anyways.

Yuuta felt like he was suffocating and dying. You didn't love him anymore. He could see it on your face. His world was disappearing before his very eyes and grasped to have it back again. His world was in front of him, in his arms, but your presence wasn't there. Not like how it usually was. He wanted you back. He wants you. But how could he take you back when you looked down at him as if he was a stranger from the streets that you couldn't recognize? He wanted your warm hands on his face, he wanted to be inside of you again, he wanted to feel your lips on his, he wanted to hug you again.

He seemed calmer now. No longer crying like a baby, but definitely tired and deluded. "Let me stay? Please?" He stares up at you with those eyes you used to love. His cold hand held yours up to his face for him to rub onto. "I told you. So, you'll let me stay?" You gulp, realizing you'll have to decide. Either let him stay and pretend like nothing happened for your safety, or say no and deal with him crying for you to not escape him. You didn't want either of those.

"Baby.....?"

[ohmygraves]

the first time you and ghost became roommates, he didn't have a lot of things.

he had his essentials, packed in a duffel bag and like, two moving boxes and that's it. he didn't even have his own furniture or pots and pans, so the two of you didn't cook for the first few weeks living together. he seems perfectly content with just living with the furniture that came with the apartment, an old beat up sofa and dirty stained dining table, together with a few chairs and old mattresses in each bedroom. you made it a goal to get rid of the smelly bed as soon as possible, working your arse off to afford new beds for the sake of your back.

ghost, or well, simon, don't feel the need to own too many things. he thinks it's a nuisance, since well it'll be tiring to pack so many things when he needs to move again for some reason or another. even when he stayed in the barracks, his room was always the most bare out of everyone.

you were the opposite, of course. you liked having lots of personal items and memorabilia, or just trinkets that you like in general. your shared flat is full of your items, posters hung up on the wall, framed pictures, potted plants, consoles and books, whatever you have. it felt like the place was only occupied by you, and with how often simon was away on deployments and missions, it might as well be.

you both split duties when he's around. you cook, he does dishes. you take out the trash, he cleans the bathroom. you tidy things up and he'd mop/vacuum it. he insisted that you cook since he's not much of a cook himself (which, explains why he doesn't have a single kitchen utensils in his stuff) and that you're better at cooking than him. he'd gladly deal with all the dirty jobs for you, wouldn't be the worst thing he did anyway.

you and simon get groceries separately (his "groceries" consisting of some type of booze and maybe toiletries, perhaps some snacks if he's feeling fancy), but very rarely you go together with him to tesco or something. you always have to remind him to note whatever things needed to be replaced at your shared flat, so that you don't have to go multiple times just to get a bottle of dish soap or toilet paper.

you two bicker like an old married couple sometimes, because he's a smart ass and would tease you, and you'd get mad at him for eating your things or using your soap/shampoo.

sometimes you wondered if rooming with simon was a bad idea, but he had always made sure to keep your job easy for you except for a few minor inconveniences he did on purpose just so you'd scold him. he helped move furniture and do the heavy jobs for you, and not to mention he leaves you alone, never nosy or get too friendly with you. although at the same time, he expected you to do the same for him.

if he tells you when he's coming back after missions, you'd get him a treat when he gets home, some beer already chilling in the refrigerator and his favorite snacks on the counter, together with his favorite takeout dinner (of course, you'd ask for the money back. you're not made of money if you're rooming with someone). some snarky note like "shower first before you sleep, stinky" or "it's 30 pounds for everything, you're welcome".

simon didn't think much of it, but he definitely took you for granted. you're a nice roommate, you two get along, and you're a great cook. you made sure to feed him whenever possible (because you're convinced he'd actually forget to eat when he's alone, considering his groceries as mentioned before), and not to mention you made his masks and balaclava smell nice and clean when you do laundry.

you'd patiently help him sew, teach him how to mend his clothes when he has the time (which is still a funny sight seeing how small the needles looked between his thick massive fingers). he always gets frustrated, telling you that you did a much better job than his lousy stitches that wouldn't even hold up after one wear. you'd sew all tears and holes on his masks and clothes, patch the holes up when you could.

in return, he'd bring some of your favorite snacks home. he always said something along the lines that it was on sale, or that it's buy one get one free, but you noted that he always brought home your favorite things after you mended his clothes, or helped him in some way. you didn't mind, you liked the snacks and it's nice that he shows his gratitude in this way.

you try to ignore the thumping of your heart every time he hands you things while saying "reckon you'd like this."

[luveline]

reader getting really stressed out about being pregnant for the first time and so hotch just makes her sit down and he totally pampers her for the day?? idk u asked for hotch reqs and this is just the first thing i squeezed out my brain

thank you for requesting <3 fem, 1.2k

There are many things that come with being pregnant. Joy, for sure, but hardship and doubt overwhelmingly. You’re always treating an ailment you didn’t expect to have or worrying that things won’t be ready —that you won’t be ready. 

You’ve developed a bad habit. You can’t stop picking at your hands. Your skin is drier since you’ve been pregnant and the further along you get, the worse it becomes. You scratch at a dry patch between your fingers, wince when it hurts, but continue until there’s no dry skin left to pick, just raw soreness. It’s the first time you’ve made yourself bleed. 

“Are you doing it again?” Aaron asks from the hallway.

You drop your guilty hands down and turn away from his approach. “No, I’m not.” 

“You are, aren’t you?” he asks, a smile in his voice. His hand is warm where he takes your shoulder, turning you to face him. “Show me.” 

“No.” 

“Show me,” he says again, not asking. 

You were supposed to be doing the dishes, but you’d noticed your baby bump was getting in the way, which was oddly beautiful for a few seconds, but was quickly just another imposition in a day full of small annoyances. It is never going to get any easier, your stomach will continue to grow as the baby grows and your body accommodates her, and when you do have her you’ll have to find a way to wash dishes with her held to your chest or on your hip. And it’s lovely, it’s what you signed up for, you can’t wait to be a mom and love your baby, but that’s a big change, too. 

Now you're tail-spin panicking about your life and your hands take the brunt of it. Aaron can’t stop you, but he always tries. 

“I can’t understand why you do this,” he says, parting your fingers gently to assess the damage, “it must hurt. Can you stop?” 

He asks with a mixture of humour and fondness, his eyes on yours and a small smile playing on his lips to encourage a better mood. You don’t have much to give, but you smile back. 

“I know I shouldn’t pick it,” you say. 

“But it’s hard to stop,” he surmises, bringing your hand to his mouth for a soft peck against the back of it, far from your broken skin. 

“I’m just worried.” 

“Oh, I know,” he says, pulling at your hand as he takes your hip in his other and drags you into him. Your bump immediately blocks the way, but bodies are soft, and he keeps on pulling until you’re squished together. 

He smells like something particular. Not cologne or deodorant, not soap or laundry detergent. You can’t put your finger on the scent, your cheek pressed against his shoulder and your nose to his neck, thinking. It’s a sugary smell, but it’s cloying, too, like you’d touch the smell and have a residue on your fingers.

“I changed the air freshener in the bathroom,” he says quietly, his face turned down to yours. 

You don’t bother asking how he knows what you’d been thinking. He’s your mind reader. 

“It was making me feel sick,” you say unnecessarily. 

“I know. Let’s go sit down, my girl.” 

My girl, you think, not sure if you should roll your eyes or hug him tighter. 

You let him lead you from the kitchen to the living room, where he helps you down onto the nice couch, much too nice for babies. You can’t imagine it will stay very clean, but perhaps you’re being cynical. Still, you lean back against the cushions and rub your cheek into clean leather. 

Aaron takes the faux rabbit fur throw from the armrest and shakes it out over you with care, tucking it under your legs, and kissing your cheek as he secures it behind your back. All tucked in, he holds your hands together atop the blanket to encourage you to feel the texture. It’s a good distraction from picking at your hands, which he knows. Aaron knows everything. 

“What do we need?” he asks. “A drink? Dinner’s easy tonight, I’ve promised Jack we’ll make lasagne. Does that sound good to you?” 

You’re honestly not sure. You're quiet for a moment too long. “Sorry,” you frown. 

“I can make you anything you want. It doesn’t bother me.” 

“I feel a little like I’m acting over the top about this.” You’re pregnant. Millions and millions and millions of women have been pregnant. 

“About what?” he asks, sitting beside you on the couch, your blanket untucking under his legs. “Being tired? You can’t decide.” 

“About everything, I guess.” 

“Well, when you figure out what it is that’s making this,” —he puts a hand to your belly— “over the top, you can let me know.” 

You lift your chin. He kisses you soundly. 

It’s nice to be loved like this. 

“What’s up with my baby?” he asks, giving your stomach a soft rub. “Is she moving today?” 

You lean back and he understands that to mean he should feel lower, where you can feel the baby’s weight more clearly. “Not much moving. She gave me a good kick earlier.” 

“Yeah?” 

“I think so.” 

He feels along the bottom of your stomach politely. It’s a little funny, the baby wouldn’t exist without him being rather less polite, but it’s also lovely. You can trust him to be a great father because he’s already an adoring husband. If he treats you with a never ending supply of tender caring and soft touches, it’s easy to picture how he’ll treat your girl. You’ve never once doubted him, and he’s never hurt you. You don’t think he could. 

“There?” he asks, putting his hand to the right side of the bump. 

You can’t be totally certain, but you’re sure he’s right. “Right there, handsome.” 

Things are far less stressful to think of when he’s near. He reminds you in something as small as a thumb to your belly that everything will be taken care of. You’re not half as alone as you feel, and neither is your baby. Aaron can do the dishes while you’re unable. He’d do them even if your only reason was that you didn’t want to. 

“Hello,” he says, charmed, eyes glowing with excitement as you encourage your shirt up over your stomach for a better view. Aaron places his hand to your naked skin, palm hot. “I love you.” 

He has to tap you under the chin for you to know who it is he’s talking to. “I love you, too,” you say quickly. 

He smiles, before his attention falls completely to your stomach once again. “And you, sweetheart. I love you. Can you say hello?” 

He has to talk for a while, but eventually your baby moves. 

Your shoulders relax. You close your eyes and let him murmur to you both, peaceful for a desperately needed half an hour.

[noosayog]

not his own - ft. ushijima wakatoshi

wc: 400

my lover's birthday?? I must post

--

Ushijima operates on a schedule. On weekdays, he wakes up, eats a healthy breakfast, packs lunch, goes to practice. He comes home, cooks dinner. On the weekends, he goes on a jog after waking up and looks forward to spending the day with you. Weekends are dedicated to you. 

So, when on a normal Wednesday afternoon, he comes home and finds dishes on the drying rack (he always puts them away before leaving the house), shoes haphazardly strewn in the genkan (he always stacks them neatly on the shoerack), and clothes tossed on the couch (his laundry is always put away immediately), his first instinct is to call the police because obviously, his apartment has been broken into. 

He cautiously checks each room, curiously finding his bathroom neat, his spare bedroom quiet, and his storage closet completely untouched. 

It all makes sense when he opens up his own bedroom door. Immediately, a familiar scent of strawberry-flavored soap fills his nostrils and the large lump he finds bundled underneath his covers explains it all. 

There you were, breaking schedule to come see him. Something fills his chest and the urge to touch you is too great, until his fingers are finding the swell of your cheek. 

Slowly, you rouse from his touch. It takes you a moment to register him, a slow smile stretching across your lips. Your voice is hoarse with sleep when you whisper, “welcome home, ‘Toshi.”

His smile is reflexive. So are his movements when he sees you open your arms up. He moves into your orbit, allowing you to pull him in and cling onto his neck like a koala. Mixed in with the smell of your soap is the scent from his usual fabric softener. 

He hears you mumble something about using the spare key, surprising him with dinner, and missing him. He just hums. 

Later that night, after a quiet dinner, he settles into his sheets. They’re still messy; you don’t like making the bed. He listens to you brush your teeth in the bathroom, just silently watching when you return to the bedroom. 

It’s easy, the way you find your place by his side, tuck yourself into the nook where his arms meet his shoulder. 

Now, the space will never truly be his own again. But as he strokes your hair and listens to the evening of your breaths on his chest, he finds that he doesn’t really want it to be anyway.

[ghosts-bandwagon]

can you do one where the reader has *terrible* periods (im talkin cramps, headaches, while nine yeards) but does their best to push through them and how 141 + ale, rudy, and konig react to them <3 (also i really do like the way you did your masterlist its v neat and put together)

Literally me every month 😭 this one’s for the nightmare period squad, I love y’all and I’m right there with you (thank you love!) (I’m sorry for leaving Rudy and Ale out, it’s a little much for me I’m so sorry 😭)

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley:

He’s pretty attuned to you, he has a sense when something’s up, so he decides to keep an eye on you throughout the day

You’re sweating a little more than usual and looking a little clammy when you’re on the treadmill (hoping beyond hope that working out will help) (… it doesn’t)

He’s watching you during the briefing, your hands are clenching your abdomen, your breathing is a little irregular, and your left eye twitches occasionally. You’re masking your discomfort and you’re doing it well enough to fool everyone else but him. He sees you make a detour to the clinic on base and walk out with a small heated water bottle pressed against your stomach

He stops by your room to see that your usual coffee is replaced with peppermint tea, the lights are dim, and you’re sitting at your desk, curled over the table with paperwork scattered under your head. He announced himself with a knock and you bolted upright, you winced almost immediately

“Easy love, it’s just me.” He chuckled, “Doin’ alright?” He eyed the tea and turned the bottle of pills in his hand,

“Of course, always.” You we’re out of breath, “Why?”

“Don’t make me ask.”

“Ugh fine. It’s my period, I’m sorry.” He tossed the bottle in his hands at you and you caught it not very gracefully.

“Don’t be. You’ve done more in your state than most of them do normally. Just… take a rest. Take your meds. You’ve done enough.”

John ‘Soap’ MacTavish:

He doesn’t really notice, you’re unfortunately good at hiding your symptoms (save for the obvious bleeding and the wrappers in the trash)

Honestly he’s amazed you can go about your day so effortlessly with all that going on

He’s watching you catch up on some chores when he starts to notice the wince in your eyes when you move a certain way, you’re putting away laundry fresh from the dryer and pressing the warm clothes tightly against your lower abdomen

You’re in the kitchen and you’re massaging your temples, breathing heavily, leaning against the counter, shaking your head and continuing with your task

“Alright, bonnie, that’s enough. Let get you set up.”

“Johnny, baby, I’m fine.”

“Sure ya are, I’m just taking care of that fine arse for you since you won’t.” He winked at you, he walked you back to bed, grabbing your heating pad and menstrual relief pills from the bathroom.

“Take it easy, hen, let’s get some movies going, yeah?”

John Price:

He knows your tells. Not only because he lives with you and sees the wrappers in the trash, but because he can feel the shift

You start to take on tasks that you’d normally pass on, whether it’s to prove to him or yourself that you can muscle through it

You don’t need to prove anything to him sweetheart, he knows how strong you are, just let him take care of you

He tells you as much but you wave him away and continue with what you were doing

He gets a little frustrated because he knows you’re suffering, he knows how hard your periods hit you, just let him help you damn it

So he sets up a little trap, he asks you to help him in the bedroom, and being the big strong girl you are, you go in ready to help but he wrap you in a big blanket and swings you over his shoulder, he set you down on the bed, tucked under the blankets, half-heartedly glaring at him.

“Rest, darling, please.”

Kyle ‘Gaz’ Gerrick:

He knows how bad your periods are and he doesn’t let you move an inch out of bed, he’s super doting, and he spoils you absolutely rotten

Even if you insist you can muscle through it, he won’t let you

Dishes need to be done? He’s got it. Groceries? Instacart that mf. Laundry? Say no more queen. Gotta make dinner? No you don’t.

He’s got your heating pad cranked up as high as you need it to be, your comfort show or movie is playing and he’s got your meds and some water ready for you when you need

Period care king tbh.

König:

Schatz please, you only make it worse, he knows that and you know that, but he’ll always remind you

He lets you press on about your day, doing whatever you can to distract yourself from the pain, but as soon as he sees you clutch your stomach and double over when you think he can’t see you, he steps

“Liebling, please you’re hurting me.”

“König, don’t start.” You sighed exasperated, he’s willing to deal with a lot but when it comes to your well-being, he doesn’t fuck around,

“Beg your pardon, schatz?”

Oops.

“Fine. Do your worst.” You relented, he smiled mockingly at you (not in a malicious way),

“That’s what I thought.”

You’re buried under blankets, your electric heating pad spread over your abdomen, water and medicine is on your nightstand, and you’re so grateful König knows you as well as he does.

[moondirti]

due to popular demand, a follow up to this featuring: 18+ content, gaz, ballerina!reader, internet stalking, men being gross, another a thinly veiled character study

Kyle is a good man.

Granted, his metric is not attuned to common standards for morality anymore, nor has it been that way since basic. He's sure that if he were to pick any sheltered samaritan off the street to read out his laundry list of transgressions, they'd balk at the fact that their taxes go to keeping him fed. They'd rather their image of the army stay unsullied and ideal. They'd rather keep him at arms length with a thank you for your service and not confront the blood caked beneath his fingernails.

But he can no longer be held to their degree. No longer exists within these spaces. No. Kyle – or Gaz, if one were to go off of what he's called most often nowadays – is a doorstop. A pestle. Something inconspicuous, obscure, that serves the sole function of making life easier for everyone but itself. And he assumes this role with a handful of others who have nothing else to live for, exiled to crowd the back of Foxhounds and kill at a moment's notice. Foul men. Friends.

If someone were to line up every operative on a special forces unit, or better yet collect the likes of the 141 and asses each for their moral standing, Gaz can rest knowing he'd come out on top. He's not yet as far gone as they are; can enjoy a night out or a pretty bird writhing underneath him without wanting to choke her out. Only devoted to his captain, or the others, to the extent that their professional relationship calls for (no matter how much it itches at him to watch Ghost take care of Soap, or to reject Price when he offers him a drink).

Sure, he laughs at their jokes. Might pitch in when they're swapping stories of their filthiest catch, Soap rattling on about the lass who'd stuffed her tongue up his arse, or encourage them to shoot on sight if they spot a potential threat, civilian or otherwise. Yet the difference is this: when he goes home, he can stuff that all away.

Knows not to let it infest the boundaries of the real world. Off deployment, his comrades play pretend at the noncombatant lifestyle, but the guise is ill-fitting. They're too big for their skin. They stretch and tear at the conventions holding them in place, like feral dogs made to heel. Kyle doesn't have to be tamed. He's still functional, familiar with the expectations held of him. Can submit to integrity more easily than most.

Kyle is a good man.

And that's what he tells himself as he returns home, train car completely void of anyone but himself. He's good for having given you up. He's good for not have followed you home. There'd been a brief lapse of judgement, but he's good for doing something about it before things passed the point of no return.

You've lived this far without his protection, he reasons. Yet it doesn't change the unreachable itch, closed away in a supposedly locked box. Gaz. Or, his captain's voice, cigar-smoked and advisory.

But why should you continue like that.

It's hard to fall asleep that night.

He's sick with worry wondering if you ever got home, bile broiling and distending up his throat at the thought of having abandoned you. It's pure concern that compels him to find your socials, really. Kyle is only searching for an update, or recent post, indicating that you're alive.

With nothing to go off of but a face, he searches for dance studios in both Acton Town, your area, and the Kensington, the area where you'd boarded the tube from. He makes a shortlist of the most reputable ones (your attire seemed to imply that you were a seasoned ballerina) and cross-checks them as hosts of upcoming recitals. Two renditions of Swan Lake and a production of Giselle turn up, each with their very own cast lists. Thus begins a tireless search of every name credited.

His heart almost leaps out of his nose when you eventually load into view, then plummets at how easy you'd been to find.

Your vulnerability only sets Kyle's conviction in stone. Bloody good thing he's got your best interests in mind.

Locked twitter, a LinkedIn, and a public Instagram page which sends his blood pressure skyrocketing after checking your follower count. Popular. And of course he can see why. Over a hundred posts chronicling bright smiles and flattering outfits. You mainly use the account to promote your practice, though; feed full of skimpy little outfits, leotards and exposed sternums and impossible poses.

Stop it. He's here for something specific.

Kyle sips in a deep breath, scrolls back to the top of your page, clicks on your most recent post. A casual video of your leg raised on a barre while your friend counts how high above your previous record you're able to stretch. Your skin is sweat-slicked. Your mouth is thrown open in a half-laugh, half-pant. He almost forgets why he clicked on it in the first place, before the timestamp catches his eye.

30 minutes ago.

So, you'd gotten home.

He can go to bed now.

Exit your account. Swipe up on Instagram to clear it from his running apps. If he's extra disciplined, he'd block you. Rob himself of the temptation to tug himself over the photo of you in the splits.

Kyle is a good man because he knows his limits.

(But Kyle now also knows the address of your studio. That, even if he blocks you, it'll take up space in his chest. A ticking-time bomb. A knowledge that'll haunt him whenever he's on the District, Circle, or Piccadilly lines, and the train announces Gloucester Road. A force, a stone in his throat, that'll grow so large it'll force him to stand up and disembark, to walk until he's standing right outside and wait on you to wrap up rehearsal.)

It occurs to him that the point of no return has long since passed.

inclusivity note: i felt the need to say that, while reader is a dancer, her profession is not meant to imply anything about her body type. flexibility and agility are not limited to thin builds, and while the ballet industry can be very toxic, i've seen my fair share of spaces where all figures are embraced and success is determined only by ability!

[tiddygame]

ghost’s civilian wardrobe is nothing but hawaiian shirts. soap is in utter disbelief the first time he sees it. ghost says they’re good bc:

it’s so fucking ugly, no one can stand to look at it for too long so he doesn’t draw attention

No one thinks the ghost would wear something so bright and stupid meaning he’s completely under cover every time he’s on leave

they’re cheap and an easy thrift

but he just really fucking likes how goddamn ugly they are

…

at least, that’s what he tells soap. and himself. in reality, they were always tommy’s thing. he always wore them to the point everyone knew that the safest gift to get him was the ugliest patterned shirts they could find. in every family photo, tommy was the easiest to spot with the brightest eye sore worn proudly with a smile.

after that cold night in december, all of their stuff was either donated or thrown away.

one day, ghost was thrift shopping (because even though now he had more money, habits from being raised in a poor home die hard) and saw one of them. he froze. at first, he thought it was just one that looked similar. but when he inspected it, it even had that old tear tommy had gotten simon to fix and sew up for him.

he grabbed it in a daze. he searched every rack in that store and found a few more hawaiian shirts. if they were tommy’s or not didn’t matter. he bought them. for days, he hunted through every thrift store in town buying every stupid patterned shirt he saw.

knowing that the few shirts he collected was the only thing he had left of his baby brother finally broke him. he probably looked insane, sitting in his old beat up pickup truck, surrounded by shopping bags from different stores, crying into a yellow and orange button up with flowers on it, and one sewn up tear on the sleeve. but it was tommy’s. and it was all he had.

at first, they were hidden away in a box. he lied to himself that it was because he wanted to keep them safe, but in reality, he couldn’t look at them without either wanting to cry or punch holes in the wall.

but, one christmas, he finally pulls his head out of his ass and grabs them. visits the cemetery in a stupid yellow and orange monstrosity of a shirt and complains that tommy couldn’t have had a better fashion sense.

he wears another when he has to go grocery shopping. and again when he runs errands. and again. and again. and again.

the first time one of them got something on it, he almost cried and pulled every trick his mother taught him about removing stains. the shadow of it persisted but the pattern covered most of it.

eventually, they became a staple of his wardrobe.

years later, soap watched ghosts careful routine he had for washing the shirts. they were always washed separately on delicate and air dried with routine inspections for any holes or tears. it would click later, when finding an old family photo, one with a young boy on simon’s shoulders and another man next to him in a familiar yellow and orange shirt, that perhaps simon hadn’t been entirely truthful when he said he just liked them.

simon was scared the first time soap did his laundry, but johnny always washed them with the same level of care, following the exact same routine. he still made fun of him (lovingly, of course), saying that crimes against fashion must run in the family.

…

and further down the line, years later, they will be old and graying with wrinkles, wearing matching hawaiian shirts. johnny will complain about how ugly they are yet will still wear it happily (and tune out simon reminding him that it was johnnys idea to start matching)

[gottalovetumbler]

ℑ’𝔪 𝔰𝔬𝔯𝔯𝔶, 𝔚𝔥𝔞𝔱?

𝙸𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚍𝚞𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗

𝖨𝗇𝖿𝗈： 𝖼𝗎𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿𝗒

It wasn’t funny, it really wasn’t. But they were treating it like some sort of joke.

——— 4 months ago ———

Somehow, some-way. You went from being a brand new tags still attached soldier in to an American soldier loaned to the British. You’re not quite sure how this happened but it did and now you have to adapt. But adapting proves to be quite difficult when one day you learn a very unfortunate fact about yourself. You are afraid, yea afraid, of accents. Well more the idea of not being able to understand accents you suppose.

It smacked you straight out of left field when you realized it. Having grown up on YouTube and the internet a lot of the people you watch were British, it wasn’t like you grew up under a rock. You thought you’d be a-ok when you were met by one Kate Laswell on the tarmac upon arrival at the base.

She introduced you to the few soldiers you ran into on the walk to your room. The most notable were a Scot and Brit duo. The Brit, Gaz, was a bit hard to understand at first but after a few words it you got the hang of it. He was very kind and offered to help you around the base the first few days so you wouldn’t get lost. The Scot, Soap, was a whole other story. You maybe understood 3 words in the 5 minute conversation the 4 of you had during which he seems to reference you many times judging by the long states he’d fix you with. Luckily with Kate you were able to skate by heavily relying on her understanding and eventually bid your goodbyes to the men.

It took a while for you to meet the rest of their team, ‘141’ Gaz said at breakfast one day. You were in line filling your tray with the slop of the day when you heard muffled talking to your left. It was so soft and distant that you figured it was further down the line so you ignored it and continued grabbing food. Just as you were about to head to your table a gloved hand gripped your shoulder and whipped you around.

Ghost, Gaz told you about him, leans down to your level and says something. You realize it sounds exactly like what you heard in the line and realize he must have been talking to you before and you ignored him. A bright red a hot flush fills your face, it becomes brighter when you realize you still can’t understand him. Panicked, you awkwardly laugh and speed walk away, bypassing the tables and heading straight to your room.

——— Now ———

It’s been a hard and anxiety filled 4 months of avoiding 2 of the 141 members. You could hold a brief but semi- understandable conversation with Gaz and could somewhat bullshit your way through talking to Price. It’s luckily only happened once after a shitty mission and it’s your personal goal to never talk to the gruff man again.

Now the other two are 100% being actively avoided for the foreseeable future. Soap was definitely harder to avoid due to his extroverted nature but you managed. Your main go to was faking a phone call, easy and effective. Ghost on the other hand is a bit easier to avoid, you just use the excuse of being afraid of the man to your advantage. Anytime you make eye contact from across the room you open your eyes a bit wider and speed away, it’s not far fetched since that’s pretty much how everyone else treats him, with fearful respect.

But now, now you have a much larger problem. Due to a larger mission needing more hands Laswell brought on some extra soldiers, who’ve worked with the 141 before, to help. Luckily you were just a simple soldier turned base hand who mainly took care of the laundry, kitchen, grounds, etc. So you didn’t have many face to face interactions with 141 let alone the rest of the new faces and accents. Well you didn’t till now.

[venomous-ragno]

How do they cuddle with you, hug you, touch you?

I take requests btw;)

Tags: gn!reader, sfw, fluff fluff and more fluff

Warnings: None~

Masterlist

Ghost isn't much of a cuddler. He lets you do as you please and may wrap an arm around you; when he does pull you close it's tight, desperate almost. His body speaks what words can't as he lets you feel just how much he longs for you, needs you at his side when he's known nothing but solitude for a decade too many. It's especially intimate to him when you fall asleep in his arms; He's not Ghost, but Simon, when he places soft kisses on your forehead then, letting your warmth burn him and all he's meant to be.

Price may be a Captain, but he's also a lover, a partner. He wants to be whatever you need him to be. He's seen his fair share of lovers parting ways for eternity - it comes with his line of work and yet he still walks that path with his head held high. Perhaps that's why he doesn't spare in affection when it comes to you: He kisses, cuddles, loves like it's his last day with you, because it may just be. He couldn't stand passing not having shown his love to you.

Gaz lifts you up like you're naught but a feather; he'll carry and swirl you like the prince charming he is, warming both of your hearts with sweet laughter. He's a cuddler through and through. Gaz hugs you like it's his last day on earth whenever he returns from deployment, not letting you go as he softly sways you back and forth. He may even be daring enough to grab a handful of your ass when he's had his fill (for now), laughing once again when you scold him for doing so.

Soap is an open book to you. He voices his adoration for you on a daily, makes sure you feel so loved and appreciated it'll last you through his next deployment. His hugs come in full and plenty: That military training is put to good use as he sneaks up on you doing laundry, lifting you up with a heartfelt laugh that you can't help but get infected by. He's your sun that makes every rainy day brighter. Especially when he rests his head on your chest, eyes closed, listening to your heartbeat. His favourite tune of all.

König is... Hesitant to touch you at first. Hands reach out but rarely make contact; he gets frustrated at himself. Time and patience is needed, but your unconditional love will be well worth it. When König feels safe with you, little declarations of love come easy to him. When he once couldn't bring himself to pull you close, now he won't let you go, burying his nose deep in your nape. Your smell grounds and calms him. He's nothing short of touch deprived and soaks up every bit of you like he's a starved man.

Alejandro - this constant smolder of a man pulls you to him like your absence pains him. And truly, it does. The void you leave has him insatiable, craving for ever more of you, knowing that it's a cycle he cannot escape from. Not that he wanted to, though. His hugs are protective and warm, caressing your neck and back almost absent mindedly. Once he's gotten used to your arms around him he finds it's hard to sleep without. He'll encourage you to touch him: Fix his hair, hold his hand, let your knee rest against his. It's never enough.

Rodolfo. Sweet, loving Rodolfo gives as he receives. Your hands on him never fail to have him hum, look up from whatever he's doing, "Yes, my love?". He doesn't mind if you're not big on physical affection, though he can't help himself from pressing soft kisses to your skin every now and then. His hugs are soft and he never lets go first. Your hand will be held securely in his whenever you two go out, and sometimes- sometimes his fingers brush your hips before pulling you close. A kiss must follow and Rodolfo smiles against your lips.

[twipsai]

sorry to use my outdoor voice but NO NO NO NO NO. DONT DO THAT!!!! EVER!!!!!!!!

binders quite literally restrict your rib cage. it prevents you from getting air into your lungs, even when not doing sports (which is why you never wear them for more than 8 hours). when youre doing physical activity, your body needs more oxygen to keep you, know, conscious, cuz youre burning through it faster. you do the math, wearing a binder while doing sports is basically like just straight up suffocating yourself tbh (trust me, ive tried) and can lead to even more health issues that isnt just shortness of breath, like your ribs literally breaking, your lungs filling with fluif, etc

sorry for the long reply, i have seen people do this way too much. dont do this!!! doing small physical activities quickly with binders is fine as long as you rest up and take if off sooner than later, but during any kind of sports or physically labor is extremely dangerous!!!

Soooo on that note:

I really wanna know if I should be doing this.. first of all gender euphoria. Booblessness. But also ????? Proooobbbably shouldn't? But I wanna know why also

[rpdepartment]

mundane headcanons

🌅 morning routine

at what time do they generally wake up?

do they tend to wake up early and take their time, or would they rather rush it?

how many alarms do they need to wake up?

are they a morning person?

bathroom first or breakfast first?

do they take a shower to wake up?

coffee, tea, milk or juice?

sweet or savoury breakfast?

what do they like to have for breakfast?

do they prepare their clothes before going to sleep, or do they prefer to improvize?

do they spend a lot of time dressing up, fixing their hair and/or putting on makeup?

🚿 personal hygiene

how often do they take a shower/bath?

shower or bath?

shower/bath in the morning, afternoon or evening?

do they use specific perfumes?

do they prefer their shampoos and soaps plain, or do they like to smell like something specific?

do they have specific shampoos, conditioners and body wash, or do they go with a 3-in-1?

what's their go-to flavor when it comes to toothpaste?

🍕 food breaks

do they have set times for their meals, or do they eat whenever they feel like it?

do they have a proper meals everyday, or do they tend to skip or get just a snack for lunch/dinner?

are they a home-cooking kind of person, or do they rather get takeouts?

if they eat at work/school, do they take time to prepare even just a sandwich at home before going out?

do they tend to have any make-ahead meals?

do they tend to have leftovers?

how often do they get fast food?

how often do they go to restaurants?

🧹 chores

are they the one doing most chores in the house?

which chore is the one they dread doing the most?

do they wash the dishes right after a meal, or do they leave them in the sink until it's impossible to ignore them?

do they have the dreaded "laundry chair" where they put dirty clothes on?

do they make their bed in the morning, or leave it undone until it's time to sleep?

🚗 transports

do they have a driving license, wether it's for a car or bikes?

do they have any other kind of driving licences ( planes, ships, buses... )

do they own a car?

do they own a bike?

are they the kind of person who think of their car as if it was their baby? perfectly clean, not a scratch, almost overly protective of it?

do they use public transports? if so, do they like using them?

do they like going on trains?

do they like going on boats or ships?

do they like going on airplanes?

📱 phone

what phone do they have?

do they use specific ringtones depending on who calls them, or do they use just one for everyone?

how often do they check their phone?

do they keep their phone's audio volume on, or do they prefer the vibration or? or do they rather have it silenced?

how many apps to they have on their phone, give or take?

do they have games on their phone?

what's their background and lock-screen?

💻 social media

are they registered to any social media?

how often do they log in?

how many followers do they have?

do they follow a lot of people?

how easy is it for them to block someone online?

what do they tend to post online ( art, videos, just starting fights online... )?

did they ever get in an online fight?

do you think they'd have callouts about them?

😴 sleeping routine

at what time do they tend to go to sleep?

do they take anything to help them sleep ( medicines, chamomilles, warm milk... )?

how much does it take for them to fall asleep?

are they a light or a heavy sleeper?

do they snore, talk and/or move a lot while sleeping?

do they dream often?

what kind of dreams to they tend to have?

do they prefer to be in complete darkness to fall asleep, or are they ok with a bit of light?

do they need the door or the windows open, or do they prefer them closed when they go to sleep?

what's their usual sleeping position?

where is their bed? with a side against the wall, in the middle of the room... ?

[tiredfox64]

Can we shower Tomas and bi-han with some pampering after he's had a bad day? <3

A Well-deserved Rest

Prior notes: I'd give my attention to Tomas. Bi-Han can care for himself. Or let the other ladies in this world take care of him. It won't be me.

Pairings: Bi-Han x Gn reader, Tomas x Gn reader

Warnings ‼️: Nah

Bi-Han

Being the grandmaster of the Lin Kuei is not an easy task. It never was. He had to observe many men while being summoned by Liu Kang at random times. It’s a constant runaround with little to no time to rest. Not to mention Bi-Han would never allow himself to relax. Always on guard and alert in case of anything. He’s only relaxed when he sleeps yet there were times when he would shoot straight up and be alert for nothing.

This day was somehow worse. Nobody in the clan was doing anything right. Their forms were off. Some of the new initiates were acting scared and backing out of fights. Bi-Han didn’t even have his brothers by his side to help find another way to correct these fools. For once, he gave up. No more for the day. He ended training early, had something quick for dinner, and went to the bedroom to finally rest. You were folding the laundry as he walked in. The instance he did it was like you already knew something was off.

“Today wasn’t too good, huh?” You casually asked.

He groaned as a response which was all you needed to hear. You stopped what you were doing and got right to work.

“Take your clothes off.” You commanded.

“I don’t want to-“

“That’s not the reason I am asking you to take your clothes off.”

Bi-Han wasn’t sure what you were planning until you went into the bathroom that was connected to your room. You walked over to the freestanding bathtub and turned the water on. The water began to fill the tub and you began putting in a little bit of soap. Can’t have the bath too bubbly, he doesn’t like it that way. You put a few drops of lavender essential oil in it to make it more relaxing. Light some scented candles and you just made a relaxing atmosphere. You called Bi-Han in and he was somewhat surprised with how quickly you prepared everything.

 As he slipped into the tub you started grabbing other stuff like towels and fresh clothes for him. The warm water was already doing him wonders by relaxing his muscles. He leaned against the side of the bathtub and you came up behind him. You knelt down and started unraveling his hair from his tight bun. His obsidian hair flowed down and you shook it up a little to relieve the scalp. You got right to work with wetting his hair before pouring some shampoo in your hands. Your fingers slipped through his thick strands, carefully as to prevent accidentally yanking on it. Bi-Han can’t lie, he prefers if you were the one to wash his hair. You take better care of it and massage his scalp at the same time.

In a matter of five minutes you got him to relax, almost forgetting the frustrating day he had. You washed the shampoo out of his hair. Careful, don’t get it in his eyes. Then you went to focusing on his face. He’s not big on you doing something with his face with your fancy and pricy products but you always insist. He gives in because he loves you enough to do so. You started rubbing your face washes on his face. He keeps jerking his head away but you reposition his head to get the job done. Hey, at least you’re not doing a clay mask on him. He should be grateful this is the only thing you are doing for him.

Some time passes and he’s about ready to get out. You practically took care of everything for him. He never realized how tense his muscles were before. You passed him a towel and left the fresh clothes in the bathroom for him to change into. Bi-Han was ready to hit the hay but you had one more thing to do. When he sat on the bed you came up behind him and told him to sit still. In your hand was a comb which you started to use on his hair. It helped take the potential knots that were in there. Another example of you taking better care of his hair than he does.

You finished quickly. Now he can sleep. He was much more relaxed than when he first walked into the bedroom. You did the simplest things to him yet it did wonders. Bi-Han began to lay in bed and so did you after putting everything away. The tub was drained, candles extinguished, clothes folded, and a happy partner. You brought him close to you, resting his head on your chest. He wrapped his arms around your waist and brought you closer. He took a deep sigh before saying,

“Thank you…” He whispered.

You know him so well. You knew he wasn’t the type to talk about his day. You never had to say a word you went right to taking care of him. For that, he is grateful to have you in his arms.

Tomas

Building a new clan was hard. Finding the right initiates was like hunting a snow bunny in Alaska. The only luck Tomas had was with Hanzo but he was his own challenge. Getting him to listen or calm down was a hassle. That’s what happens when a teenager is dropped into the care of someone who doesn’t have a clue about how to handle a raging teen.

Some days had their ups and others had their downs. Some days were a breeze with little to no casualties. Others…not so lucky. This day was one of those unlucky days.

Tomas was hungry and tired. He didn’t even have the energy to cook himself a meal. Luckily, you were just finishing up in the kitchen area. You smiled once you saw him. You were planning on surprising him with his favorite meal.

“Aww, you ruined the surprise. I thought I would have more time before you were finished training the initiates.” You acted like you were upset but that smile on your face betrayed your tone.

He looked at you confused, tilting his head to the side as he waited to see what you meant. Once he saw you place the slow braised pieces of beef on the plate he knew what you meant. His stomach growled like a plea to Tomas to take a bite out of that delicious piece of meat. You had him sit down at a nearby table and placed the food in front of him. It was still hot but he couldn’t wait. He dug in before you could place the basket of bread slices in front of him. The poor man was starving. You were his savior that blessed him with amazing food. His mood had already improved.

Once he was done you both made your way to the bedroom to get ready for bed. For some reason you were clinging onto Tomas a lot. No wait, there was a reason, you wanted to make him feel better. Even when he was brushing his teeth you were hugging him from behind while leaving kisses on his neck. Don’t worry, he was absolutely loving it. It got better when you both got into bed. You brought him close to you and had him lay his head on your lap. Your fingers ran through his hair as your other hand went to hold his hand.

“Do you want to tell me about your day?” You asked.

He sighed at first before deciding to let out all his frustrations. You were always to listen anyway. He ran through everything, the training, the initiates, trying to calm Kuai Liang down from his frustration, helping train Raiden, the usual struggle. Throughout that whole rant of his, you kept looking right into your eyes while your fingers ran through his silvery hair. Your thumb rubbed over the top of his hand to keep him calm and reduce any instance of him getting worked up from talking about the issues of the day. What also helped keep him grounded was your words. You assured him that he was doing his best, that nobody expects perfection, and that everyone appreciates him. He does so much for everyone and though that can be overwhelming it also felt good to know that he is appreciated for his efforts. Especially to hear those words come from your lips.

By the end of his rant he felt mentally lighter. Only when he was done did Tomas realize all the things you were doing. You looked at him so lovingly with no sense of judgment or annoyance. He started to relax more to the sensation of your fingers massaging his scalp.

“Thank you, my dearest. You have no idea how much you mean to me.” He said.

“Even if I didn’t know, that wouldn’t stop me from caring for you every day.” You smiled at him before giving him a kiss that he needed and deserved.

At least Tomas knows now that even if he has a bad day, coming back to you means his day will end on a good note. His love for you increased. He knows for certain that he wants you by his side all the time. He never wants to let you go.

After notes: I hate posting late I’m sorry. I was trying to take multiple naps but each time I tried I would end up panicking in my sleep. Also sorry it took long for me to get to this I hope i didn’t upset you. Adiós!