#the chore in question was doing a laundry machine

[tenrose]

When I go home after work and immediately do one chore I feel unstoppable. Yes I do lie in bed for hours after that one single task, but it's not the same. It's better.

[steddieas-shegoes]

Eddie doesn’t understand how his laundry always gets done.

When he first moved in with Wayne, laundry was his chore to do, so he did his and Wayne’s every Saturday for years.

Then Wayne started doing his own, and Eddie did his own. When he remembered. Which was usually only when he was staring at empty dresser drawers and stacks of dirty clothes on his floor.

But since spring break, since Vecna, since the hospital stay, someone has been doing his laundry.

He thought it was Wayne at first, probably just happy to have Eddie alive at home and not caring about having to do extra loads to keep his clothes clean.

But then Wayne went away for five days to fill in at a plant in Chicago, and his laundry still got washed and put away.

The only people who’d been at his house were Dustin (no way he was doing laundry without expecting something in return), Robin (did she even know how to do laundry?), and Steve (he wasn’t exactly the type to just do an acquaintance’s laundry).

So who was it?

Of course, he found out exactly who it was because his washing machine broke in the most comical way possible.

It was barely six in the morning on Saturday, and Eddie was woken up by a loud bang, a yelled “FUCK ME!”, and a surge of electricity. He would’ve been more angry about being woken up if he didn’t run right into Steve when he opened his bedroom door to see what was going on.

“Uh. Hi?”

“Do not ask questions. Do not. But your washing machine is broken.”

“Okay?”

“Is Wayne gonna be home soon?”

“Should be within the hour.”

“Good. Okay. Good. He can fix it. Your favorite Metallica shirt definitely can be saved.”

“What do you mean?”

“Uh. It’s eating the clothes? Or trying to. I think I got most of them but the Metallica shirt is really in there.”

“Wait.” Steve?! This whole time is was Steve Harrington doing his laundry? “It’s been you.”

“What?”

“Doing my laundry. I was starting to think it was a leprechaun or something.”

“That’s really stupid. How would a leprechaun even be able to reach the knobs to start the cycle?”

Eddie couldn’t help it, he laughed. Steve was being so serious.

“Oh god, I love you.”

Oh. Wait a second. No. Not that. That’s not what he meant.

Steve’s face was so red, Eddie could swear he felt heat coming off of it even from more than a foot away.

“Um.”

“Sorry. Just. Well I don’t have an explanation for that one.”

“I know you didn’t mean it, it’s okay.”

“Wait.” Eddie was going to make this worse. He had to stop. “I did mean it. I just didn’t mean to say it out loud.”

“You love me? You barely know me. I just broke your washing machine and possibly ruined your favorite Metallica shirt.”

“I know you. And those are replaceable things. You’ve been doing my laundry Steve. You’ve brought my favorite beer once a week for months. You let me host Hellfire at your house even though you’ve never played and probably never will. You make us cookies! You let me pick the music in the car. You let me pick movies for movie night even though I know you hate what I pick. You’re at my house before the sun is up washing my dirty clothes in secret so I don’t have to. What’s not to fuckin’ love?”

“I guess…everything else?”

Eddie shook his head. He grabbed Steve’s hand and led him to the washing machine, smirking at the pile of still-wet clothes sitting in the dryer next to it and the Metallica shirt hanging out of the washing machine.

“That washing machine is older than Wayne possibly. You got one at your house, right?”

“Uh. Yeah.”

“Great. Put my stuff in a basket and let’s go to yours.”

Steve kept doing Eddie’s laundry. Every Saturday morning before he had to go to work, he threw their clothes into the washing machine at his house.

Eddie always watched from on top of the machine, giving Steve a kiss on the forehead when he was done.

[alittlebitofloveliness]

any soda headcanons?

Hi! I hope these suffice, I couldn't help but throw a little bit of Stevepop in :)

Sodapop Curtis Headcanons

-The Curtis house has a half finished basement which is where the laundry machine is, but the ceiling is FULL of spiders and spiderwebs. Both Darry and Pony are PETRIFIED of spiders, like Ponyboy is jumping from foot to foot and hyperventilating and Darry SHRIEKS when he sees one, so its always Soda’s job to de-spider the basement and he absolutely hates it (he's a little scared of them too, but not nearly as bad as his brothers)

-He has the friendship equivalent of those ‘you cheated on me in my dreams and now I’m mad at you”. One time he dreamed Steve left him stranded at the Dingo and was lowkey pissed at him the next day. Poor Steve was SO confused

-Loves both peanut butter and chocolate by themselves, but HATES when they’re combined together. Bro HATES reeses cups with a passion

-After the Curtis parents died he snuck into their room, stole his mother's half full perfume bottle and hid it in his bedside table. Sometimes before he goes to bed, when Ponyboy is busy brushing his teeth, he’ll spritz a little on his wrist because when he closes his eyes and smells her perfume he can pretend his mom is hugging him again.

-Thinks bananas are spicy (they’re not, he’s just mildly allergic but doesn’t realise it. Everyone in the gang thinks he’s making a joke every time he says it. He isn’t.)

-Him and Steve swing dance together at work sometimes when they’re working alone in the garage and his stomach flutters every time Steve dips him 

-Cannot sing to save his life and does it all the time anyway. Like, he sounds like he’s gargling with rocks, it’s actually painful. Dally has literally paid him to shut up before.

-Steve’s pet cat absolutely HATES him and Soda will always and forever be mad about it because “what did I ever do to her???”

-Can’t remember what his dad’s voice sounded like anymore. It haunts him.

-The easiest way to piss him off is to disrespect Steve in front of him. Sodapop is convinced the sun shines from his grumpy best friend’s glaring eyes, and if anyone doesn’t see that he WILL throw hands, no questions asked

-The Curtis’ have a chore jar full of little slips of paper with the really unpleasant chores they only have to do once in a while written on. Every three months they each draw two each so that way it’s fair who does what. EVERY single time Soda ends up having to clean behind the stove and he’s forever bitter about it because “it looks like a crime scene back there Dar and I know it ain’t just my fault!”

-He and Steve gave each other stick and poke tattoos once but his got SUPER infected. He would’ve had to tell Darry and probably go to the hospital if it weren’t for Evie, who luckily had some training from her tribe’s medicine woman and managed to fix him up.

-Him and Darry do rock paper scissors to decide who has to tell Ponyboy when he has a doctors appointment because Pony always gets SO mad and neither of them wanna deal with him

-Once walked in on Two-bit in an, ahem, compromising position, and hasn’t been the same since

-He used to socially drink pretty often but stopped when he realised how much drunk him really wanted to kiss Steve on the mouth

-Started drinking socially again when sober him kissed Steve on the mouth and the world didn’t end

-He draws faces on the eggs in the fridge, partially because he just finds it fun, but also because it always gets Darry to smile and shake his head fondly, and there isn’t enough that makes Darry smile these days

-Darry made him promise when he first started work full-time that he’d keep half his pay check for himself. He promised, but only ever keeps about 10% of what he makes as spending money. He’s determined to make sure neither Darry nor Ponyboy ever find out

-Wishes he was a bit more like either of his brothers, because even though he loves them more than anything, they have more in common with each other than they willl ever have with him and sometimes he feels like the odd man out in his own family, especially now his mom and dad are gone

-Had asthma as a kid but he grew out of it by the time he turned 10

[mechalily]

LYNEY, LYNETTE, FREMINET × YOU, THEIR BELOVED

fluff, slight mentions of stalking (?)

Lyney never repeats same tricks, always coming up with new repertoire every show. Although.. you are an exception, the only person he doesn't mind rehearsing old tricks to. If you ask Lyney to show "that one super cool thingie!!" he'll do it without a second thought. He never thinks twice when it comes to your desires.

And whenever you are feeling down, Lyney is always there for you. If there are tears rolling down your cheeks, the magician pulls a handkerchief out of thin air and whipes it away gently.

"Ma chérie, you can cry as much as needed — I am here for you, but remember: even though you are undesrcibingly beautiful, smile really adorns your face", — somehow Lyney materializes a rainbow rose out of his pocket and presents it to you.

Lynette is always observing, keeping the tiniest details in her mind. Constantly noting minor changes, paying attention to circumstances is what she must do in order to fulfill her duties to the Father. Even though it may be selfish, Lynette mostly watches over you. Your every move, every blink, every sound — you don't want to know what she has found out about your persona. She needs to know everything about you to keep you safe (yes, this includes info such as your favourite color, favourite dessert and clothes you prefer to wear. Trust her!). Lynette is also the first one to take congnizance of changes in you. No need to tell her you've got a new haircut, got hurt or bought new jewellery — she already knows.

Lynette also notes to herself different traits of yours. If you waste time passing some silly quizzes and receive questions such as "how do your friends perceive you?", she appears out of nowhere to think for a few minutes and then gives you a serious, honest answer.

"Lynette, which object am I?"

"Lynette, which lyric fits me the best?"

"Lynette, who am I? Soldier, poet or king?"

Young lady's patience and seriousness during answering all this questions makes you melt.

Freminet's top priority is your well-being. He does everything to lessen your burden, spends days and nights trying to invent mechanisms which decrease the time you spend doing chores.

Too tired to cook? Freminet will most definitely construct some sort of automated pot: put the ingredients inside, and the dish will cook itself.

Lazy to do the laundry? Here, have this brand-new machine he absolutely-did-not-create-just-for-you. If the problems you are facing are common for Teyvat inhabitants due to its level of development, Freminet is going to outpace entire humanity and create 21st-century technologies, not even realizing the impact he'd made.

Because of his overthinking nature, Freminet plans everything 10 steps ahead. He checks the weather forecast everyday just to know if you need an umbrella or sunglasses today. Despite being extremely socially awkward, this precious boy asks if the dish contains foods that may cause your allergic reactions. He overcomes himself for you.

[stxrmylxve]

*SMUT Jjk request*

What about,

After your shower, you decide to wear your favorite Satoru's boxers and shirt. - cuz it's confortable and you love being in your boyfriend's clothes yk - Doing your normal stuff in the house, and all eyes on you, he suddenly ask to eat you out.

The following is up to you ;)

Hope it's an idea that inspires you, and hope you have/had a good day !!

You sighed to yourself, glancing over your figure momentarily in the mirror before slipping on some clothes. Though they didn't match, Gojo's blue t-shirt mixed with a pair of red boxers really hit the mark as far as comfort.

No one came around at this hour, anyways. There wasn't even a speck of light outside yet.

You sighed as you looked at your room, it was a mess. You pinched your temple as you threw your clothes into a forming pile, scooping it all up and throwing it elsewhere. You busied yourself with a small bit of dusting and tidying up, not realizing that your boyfriend had come into the room an unusual amount of times.

You let out a satisfied huff as you looked over the room, smiling at your work. It looked a ton better!

You picked up the clothes that you had discarded earlier in the corner, turning to walk out of the door of the bedroom, yet instead running into Gojo's chest.

"Oh- hi boo" you greet him as he awkwardly offers a small 'hi' back, picking up a stray sock and placing it on top of your pile before slipping past you.

You cock an eyebrow at the gesture yet think nothing of it, venturing off to the laundry room to start on that. You set the laundry down, open the door and take out the clean laundry, and place it in the basket to move later, bending over to grab the other basket to load the dirty clothes in next.

You load the laundry into the washing machine, setting the timer and such as it springs to life. You reach for the clean basket as it was taken for you, the taller man leaning over you and allowing his crystal blue eyes to rack over your figure freely.

"You gonna' move and put those up or..?" you questions, shooting him a confused look.

"I will if we make a deal." he replies, quirking his eyebrow.

"To fold and put up laundry? Seriously? I'll just do it myself then-"

"Let me eat you out and I will do the rest of your chores." he butts in, making you halt your movements as your eyes met his clouded ones.

"...Why so sudden?" you ask, not giving his a definitive answer as you avoid his gaze.

"Will you let me? It's a good offer, is it not?" he ignores the remark, not daring to break the eye contact as you shrunk under his gaze.

You pondered it for a minute. It was tempting; no chores and you would get satisfied? There had to be some sort of trick in there...

"What's the catch?" you ask, pawing at his shirt as he grinned.

"Nothing at all. I've been eating your little figure and my outfit up all day, that's all." gojo replies as he lifts the basket up, allowing you to lead the way with your red face to the bedroom.

"Your call, hun" he yells as he leans against the counter.

"You have 5 minutes if you want it that badly!" you yell as you pat off into your bedroom with a giggle.

There was no way he could do that in 5 minutes... right???

Yet... 4 minutes and 38 seconds later, he showed up at the door with a devilish smile.

[nightfallgame]

SHORT — 712 (01)

Originally Written: 07-15-20

Prompt: Imagine that 712 is "discarded" from Blight. He sort of just consigns himself to death, I presume. If you picked him up and began to fuss over him, nursing him back to health and whatnot, what would he do? Is he the kind of "tool" that feels uneasy/uncomfortable when not given orders? Or is he just blankly receiving the attention? How would he react to being treated like a beloved pet? How would he answer questions like, "What do you want for dinner?" Or "What's your favorite color?"

712 lives in a house now. 

Blight discarded him. He failed in a mission. He was hurt. And failure isn't accepted in a place like Blight, so there was no need to keep the one who'd made a mistake around. 

712 had wound up on the streets, alone. He'd sat down beside a dumpster, curled up on himself, and sat there for a good couple of days. It rained a couple of times, and he was cold and uncomfortable, but waiting for someone to find him and kill him seemed like the best option for a lot of reasons. There had to be a lot of people who wanted revenge. 

But you'd found him instead. You'd knelt down in front of him, told him to take your hand, and made him stand up and follow you home. After maybe three days on his own, the orders were a relief. At least he knew what to do now. 

You made him hold your umbrella all the way back to your home. 

Now, 712 lives with you. He has a bed, a room, and 'permission' to do what he sees fit. What 712 deems appropriate is making himself as useful to you as possible. 

He's learned how to do chores. He's still not very good at them— holding a kitchen knife is very different from holding the stabbing kind—, but he's trying his best. He's learned how to cook (sort of), clean (not very well), and do laundry (the machines still confuse him). 

You joke that he's your housewife now. You say that you're always happy to come home to him. 712 never knows how to respond to those things. 

You pet his hair. You bandage his wounds. You look after him in a way that reminds 712 of how regular people are supposed to treat animals that they're fond of. There are lots of times when you call him cute, kiss his forehead, or run your fingers through his hair. The affection makes 712 feel a little bit like he's going to melt, but he thinks he likes it. It's hard to say, when it's something he's never had before. 

When 'liking' things is a concept he's never had before. 

712 cooks you dinner every night. It's always simple food— he doesn't know any better yet—, but you're happy about it nonetheless. You even let him eat as much as he wants of what he makes, which is something taht 712 is very grateful for. 

Tonight, it's macaroni and cheese. He places a bowl of it down in front of you, then a smaller one at his own place, right across from you. You asked him what he wanted for dinner and told him that he could make anything he wanted to. 712 didn't know how to answer that question (want), so you'd chosen for him in the end. 

All he knew is that he wanted something warm. 

"Have you had a good day?" you ask him. 

"There have been no problems," 712 answers. He knows that's not exactly what you're wanting, but good is still something that he struggles to quantify. 

"Mm, that's good. Have you been happy?"

"I... I don't know how to answer that, ma'am."

"That's okay. You don't have to. I'm going to ask you some questions now, okay? You try your best to answer, but if you can't, I won't be mad." You say it easily, like 712 failing is no issue at all. He feels his chest tighten up. 

"Yes, ma'am."

"What's your favorite color?" 

Ah, this kind of question again.

"I don't know, ma'am."

"What food do you like?"

"Warm things, ma'am."

"Are you tired right now?"

"I'm functional, ma'am."

The questions go on for a few minutes. They're all simple. All the kind of things that a person should be able to answer. 712 hates that he's failing you. You're asking him such easy things, and the answers that he can supply are all wrong. 

Even so, you don't get angry with him. You let him give his bad answers the whole time, and just keep asking your questions calmly. By the time you're done, the macaroni is cool enough to eat. You tell 712 to do so, then take a bite of your own food. 712 obeys you. He always eats too fast, like he'll never get more, but you never mind. 

When dinner is done, 712 picks up the dishes and carries them to the sink. He'll wash those in a few minutes. You usually want him to yourself after dinner is done. 

"Come here, Seven," you tell him. 712 shivers at the nickname. 

When he's in the living room, you have him sit on your lap. He's small enough that he fits fairly well, so it's no inconvenience to you. You turn on an episode of the same show that you've watched with him every night since this routine started. 

The show is about how various things are made. The narrator has a calm, recognizable voice. 712 'zones out' to the sound of it combined with your heartbeat by his ear. 

This is... nice. Even he can understand that much. You're warm. Human contact always makes him tense up a bit, but you're easier to deal with than everyone else. He can lay with you and let himself relax, which is a very new thing indeed. You also pet his hair or rub his back more often than not, and that makes him feel even warmer. 

He could fall asleep. That kind of thing is dangerous— or at least, it should be. It never would have been acceptable for him to let his guard down so easily back at Blight. 

But you don't care a bit. You'd be happy if he let himself relax. And making you happy is the most important thing right now. His mission is to be as good for you as he possibly can be. You're the one whose orders he follows now.

[bleedingichorhearts]

𝕮𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖙𝖔𝖗 XV

𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗: They didn’t make it easy, just sayin’.

𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖌𝖊𝖉: @kit-williams, @egrets-not-regrets.

TW // Slight SMUT/NSFW, Violence, Yandere Themes?

It’s been 4 years since I found myself with my biological child. 4 years being stuck under a house filled with camera systems that I didn’t have access to. What were they expecting? A feral marine to just slam through the wall?

I sighed, watching a shadow engulfing the front door from the kitchen. No doubt it being that cop and his Dark Angel checking up on us almost every day.

“I’ll get it!” Salem yelled out, already bolting for the door. His little footsteps echoing across the wooden floorboards while I took the dish rag off to my side to dry off my hands. Making my way towards the door myself.

“Clyde! Dacre!” My son squealed, being picked up by Clyde as he spun him around. Both of them laughing together before Clyde settled him on his hip.

“Are you causing your mother some trouble?” Clyde questioned, only walking further through the house when I nodded to them that it was okay.

“Never! I’m a good man!” Salem yelled, looking very proud of himself.

“Man? Since when?” Clyde asked, turning his head toward me. His pure blue eyes always capturing my attention.

“I may have praised him for helping me out with some ‘heavy’ chores.” I said, throwing the dishrag back into the sink from the hallway.

“Yeah! And they were heavy!” Salem explained, throwing his arms out as Clyde led the small group into the living room.

Plopping myself down onto the L-shaped sofa. Dacre sat himself besides me, making the sofa bounce a little as he rumbled. If I didn’t have Astartes sized furniture, I’m sure the sofa would have snapped in half with the added weight of his armor.

“How’s your mother doing anyway? I haven’t heard from her in quite a while.” Clyde questioned, looking over at me once more as Salem wiggled out of his hold.

“She is the best!” Salem shouted, running over and jumping into my chest, snuggling into it. “She gave me gummy worms!”

“Gummy worms?”

“What? He earned it.” I said, threading my hand through Salem's white hair as he smiled up at me.

“You spoil him too much.” Clyde sighed, his tone closer to adoration.

“It’s what a mother does.” I hummed, a rhythmic ding going off. Telling me the laundry was done.

“Can’t argue with that.” He said while I kissed the top of Salem's head.

“Excuse me boys, but laundry calls.” I excused myself, pushing off the sofa and towards the laundry room.

“Clyde! Can you play with me?” I heard Salem yell out to the copper while I left the living room. A small smile growing across my face at the childness.

“Sure buddy! What do you have in mind?”

Entering the laundry room. The scent of fresh clothing greeting my nose. The washing machine singing its tune out just before the dryer.

Dragging an empty laundry basket over to the dryer. I opened it up and started to load the basket up with the warm, fresh, clean clothes before pushing it out of the way and taking the lint out of the dryer. Then, I shuffled over to open up the washing machine and started to throw the damp clothes into the dryer. A soft thunk going off with each piece of clothing I threw in there.

Jumping in my spot, I spun around at the sound of a rumbling purr from Dacre. His hulking form leaning down a little to get through the archway.

“Dacre? Shouldn’t you be with Clyde?” I questioned, turning back to continue throwing more wet clothes into the dryer.

He purred again, his head coming forward to softly nuzzle the top of my head. Sending a twist down into my stomach that I couldn’t identify if it was ‘butterflies’ or my nerves telling me something else.

“Did you want something?” I asked, shutting the washing machine door and turning around to face him once more.

Dacre chuffs, his form practically curling over mine as he lifted me up and put me on top of the washing machine. His gauntlet taking a hold of my chin and tilted it up to him. His thin lips brushing up against mine. My stomach twisting more and more.

Shooting my hand up, I grabbed him on his gauntlet, stopping his movement. A low rumble coming from the Astartes. His russet brown eyes look down at me, questioning.

I opened my mouth, closed it then sighed. “I-I just… I don’t know. I don’t know.”

It was true, I didn’t know. This felt so right to do, but so wrong like it was unjust, cheating even.

I mean, I did have s*x with them once, but I admit, I was in a really bad spot. I haven’t had s*x in 3 long years. My fingers couldn’t keep sedating the same growing itch inside of my core for long, but f*ck was it a very pleasurable experience to have.

Dacre rumbled lowly and pressed a light kiss to my jawline then a little closer to my neck, testing what was acceptable to do and not. Not really pushing it, giving me any time to stop him; pull away from him, but I didn’t.

I let his breath fan against my cheek, sending shivers down my spine before his lips connected to mine. His tongue licking the bottom of my lips, asking if he could do more than just a sweet kiss. Opening my mouth a little, he didn’t hesitate to explore. His gauntlet coming up behind my head while I placed my hand on his chestplate, a groan leaving both of us.

“Mom! Ma!” I heard Salem call for me. My eyes widening in surprise, flickering from Dacre to the archway. His head moving back, leaving me out of breath. “Mother!”

Whipping the excess saliva off my lips, I slid off the washer. Dacre moving to the side to let me through, but before going to my sons call. I went on my tiptoes and surprised the Dark Angel with a kiss to his cheek. His eyes widening in surprise as he straightened up to his full height while I brushed past him.

“Yes, Salem?” I called back, hearing the light purr of a satisfied Astartes behind me.

“Can I have more gummy worms?” Salem asked, his tone a little suspicious.

“I don’t know. It’s nearing dinner time!” I responded, making my way to the kitchen. Spotting my child and the cop getting into mischief together. Their thieving hands in the snack cupboard.

“What are you two doing?” I asked, spooking them as they both jumped and looked behind them.

“Retreat recruit! Retreat!” Clyde yelled, picking up Salem as he squealed in delight. Taking a bag of snacks with them as they ran out the back door.

“Hey! You can’t have all of them to yourselves!” I yelled out, chasing after them.

-

I huffed, finally catching the little rascal with many, many snacks stuffed in his cheeks. Both of us sitting on the grassy ground, his deep blue eyes looking up at me with a grin on his face.

“I believe that’s enough for you tonight.” I sighed as Salem looked like a little chipmunk as he was still eating the sweets in his mouth.

Salem tried to say something, but it came out muffled. Though knowing my own child and any other child. They like to reject such an opposing statement to them.

“You finally caught the boy, huh?” Clyde wheezed, clearly underestimating what kind of speed and stamina Salem had. Especially on sugar.

“I hope you found your fun in letting him eat a bag of sweets, copper.” I grumbled, trying to get a buzzing Salem to sit still with my hold. “Before dinner too.”

“Haha, sorry?” Clyde apologized, putting his hand on his neck and leaning over, out of breath.

“Wait— Salem!” I yelled out as Salem escaped my hold, running towards the forest behind the house. “Come back!”

Pushing off the ground, I ran after Salem. His little giggles echoing through the forest. If the sun wasn’t resting, I would have thought his escapade would be fun, but since it wasn’t my worry skyrocketed.

“Salem! Please stop running!” I shouted out to him, barely keeping an eye on him as the sky got darker. The thickening of the flora not helping either. “Salem!”

Losing sight of my child. I slid to a halt in the middle of the forest and turned around in every direction he could have gone, my heart pounding in my chest. Oh, him and Clyde were not to ever touch the snack cupboard again.

“Salem!” I called out for him again. Hearing his giggles off in the distance. A shimmer of white catching my eye. “Salem! Come back–”

Choking on my own air, a low growl came next to my ear. My hands desperately trying to get a grip on this guy's armor. Gaining another low growl going through my ear, but then replaced by a quiet, reassuring purr.

“Hey there! Mind giving that child over?” I heard the voice of Clyde, my head turning to look where he was speaking from.

Clyde received a growl in return, the being behind me tensing up. Their gauntlets trying not to squeeze me like an otter popsicle.

“Come one now, don’t be like that. His mother is worried for him.” Clyde responded, shifting his weight. Was that… was that a Gray knight?

“Where is she?” The knight rumbled, his tone clarifying that he was not in the mood to play games. Yet it sent a familiar tingle down my spine. Did I know this Astartes?

“I don’t know who you’re talking about there knight.” Clyde said, shifting his weight again as the knight growled again, clearly not liking that as an answer.

“Look I just want–”

I jumped in the beings hold, my eyes widening in shock as the knight thrusted his sword through Clyde's body. His blood staining the ground behind him as he coughed. Clyde's hand coming up to grasp at the sword through his body. Slowly looking up between the sword and the knight before the knight pulled upward, splitting the man into two, bloody halves.

The being above me shook and kept squeezing their gauntlets hard enough that it formed a strong bruise on my skin before they took off with me in their arms.

“What are you doing?!” I shouted at the being, pounding back onto their armor. Catching the glimpse of the gray knights' visor looking at me. “Put me down!”

I needed my son! He can’t be in their hands!

“Let me go!” I shouted again, trying to wiggle free from his firm grip. “Put me down–!”

The world became a blur for a moment. My body suddenly slammed into the ground, a cry ripping through my throat. Searing heat going through my shoulder and leg. Metal clanking upon metal sounding out. What the hell just happened?

Trying to flip around on my stomach. I cried out again, the sudden pain making it unbearable to move, but I still tried. They were taking me away from my son.

I huffed, tears slowly flowing down my cheeks at the effort of trying to move my injured body. My eyes looking up at the scene before me as I used one on my knees and hand to support my body. Two Astartes going at one another. One of them shifting color before they were thrown into a tree, snapping it in half.

I hissed as the one who threw that other Astartes into the tree bent down to pick me up and started running again. A big headache starting to form.

“Mother?” I heard Salem faintly call out before he cried. “Mother?!”

ℕ𝕖𝕩𝕥 ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣: 𝕮𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖙𝖔𝖗 XVI

ℙ𝕣𝕖𝕧𝕚𝕠𝕦𝕤 ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣: 𝕮𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖙𝖔𝖗 XIV

ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕃𝕚𝕤𝕥: “𝕮𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖙𝖔𝖗” 𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕷𝖎𝖘𝖙

[raccoon-eyed-rebel]

Body Double

Masterlist

A/N: A little bit of friendly Sy fluff I started during a moment of struggling with some lovely Executive Dysfunction (I get that for free with my ongoing ADHD subscription 🥰🥲)

Summary: You need to clean your house, and you get a good friend to help you...

Word count: 679

@geralts-yenn @deandoesthingstome @keanureevesisbae @fvckinghenrycavill @ellethespaceunicorn @peaches1958 @sillyrabbit81 @peyton-warren @summersong69 @mayloma @livisss

“You need me to what?” Sy looks at you in surprise.

“Body double,” you say plainly, blissfully unaware that there’s nothing wrong with his hearing so much as he doesn’t have a clue what you’re talking about. “Eh. I need to get some stuff done and I... can’t...”

“So you want me to help you?” The tone in his voice suggests that he absolutely would help you, and you love him for that. But no.

“No, I don’t need you to help me. Alright, no, wait. I want you to help me, but not by actually helping me. I just need you to be there while I do the thing.”

“And why does that work?” Sy says. You feel the expression on your face change, even though you’re not sure to what, and Sy raises his hands. “Not a judgment, just trying to understand why this helps you.”

“Right. Well, having someone in my space who knows what I’m trying to get done very gently shames me into actually doing it. Also, I can talk to you, which keeps my brain occupied while my hands do the boring thing.”

“Alright,” Sy shrugs. It’s not as if you were planning on doing much other than hang out on the couch all day. Might as well straighten out a bit of your house while you’re at it… “Where do you want to start?”

“Ehh...” Decision making. Not your greatest skill. “I need to do laundry, dishes, tidy and clean the bathroom and kitchen and tidy the living room...” Fuck. Breathe. In. Out. In again. When did breathing become a chore you have to also consciously do? Shit.

“Help. Overwhelmed.” Sy immediately wraps you up in an almost bone-crushing hug that helps you settle down right away. He’s the only guy you know who’s strong enough to squeeze your soul back into your body. “Thanks.”

“Can I make a suggestion, or is that going to make you want to not do anything at all?” You’re happy to hear he remembers your memo about demand avoidance. A nod will have to do as an answer: you can’t speak yet. “Washing machine, dishes, kitchen, dryer, bathroom, living room, fold laundry. Plan?”

“Plan.”

“Alright, lead the way.”

“Did you know that emperor penguins lose up to fifty percent of their body fat during winters, and their feather density increases to compensate for that?” Sy has been sitting at the kitchen table, staring at his phone, for about an hour while you are hard at work. The dishes are done, dried and put away, and the counters are clear for the first time in months.

“I did not,” you laugh. “Keep hitting me with those, they make my brain happy.” God, you’re so glad to call this guy your friend, because he delivers way beyond what you’re asking of him. He spends the next few hours throwing random facts and trivia questions your way, and you couldn’t be happier.

“Let me buy you pizza,” you say when you’re finally done with everything. Now it’s finally time to laze around and watch movies! Sy takes the beer you’re holding up.

“No need, sugar,” he replies as if you were asking him a question. In the four years you’ve known him, this man has never allowed you to pay for a meal. Ever. It’s ridiculous.

“You helped me, you deserve pizza,” you remind him.

“I wasn’t helping you,” he shrugs. You schlump down on the couch next to him and poke him in the ribs.

“You have no idea how much you really did help me, though,” you say. “But you know what? I’ll just order a large pepperoni, and you can just take a slice when you decide you want food, after all.” Stubborn as a mule, this one. And you just know he’ll never learn.

“Alright, fine.” Sy scowls and rolls his eyes at you. “But as far as I’m concerned, we’re already square.”

“How so?” You raise your eyebrows in surprise.

“You bend over a lot when you clean, let’s leave it at that.” Unbelievable.

[skyeslittlecorner]

Hey love, I was wondering how your oc looked like and personality? Cuz I couldn’t find anything on your blog

I hope you didn't waste too much time on this, because there's really nothing to look for. Never revealed her. I can serve you with my texts, but when it comes to talking about my own OCs, I'm terrible at it-

But it seems better late than never, so meet my lady.

Huge, huuuge thanks for @katy-the-same-as-tsuki for help in design and info card (she's basically Evi's Godmother), and @vilaenor for cutest chibi fanart! 🧡 I myself cannot even hold a pencil, my tool of crime is a quill, so thanks again!!!

[For interested, more info below the cut!]

Bio

As a child, she was a ray of happiness, learning to play instruments with her flutist mother, and spent a lot of time in the forests and mountains near where she lived, camping with her father. That day, she was preparing for the first try to reach the summit of Mount Bukhsansan with her parents. Waking up early in the morning, checking her child's backpack, she was excited like never before. Until bangs and slashes rang out on the first floor. Scream, blood, police sirens. She doesn't remember much from that day, but from that moment on, everything changed.

The family friends who took care of her were lovely. They acted as if she were their niece, and she truly adored them, but the whispers full of pity and the memories mixed with nightmares made her head brain go wild. Her vigor turned into outbursts interspersed with days of stoic silence. What was going on in her mind? Even psychologists didn’t know. She aimed to find out who destroyed her life and take revenge. No more loved ones will be taken away from her.  For this purpose, she was ready to make a pact with the devil himself. 

The summit of Mount Bukhsansan isn’t the hardest to reach, but for her broken heart, it’s higher than Mount Everest. And she decided that one day she will climb it. The day, when her heart will feel light again, will be a farewell to the past and the beginning of her new life.

Personality

Strong, rational and cold as Antarctica. Like a sharp knife that always hits the target. Distant friends think of her as a machine fueled by delusions, when her loved ones suffer seeing this wounded child lose herself in her own spiral of madness.

She knows survival and self-defense very well and spends a lot of time practicing. Persistent, or rather, damn stubborn. Her trust issues and high intelligence only make it worse, because she became a master at rationalizing her illusions.

Seems to have no empathy. However, this is the result of the fact that she has been through a lot and small problems do not make an impression on her. Deep down, she understands others' emotions well, but first she would have to deal with her own.

Trivias

Worked in a small music store to earn money for criminology studies.

Her parents came to Korea from Europe, hence her tall height.

The first days in Hell were a shock, and Satan got hit in the head as soon as he got within a meter. Self-defense reflexes. He truly misses those times.

Never starts a fight on her own, has to be provoked. Unless it's Satan. His very existence is a provocation (affectionate). More like a hunter who hides and watches preys.

Meeting Andrealphus shattered her worldview. It was only when she saw their similarity that she began to question her priorities.

Her fixation on porn began when she was having a huge crisis. Filled with emptiness, she wanted to feel anything. Over time, this numbness passed (or rather she got used to it), but once she became a connoisseur, why not continue.

She would rather fix the tap than do the laundry. Just doesn't like household chores, that’s why Minhyeok was doing it.

Ending note

I tried to marry the canon with my own ideas to keep as many features from the game as possible, and at the same time give her at least some depth. Some people asked about her, so I leave it to you, feel free to do whatever you want!

[yunggoblin]

Love Bug - Dean Winchester

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Summary: Dean gets a cold and Sam doesn’t want to take care of his older brother. So it’s up to you to take care of the sick Winchester.

Warnings: Sickness, Sick!Dean Fluff

Word Count: 1,299

You sipped on your warm mug full of coffee while sitting in the kitchen. It was around six in the morning, the sun slowly rising, birds singing and the smell of your favorite coffee was in the air. The world seemed to be at peace for once, until a loud cough erupted throughout the hall. You’ve been hearing that scratchy cough all throughout the night. Sighing softly, rubbing your tired eyes. Sam walked into the kitchen looking just as tired as you, his shirt up over his nose not breathing in the air. “Kept you up too, huh?” You questioned, sipping on your morning beverage.

"Yeah." Sam sighed, grabbing the coffee pot he poured himself a cup, adding sugar and cream in it. "I say we drop Dean’s ass at a hotel until this leaves his system.” Sam said truthfully. You frowned at the youngest brother.

"Samuel, that's a rude thing to say. He’s sick, he needs sleep and support through this. Not moving around and getting out of bed.” Just as if it was ‘opposite day’, Dean shuffled his way into the kitchen wearing his black and red plaid robe and black slippers. The tip of his nose bright red and runny, pale yet clammy face, dark bags under his eyes as if he hasn’t slept in days.

"Morning.” He coughed into his arm, shuffling towards the coffee making you and Sam quickly step away.

"Dean, you need to be in bed.“ You announced.

"I’m fine.” He cleared his throat, trying to get the fluids out. “Just a cold.” He mumbled as he leaned against the counter, out of energy.

"Dean, go to bed. I’ll bring you some soup and tea.“ You snagged the coffee pot from his hand and placed it underneath the machine. Dean groaned but didn’t say another word as he shuffled back out of the kitchen, mumbling under his breath. As Dean walked out, so did Sam, making sure his older brother went back to bed.

You opened up the cabinet, going up on your tippy toes and reached up for the nearest tomato soup which was on the top shelf. Finally, your fingers wrapped around the metal can and brought it down, grabbing a pot and placing it on the stove you started up the flames letting the pot heat up and pouring the red thick liquid into the silver pot.

"Alright, I’ll be gone for a few days.” Sam announced, tossing the strap of his bag filled with clothes over his shoulder.

You gave him a smile with a small laugh, your attention going back to the soup, stirring it. “You’re really leaving because of a cold that Dean has?” You questioned.

"That is not a damn cold, he has the flu. Now, I’ll be down the road at that motel. Need anything just call.“ Sam said and left on that note. You rolled your eyes at his silliness, once the soup started to boil you poured it into a bowl. You placed a spoon in the soup and poured some orange juice into a cup, walking down the hallway towards Dean’s room in a careful manner so that you wouldn’t spill the meal.

You knocked softly and opened the door, "Hey, it’s me.” You told him and opened the door widely to see the poor male in his bed. Dean sat up as you placed the glass of orange juice on the night stand by his bed and the bowl of soup on the blanket that covered his lap. “If you need anything just text me, when your done get some sleep.” You reminded him, running your fingers through his messy hair and kissing his forehead. He really must have the flu, he was burning up.

"Thank you, Y/N.” He gave you a weak smile, like he used all of his energy just to give you a kind gesture.

"Get some rest, big guy.” You smiled and walked out of his room, shutting the door softly.

As time passed you did chores, disinfecting things to kill the virus if it was attached to anything in the bunker, doing laundry and the dishes. You put away the last plate and walked down the hallway back to Dean’s room, knocking softly. You opened up the door to see a passed out Dean stretched out on his bed. You smiled softly and tucked him in nice and tight, turning off the tv that was on a cop show and felt his forehead once again, still a bit warm. You grabbed his empty glass of juice and half way empty soup and walked out, shutting the door softly. 

As you put the wet clothes in the drier you sighed heavily, with your back aching. Today has been slow, no calls about hunts, no sign of Sam getting in trouble, no nothing. Grabbing the large blanket from the dryer, you made your way once more to Dean’s room this time he was getting dressed into new pajamas, wet hair. You realized he took a shower. “Oh hey.” Dean yawned as he crawled back into his memory foam bed. 

“Hey, I was just checking up on you.” You smiled and felt his forehead, he felt cool from the shower, he had a bit more color back into his cheeks and nose not as stuffed. “You’re looking better.” You said truthfully. “I brought you a fresh blanket, straight out of the dryer.”

“I feel better.” Dean sighed softly, snuggling down on his bed. “Thanks for not ditching me, like Sammy.” He chuckled softly. “Hmm.” He hummed as he rubbed his face against the soft plush cover, laying it out on his bed as he tossed the sickly blanket towards the hamper.

You couldn’t help but to roll your eyes and smile, of course the neat freak little brother dipped knowing there was a sickness in the bunker. “You’re welcome, sorry Sam left. He didn’t want to get sick.” You tucked Dean in about to leave but he quickly grabbed your wrist.

“No, please stay.” Dean begged, you bit your lip knowing the chances of getting sick. Dean scooted over for you to lay beside him. Sighing softly you nodded your head, climbing underneath the covers and laid down. Your back pressing up against his front. He was warm like a heating pad. He nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, his warm breath making you break out in goosebumps as it hit your skin. 

Few days later Sammy came back like he promised. “Hey man, you look good.” Sam chuckled as he hugged Dean who was drinking coffee in the kitchen.

“I'm feeling damn good.” Dean smiled and hugged his taller brother back. 

“Where’s Y/N?” Sam asked, looking around, trying to find the mother-like women. 

“I’m right here.” You sniffed, shuffling into the room with a blanket wrapped around you. “I think you got me sick.” Coughing into your fist, pulling the blanket closer to your body, shivering. 

“I’ll see you in a few days.” Sam grabbed his bag and quickly left the bunker like it was contaminated. 

Dean looked over at you, smiling softly. “Looks like I’ll be the one looking after you,” He walked towards you, kissing your heated cheeks. “Get back to bed, I’ll make you some soup.” He said softly, his hand placing against your forehead and stroking down your cheek to cup it. “My sweet little girl, sick all because of me.” Dean leaned down and pressed his full lips against your warm forehead. 

“By the way we keep kissing each other sick and all we’re never going to get this flu out of the bunker.” You teased him.

“Sick or not, I’ll never stop kissing you.” Dean hummed, leaning down and pressing his lips against your soft ones.

[papermint-airplane]

📩 Simblr question of the day: What is your favorite community lot type to build or visit? @simblr-question-of-the-day

LAUNDROMATS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Sorry got a lil overexcited there.

Laundromats, though, definitely. There's something so cozy about about them. You and the other laundromat patrons are all stuck there doing a chore nobody wants to do and you're bored, so it's the ideal place to socialize and make some friends. Also, I hate having laundry machines in Sims' houses because they just yeet their dirty clothes everywhere and then complain about dirty surroundings. 🙄 And then you have to wait 35 million years for them to collect all the piles before they can wash them. I like the idea of my Sims doing chores like that but it just becomes a chore for me. 😭 I prefer to have the option of going to a different lot, doing the chore, getting the clean clothes moodlet, and not mess with that nonsense in my Sims' houses which are already routing minefields.

As for building, I'm pretty bad at building from scratch but I will renovate a laundromat all damn day. When I was a kid, me and my mom had to go to a laundromat every Sunday, so I like trying to make them resemble the one from my memory. I like doing different types, too. High tech upscale ones, dingy grimy ones, Ikea-like ones with a food court and arcade, etc. There's a lot of variety you can do.

Oh my God why did I write so much about laundromats I am the most boring person alive holy shit

[violetsandfluff]

Laundry Day

yessss here you go, babesssss xx i actually really love this tysm for the concept!

cw: fluff. fluff. fluff. only loosely proofread.

wc: 1014

“Y/N, can you go get the other laundry basket?” Harry inquired, his voice echoing through the bleak, hollow laundry room.

“The big one or the little one?” she called back as she padded into their carpeted bedroom. Whenever Harry returned from tour, there were always loads upon loads of laundry that needed doing. On top of that, she had chosen that specific day to wash sheets, towels, and her own clothes.

“There are still more?” Harry asked disdainfully, sinking back against the wall with his legs straight out in front of him. “We’ve been doing laundry all day.”

“I know,” Y/N sighed as she appeared in the doorway, an overflowing laundry basket balanced on her hip. “But think how nice the clean sheets will feel.”

“My back hurts,” Harry complained, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “I’m all sore, Y/N.”

“We’re almost done,” she assured him. “Only two or three more loads.”

Harry let his head fall backward, hitting the wall with an unintentionally jarring thud. He winced in pain, but Y/N couldn’t help but chuckle at his alleged misery. There was no doubt in her mind that he was playing it up slightly to get out of housework.

“Up you go, Haz,” she encouraged him playfully as she knelt in front of the washing machine and began transferring its contents to the dryer. “The laundry isn’t going to flip itself.”

“I think I got a concussion,” he murmured faintly, placing his hand on his forehead for dramatic effect.

“Surely you don’t intend for me to tackle this chore alone?”

No response arose from the injured man on her floor.

Whether it was on purpose or not, Harry wasn’t sure. All he knew was that a pair of cold, soggy socks was flung at his head followed by an equally wet pair of boxers. Wordlessly, he peeled them off and tossed them into the dryer, quickly reassuming his injured persona.

Y/N turned around to inspect the accessories she had bestowed upon Harry, her eyebrows raising in surprise when she spotted them already in the dryer.

��Cheeky little bastard,” Harry tutted with a begrudging shake of his head.

Y/N laughed before turning to the washer once more, her pleasant mood quickly dissipating as she struggled to free one of Harry’s heaviest sweatshirts from the agitator despite bracing her feet against the side of the machine and clenching her jaw. She gave the garment one final tug before stepping back and throwing up her hands in surrender.

“Let me help, darling.” Harry rose to his feet, leaning into the machine with his longer body as his fingers worked to the root of the problem. The sweatshirt was loosened and released in no time, but the same couldn’t be said about him.

“Are you getting it, Haz?” Y/N inquired as she watched his body twist to liberate itself from the machine.

“I got it,” he managed, grunting as he strained to break free from whatever had caught on the collar of his t-shirt.

Just as she was about to ask another question, an aggravated fragment arose from the machine.

“I’m stuck.”

Y/N clamped a hand to her mouth to keep from giggling, but her efforts were in vain. Laughter spilled out of her like a waterfall.

Harry’s face reddened with a mix of embarrassment and strain. “Go ahead and laugh, love,” he deadpanned monotonously. “I’d laugh if I were watching you get eaten by sharks.”

“I can see the headlines already,” she cried, drawing in a shaky breath before erupting into another fit of laughter. “Harry Styles left concussed and swallowed by a washing machine in his LA home. How pathetic would that be?”

“All in the name of love.” He shook his head, his voice cracking with desperation. “My death will be remembered as slow, painful, and tragic, and really obscure.”

“Harry Styles: A Life. From headlining world tours to a fateful encounter with a washing machine. All you need to know about One Direction’s late heartthrob.”

Even Harry had to chuckle at that, momentarily forgetting his predicament.

“I don’t even want to think about the tabloids.”

“I do. Knowing them, they’d depict me as a hero.”

“You think so?”

“Sure. Make up a story of me being kidnapped by the Hobama conspiracists or something,” he shrugged, his shoulder bumping painfully against the side of the washing machine. “Care to help me escape?”

“What’s stuck? Your sleeve, your arm, your dick?”

“My collar.”

“What is it stuck on?”

“If I knew, I wouldn’t be stuck,” he reasoned.

Y/N slipped her hand into the back of his shirt, maneuvering it around the collar until she found the snag.

“Jesus, your fingers are cold!” he whined, his entire body tensing.

His collar was caught on a deep scratch in the agitator, presumably put there by coins and pens that had been carelessly forgotten about. Once she got a good angle, it didn’t take long for her to free Harry from his short-lived captivity.

He rose to his feet slowly, grimacing as he leaned from side to side to stretch. “All the blood is draining from my brain,” he said dizzily, leaning against the wall for support as his head cleared itself.

“Not even a thank you?” Y/N pouted, feigning hurt.

“Thank you,” Harry said politely.

“You forgot something.” She reached pointedly back into the infamous machine to withdraw Harry’s damp sweatshirt, whirling around and smacking it lightly against his chest.

“Ow,” he whined. “Soon my cause of death will be murder, not a washing machine!”

“Oh, Harry.” She lowered the towel. “This is ridiculous. We can fool around after we finish the laundry.”

Harry leaned forward slowly, giving her a hard peck on the cheek and swiping the sweatshirt from her hand. He swung it at her playfully a few times, letting out a triumphant whoop.

“Harry Styles dubs Y/N Y/LN his personal hero, claiming that she delivered him from sure death.”

“Easy there, Haz. Do you mind reloading the washer for me?” Y/N beckoned to the overflowing laundry basket that remained untouched in the doorway.

“Promise me this,” Harry pleaded as he ran a hand through his hair, disheveled from a day’s hard work. “If something else gets stuck, we’ll call the fire department.”

“Or the paparazzi.”

“Deal.”

Taglist: @madybeth21 @groovychaosavenue @fishingirl12 @sortingharryshairclip @mrspeacem1nusone @tenaciousperfectionunknown @cayleyhannha-blog @whitemancumslut @xxrosebunny @hsdaydreaminghaze

[blasphemecel]

sorry for not coughing up the kaiser hcs right away i live an unhappy life. here they are for your viewijg pleasure, ranging from living together to actual marriage but in no real order. sorry if my grasp of his character sucks. also long af:

- his personality stays consistent but he’s a little softer with you except during big relationship milestones. around then he kind of regresses to his meaner self cuz the weight of it all scares him. if you stick with him during these periods it helps him come to terms with how serious you two are and he softens again

- awful taste in interior design he has one of thise super beige and expensive apartments ripped out of a magazine. you reminding him he doesnt have to put on a persona around you makes things less sterile over time but when he’s having a bad day he’s taken to stress cleaning.

- does do chores and is generally very neat. more stuff in the house and not outside it. has a habit of putting the laundry in the machines but not taking it out so you end up being the one to fold clothes. he lounges on the bed while you do it though? just to tlak but he doesn’t help and he says “hush” if you bring it up

- if you talk to him while hes busy he gives uou his full attention. unnerving. like he’ll stop vacuuming entirely and look at you with eye contact every time. great multitasker otherwise

- pretry private person and not forthcoming with doubts even to you, thiugh he improves with time. very nervous when he proposed* even though he acted like there was no way you’d say no. very involved in planning and thought about this really expensive public wedding but you were like “do you even want this” and he didn’t so the wedding was a small private affair or you eloped. its his favorite day and he looks at the photos frequently

-*if you proposed instead he cries a little and says yes before you finish the question but denies vehemently after the fact. doesn’t matter if there were pics or videos he says it didnt happen

- bathroom hogger. sometimes uses all the hot water. if you complain he says you should just shower together cuz it saves water but you argue it doesn’t matter when his showers are an hour long to begin with

- touchy-feely and handsy (re: above) bit not necessary in an nsfw way. he wont admit it to you bit physically touching calms him and reminds him you’re there and real and sometimes he looks st you a little too long and gets this goofy smile. if you mention it he says he cant believe YOURE so lucky to have him as your husband. asshole

- follows you around the house and likes to be in the same room. not above following you into the bathroom

- when he wakes up is when you wake up because he doesn’t bother to be extra quiet when you’re adleep in the mornings + he often sleeps theough his own alarm so YOU have to wake him anyway

- likes to shower you in lavish gifts bc he takes pride in his ability to earn such things but doesn’t like or care much for lavish gifts in return. grows to really appreciate handmade/more thoughtful things from you and learns a craft to give them to you in return. i think he can draw well. keeps all the things he has from you on a shelf or in a box wnd looks at it from time to time

- embarrassingly brags about you to everyone especially after marriage. you’re his most valuable treasure

- attentive to detail and likes to dress you up down to accessories for events and such. kind of fussy. when he’s pleased he kisses your ring and says something lame like “perfect, darling”

Thnk you ofor returning and sharing. I can see your vision on most of these. Especially the lame ass apartment that is sooo him

[merryfortune]

DNA Evidence

Written for the Rarest of Rare Pairs Fic-a-Thon on Dreamwidth

Prompt: Any: any/any(/any+) femslash - sharing lipsticks 

Title: DNA Evidence

Ship: Chiyomaru/Masquerena

Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh! TCG

Word Count: 2,030

Rating: T

Warning: None 

Tags: Denial of Feelings, Pining, Unhygienic, Indirect Kiss

   “Again?!” Pla-Tina snapped at her.

   Chiyomaru winced but did her best not to. It didn't exactly reflect well on her if she flinched when her superior yelled at her, after all. Instead, she gingerly lifted her hand.  

   “Yes, ma'am, the target got away,” Chiyomaru suppressed a whimper and tried to talk like a soldier, “but we did collect some DNA evidence of her. Could be useful.”

   Said DNA evidence was inside the plastic baggie that Chiyomaru was holding. The item in question was a tube of lipstick, colour presently unknown but its outer shell was a muted, charcoal black with mauve linework. The brand had been scratched off by something, possibly a screw driver based on the pattern of the rivulets. It was a feeble attempt at hiding identity.

   “We have enough of that girl's detritus, rookie.” Pla-Tina snarled. “Dispose of it.”

   “Understood.” Chiyomaru chirped.

   She stashed the baggie inside of her pocket again and saluted Pla-Tina. Her heart raced. She hated being scolded (read: verbally abused) by her superiors. She really, truly, genuinely did her honest and earnest best and this was the thanks she got for it? It completely ruined her already bad mood.

   After all she was the reason the infamous I:P Masquerena had gotten away again.

   Everything with her was a fumble. There was something about her that caused plans to fail, it was as though she were a magnet for Murphy's law, turning everything she touched into a Saturday morning cartoon. Every rave against crime turned into a slapdash sprint off the edge of the nearest building's roof. Chiyomaru's memories of every twist and turn blurred until it just snowballed to get snapped at by her superior but hey. At least she had a souvenir.

   One that she was meant to throw in the trash and Chiyomaru tried. She really did.

   She got home, back to their dormitories. It felt good to be back. The familiar sight of the dark hallways and darker rooms was calming. She unlocked her room and stood in front of her waste bin. She stood in front of it and went through the mental list of what she needed to do.

Throw out the lipstick. They didn’t need it.

Have a shower. None of the rooms have ensuites though.

Rest up for a better, more refreshed mind. Just so she could do her chores tomorrow? No thanks.

   Chiyomaru sighed to herself. She drew out the bagged lipstick from her pocket. She lifted her hand. She held the baggie by the knot at the top of it. She didn’t move her arm despite willing herself to do it. Chiyomaru tried to move her muscles, inch by inch, instruction by instruction but no matter how minute the order or how she tried to will herself, she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t bring herself to do it despite her determination. 

   She tried over and over again but despite having that mental list, she didn’t have the mental fortitude to go through with it. Not one item off it.

   So, Chiyomaru gave up. Annoyed that even now, she couldn’t go through with orders like a well-oiled machine. Chiyomaru turned away from the waste bin and looked out to her room, her shoulders relaxed and she threw the lipstick baggie onto her bed. That came easy to her as she defeatedly kicked off her shoes and changed into her pyjamas. She threw her uniform onto the floor and flopped into bed face first. 

   Complete and utter full depression mode.

   For all of two minutes.

   Chiyomaru growled to herself. She couldn’t be anything but a goody-two-shoes, it seemed so she dragged herself up and tidied her room. She simply could not with the idea of having dirty laundry on the floor. No way! She bent down, picked them up, and gave them a sniff test. Ew, rank, and promptly decided they needed to go into the laundry basket so she balled them up and dunked them into her bamboo basket.

   Then she returned to bed. Angrily. In the way that only someone going through the motions of grief could be angry. She was angry at herself, angry at her boss, angry at her coworkers, but she was furious with her rival.

   Rival was, truly, the only word for I:P Masquerena.

   They seemed like they were on equal footing. They were both newcomers on the scene as newbie cat burger and fresh-faced S-Force recruit. Masquerena’s first heist had even been Chiyomaru’s first night on the job and something illicit clicked when their eyes first met and made contact. Masquerena blew a raspberry and Chiyomaru blew a gasket right back at the disrespect.

   The back and forth between them was clumsy and personal. Everything about Masquerena made Chiyomaru irate. She was silly and klutzy, made bad feline puns and was always toppling over head over heels. She was the worst thief in the world! Yet she had bested Chiyomaru - and by extension, the rest of the S-Force - every time through sheer dumb luck.

   Even tonight. Chiyomaru kept coming back to their farewell as Masquerena once again got away with a USB stick full of passwords to various museums’ security systems throughout the city, how she disappeared over the edge of the building. She was gorgeous. The way her eyes sparkled in the moonlight, the cheeky glint to her teeth as she smirked like a cat. Only to screech as she crashed into an awning below before making her inelegant getaway.

   Classic Masquerena in some ways and it was beyond irritating. She was witty but always the butt of her own joke. She was sly and flexible but a klutz. Unlucky in all the luckiest of ways. She was sweet and personable and probably could have been an influencer if she really wanted. Everything about her epitomised the city and how different it was to Chiyomaru’s country roots but it drew her in all the more.

   She wondered. If circumstances were different, could they have been friends? Surely not. Chiyomaru proudly had a stick up her bum and Masquerena was openly more free-wheeling. Instead of being beaten down at a job increasingly turned into a dead end, what if it had been school or university or literally anywhere else where they first met. Regrettably, however, Chiyomaru came to the same decision as she peered into the rabbit hole. 

   Ultimately, she was a hall monitor and Masquerena was a rebel at heart. It didn’t matter if they were playing games or committing crimes, they were a pair with irreconcilable differences.

   Everything about Masquerena got on Chiyomaru’s nerves, after all. Her shiny, glossy hair, her air-headed nature, the sound of her voice which meandered between too cute and too cacophonic. It made Chiyomaru’s heart pound the more and more she examined the gap between herself and that gosh-darn thief. 

   Chiyomaru sighed. She wanted to sleep and ideally never wake up. She could only imagine the long list of chores she would have to do, not to mention corporal punishment or extra training, additional duties which would only aim to demean her. It would be the literal worst.

   Chiyomaru closed her eyes and tried to go to sleep. She got underneath her covers, smushed her face into her pillow and tried to ignore the face of Masquerena that she kept seeing amid the phosphenes. Her bedding was thin and well-worn. The room was draughty, too. She drew her knees up to her chest and jostled her foot against something.

   Oh. That’s right. The lipstick. It was still in the bag and it was still on her bed. Why did she even throw it over here? Why couldn’t she put it in the trash where it belongs.

   Well, with it on her bed, Chiyomaru didn’t want to sleep so she pulled herself up again. She could already feel her hair sticking out at odd angles with bedhead. She leaned over herself and grabbed the lipstick. 

   She examined it through the bag. It was roughed up but to a country girl like Chiyomaru, it seemed super bougie and even taboo. Only the showgirls and theatre girls wore makeup in her village and none of them were young like her so it seemed so weirdly foreign to her. 

   Chiyomaru let her curiosity get the better of her. She shouldn’t but what did it matter? She had picked it up out of the gutter on the roof. It had slipped out of Masquerena’s back pocket when she half squatted over the edge of the building, like a superhero and making the calculations of if she should stay or if she should go. 

   Chiyomaru ripped the bag open. The plastic was tougher than she thought it would be but she was able to it and the lipstick fell out, landed in her lap, in the folds of the blanket over her. She balled up the plastic and put it in her bedside drawer. Tomorrow morning, if she could, she would put it in the bin. Like she should have already.

   Then Chiyomaru did the next step.

   She uncapped the tube of lipstick and she gave the bottom of it a swivel so the lipstick would rise up past the rim of its casing. The lipstick was kind of a shade of brown but it also reminded Chiyomaru of the colour purple. A really dusty shade of it with some nude tones mixed in. 

   She could imagine it on Masquerena’s lips. They were… cupid bow shaped. Cute and well taken care of, not dry at all like her own. Their shape was remembered by the lipstick and… experienced by Chiyomaru for the very first time as she applied it to her own.

   The feeling of the smear was alien to Chiyomaru. It was a thick texture but not chalky, it was softer than that. She sighed as she imagined it was Masquerena’s hand guiding her and that it was-

   No, that was too far.

   Chiyomaru’s ears burned and her eyes snapped open. What was she doing?! Fantasising about her foe?! How dare she. Uncalled for, unthinkable, unhygienic, even.

   But it was an indirect kiss, nonetheless.

   She couldn’t take it back, and she only made it worse as she tried to wipe it off her lips. The substance was stubborn, it turned to dusky streaks on the back of her hands as she frantically tried to deny it and the faraway kiss of Masquerena. 

   Chiyomaru’s stomach knotted and she held on tighter to the lipstick. She couldn’t throw it away, she couldn’t even fling it into the far corner of the room in disgust. She just couldn’t. Her eyes welled up with tears as she grappled with contradictory feelings.

   She wanted to do right by her village, her ideals and her convictions but this shining city that once glowed with all her hopes and dreams… It was all grime underneath. The higher the pedestal the deeper the shadow behind it, or something like that.

   The tears she shed streaked down her cheeks and Chiyomaru gritted her teeth so as to not warble like a crybaby child. She gave up. To hell with tomorrow, let it happen, she deserved it. She was far more rotten than her superiors would ever know.

   She hid under her covers and stuffed her hand, tube of lipstick and all, underneath her pillow. She smashed her face into it, trying to rub off more of the lipstick but it stayed firmly put despite what she did to it. She clenched her eyes shut tight and begged to tear ducts to freaking stop it. Amazingly, that worked. It was a shame demanding that she fall asleep didn’t, however.

   She held the lipstick harder. Until she could feel the imprint of it, and her nails, inside the palm of her hand, that she could feel how she was white knuckling it. Chiyomaru all but curled up into a ball as she wrestled with these feelings. The events of tonight replaying in her head over and over again instead of sweet dreams. 

   Until fine. She cracked. She would admit it. Chiyomaru hated her job, she hated her boss but she hated how she liked Masquerena more. 

[my-ultimate-is-ready]

from the prompt meme (if you're still doing it ofc) “i’m not wearing any underwear. thought you’d like to know." w Reyes 😈

Gabriel’s back from god-knows-where for god-also-only-knows-how-long, a pause in his suffocating schedule allowing him to spend a few luxurious days at home, so you can live like all the couples around you do. High on your priority list is doing all the laundry your washing machine can handle, catching up on all your favourite shows you swore you wouldn’t watch while he was away, and making dinner together. 

At some point in this unadorned normality, you’ve also got to go grocery shopping, and while it’s not the most riveting of things you can do together, it’s significantly less of a chore with him there. It takes inordinate amounts of fuel to keep him running; SEP created a super soldier with a super appetite. So, with Gabriel home and the fridge pitifully empty, it’s a non-negotiable addition to your day.

But what a joy it is to feel halfway ordinary, defaulting to your routine that gets interrupted every other week when he becomes a mere voice over the phone or a few lines of text in a written message. 

When he’s home, you live slowly—one day at a time.

Out of necessity, Gabriel’s efficiency is unparalleled. It doesn’t matter how organized you are when he is a master at packing and planning. It’s thanks to him that you’ve never set foot into a store without your reusable bags, and it is also thanks to him that unloading the groceries from the car to the kitchen takes a single trip.

Is any sight more touchingly domestic than him hauling several massive blue IKEA bags as though they’re precious cargo?

Going down the list that he remembered to bring—even though you wrote it, you’d forgotten about it—Gabriel ensures you’ve got all your essentials but can’t find the last ingredient you need. You know it’s crucial that when you have the chance to cook together, there’s no deviation from the recipe, no disrupting the ritual. When he suggests the pair of you should make a stop at another store, it’s not a compromise that you’re unwilling to make, but you’d much rather get back home and have him all to yourself again.

“Maybe we have some left from last time,” you say, trailing out as you scour the shelf for the third time, making a showy pretence of it.

“We don’t,” he informs with a discontented shake of his head, “I checked.”

The addendum to the shopping list was his doing, penned in at the bottom.

“Can we do without it?”

“We probably could, but do we want to? This is the question we have to ask ourselves. You know it’s not going to taste the same.”

He’s too determined for his own good sometimes.

It’s not that you want to rush him; it’s just that you know what traffic is like and how a little detour could throw the rest of your afternoon off. If you weren’t constantly picturing time dripping through the narrowest point of an hourglass, maybe you would have a single chill.

But you don’t, and Gabriel is already wise to some version of that.

Naturally, you think of a way to suggest he shuffle his priorities around and get you home without asking him to blatantly give up—because he won’t.

Beckoning him to lend you an ear with a finger, he leans down so you can whisper: “I’m not wearing any underwear. Thought you’d like to know.”

Something passes over him as he returns to his full height. Once you think he’s past replying, he speaks into a closed fist, “Holy shit.” 

“You good?” A bad question, knowing full well you’ve quietly obliterated him.

He clears his throat and assures, “Never better.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I was just thinking about how we need to home before the ice cream melts.”

“What ice cream?”

Gabriel steps away, opens the closest freezer, grabs a pint of ice cream, and adds it onto the heap in your cart. “That one.”

Then he slips behind you and helps you steer towards the checkout, whispering in your ear about how he still can’t believe the things that come out of your mouth sometimes.

[imhereforscm]

"Being so... You"

Genre: fluff

Pairing: Huedhaut × reader

Warnings: none

For the fluffbruary event (@fluffbruary )

A/N: Huedhaut doing domestic stuff >>>

Prompts: table | blush | laundry (Day 27/2024)

--------------------------------------------

"My goddess is very skilled when it comes to cooking." Huedhaut said, a soft smile across his face as he set his fork and knife down.

"Thank you." You said, the corners of your lips pulled upwards into a movement that brightened up your face, your eyes shinning as the golden light slipped inside through the window and passed the curtains. The stars of aquarius swallowed the sunlight with thirst and passion and as you stared at your boyfriend, the two halves of the constellation finally connected once again.

Huedhaut reached out across the table and took your hand in his, his thumb tracing your skin, which he'd kiss when he'd come to pick you up for a date. He sighed audibly, with a calm expression on his face, his sapphire irises dipped in tranquility.

"I wish we could stay here forever, just like this." You huffed, your shoulders slumping in defeat. "But I've got chores to do. Take the clothes out of the washing machine, tidy up the table, sweep the floors..."

"I see." He said, nodding slowly, his voice low, as to not disturb the peace of your moment. "What if I helped you today?" He suggested, staring up at you, with interest flickering in his crystalline eyes.

"With the chores, you mean?" You asked, question coloring your voice, which sounded like music to his ears.

"No, I will be pointing out the spots that you'll miss." He said and for a moment, your brain instinctively believed him.

Your face lit up and your lips quivered into a smile of supposed exasperation. "I really believed you for a second!" You chuckled.

Huedhaut laughed softly as well and gave your hand a squeeze, your heart beating steadily into a rhythm that gave you a lovestruck glow. "After all, if we're going to get married one day, I'm gonna need to do things like the humans do, don't you think?"

Your eyes dazzled for a moment, your lips parting, but no words came out.

Huedhaut smiled, affection and teasing wit colliding within his gaze. "Why so quiet? Are you not happy with that future?"

"I am!" You said, a little too abruptly and that brought a slight grin to his lips.

He raised your hand to his lips and he closed his eyes, as he placed a soft and warm kiss on your knuckles. "Don't ever stop being so..." He paused, but soon after continued, his eyes harboring in them every sweet feeling that couldn't fit into his heart. "... You."

Your eyes narrowed on him affectionately and your heart felt full and cared for. He held it in his hands and even though they were always cool, he warmed it up and kept it safe.

"So? What do I need to do?"

"Alright then," Your hand slipped away from his and you straightened your back. "could you hang the laundry outside, while I wash the dishes?"

"Of course." He said and he said it genuinely, with his full heart.

The sound of the tap's running water traveled through the halls and surpassed the walls, reaching Huedhaut's ears as he brought the basket with the wet laundry out to the balcony.

He knew what steps to take, taking clothing after clothing out of the basket and hanging it by the rope over the railing of the balcony, his manner swift and methodical.

He stopped at some point, stepping closer to the balcony door and listening to the sound of the plates clattering as you put them aside, leaving them to dry and the muffled sound of you humming a melody. He chuckled softly, the expression on his face affectionate. "If that's the future... I embrace it."

The smile refused to fade from his face as he turned his attention back towards the basket and peered inside. He reached deep into the basket and pulled out a white shirt. He unfolded it and held it up, by the shoulders. "What's with the size?" He muttered to himself, his thoughts slipping past his lips before he knew of it himself. He inspected the shirt all over and then finally brought it to his nose, taking a deep breath of its scent.

The shirt was straight out of the washer, but still. The scent that imposed over everything wasn't yours. "Is that..." He hushed, then looked through the balcony door, towards the hallway leading to the rest of the rooms. "(Name)!" He called out and listened carefully, as the tap water hushed by you halting its flow.

"Yeah?" You shouted back.

"Could you come here?"

Your footstep echoed lightly through the hallway as you went over to him. "Yes?" You said, cueing for him to talk, as you walked closer to him, coming to stand in front of him.

"Stay still for a moment." He said, face serious as he held up the shirt before your body, seeing the big difference in size and length. "So that... Is mine..." He said, his voice coming out as a whisper and blood rushed to his cheeks, warming up his skin.

A smile spread across your lips as you stared at him turn rosé. "Of course, it's yours."

He swallowed somewhat thickly and wordlessly turned his back to you, heading back to the rope with the rest of the still wet laundry.

You laughed, the sound a beautiful melody he could never deny. "You're blushing, Hue." You said and approached him once more, this time wrapping your arms around his body from behind. "I love it when you do that."

"Is this vengeance for before?" He said and you could hear the soft smile in his voice.

"No, but..." You paused, smiling slyly. "That's a good idea."

A breathy laugh left his nose and then more clear chuckles tumbled out. "What am I going to do with you? You're getting too smart." He said, his face bright, the melancholy he carried for all those years now totally gone. His heart was complete, just like his stars.