#or maybe get some job hunting done?

[crimsonblackrose]

I made my first mood board (ever) for the secret santa, and it reads like a shitpost and I love it. 😂

[skayafair]

I love Neon Frights Twyla so much. It took me some time to grow properly fond of her, but now she's THE doll. I used to want a few others but the satisfaction her different looks and styling them gives me is so much better than any other doll I have or is/has been manufactured that I've lost interest in them.

I still like my small collection, each doll has a place in my heart and a purpose (or, well, that's the way it was intended - I'm afraid Twyla snatched a few roles for herself now), I contemplated selling them and felt a sharp NO in response, so I'm not willing to part with them. I guess they'll be mostly only displayed now, even though I'm more used to playing with them - restyling, reorganizing the poses and their places on the shelf...

I wanted to take up sewing months ago - for more than a year, actually. But I barely managed just one simple and not very well-done temporary outfit before Twyla appeared. Now though... I've already made 2 outfits for her, and I'm even proud of the latter one! I want to make more though. Her image is just so vibrant and pleasant to my eyes.

I'm not sure what the exact reason is - maybe that she's made in my 2 favorite colours? Or just her overall look? No idea. I'm just happy she exists.

She's so much of a comfort doll for me that I took her on my week long trip to the countryside and was SO GLAD I did. Because everyone was nervous and snappish all the time, so I felt terrible, too, and one family member made me so angry just constantly... Then I looked at Twyla and felt much better. Aesthetic pleasure goes a long way I guess.

She sits to the left of me whenever I need to complete some tedious task that requires concentration - with my ADHD it feels like gearing up for fighting a mountain each time. But whenever I look at her, I feel more encouraged.

She watches over my sleep. My dreams are really interesting when I remember them, and I can recall just one or two really bad ones in months.

She really became my little companion.

Look at her, she's so prettyyyyy! 💜

[windupaidoneus]

in like a day or two i can get back to leveling ast thank the fucking twelve for that

[bladeofthestars]

.

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

could you maybe go more in depth about Remora!Reader and SharkMer! Price’s relationship? i find this concept really stinking cute!

yes! their relationship echoes that dynamic they had in their first meeting <3

you were quick to find your niche and price was more than happy to let you occupy that role for him.

price is routine-oriented. so if you're going to be his, you know, thing that services him--his maidservant, his little companion--it's a given to him that you'll follow the routine he sets for you.

first and foremost, you sleep next to him. it's not negotiable, and you know it. you don't sleep beside any of the other boys--not at night, anyway.

in the mornings, he's an early riser. you're not in the least (even sneaking out at night--you troublemaker), but he expects you to wake up when he does.

if you don't wake up, he rouses you. occasionally he might let you sleep in if you cuddle up to him when he tries to nudge you awake. but only a few minutes. then it's time to wake up.

you're supposed to attend to him, groom him, brush your fingers through his hands and his beard. you fetch whatever he wants fetched.

then he has you follow him on his first patrol of the morning. the reef is still dark and silent, but he wants to make sure you don't just nestle back into bed and fall asleep.

he takes the opportunity to check on everyone. Ghost is typically returning to the reef to sleep after prowling about all night. Soap is still snoozing. Gaz joins the patrol, and he usually makes a much more active and awake conversational partner than you do, so that's about when Price dismisses you.

he checks in on you later when the sun rises. that's when he goes out to hunt. you're allowed to do whatever you want, but he does like it when you insist on accompanying him further. you stick yourself to his side, tucked up under his arm.

he's a sucker for you following him around. he is the king of the reef, but when you're fussing over him and grooming him and making sure he's taken care of, he really feels like the king of the reef. he does feel, mm, a little more entitled to your time and attention than the others. he did find you, after all. you belong to him first. he just elects to share you.

still, he's a stickler about you doing your job. hence the routine.

when you're not with him, you'd better make sure to get your other chores done. 

you should certainly hope he doesn't catch you slacking off. have you cleaned? have you stretched? groomed yourself? have you checked on the boys? have you cleaned up the bed/sleeping space? have you cleaned up remnants of any fresh kills? have you played with Soap? have you played with Soap? and there's the matter of servicing the other boys.

naturally once you've attended your chores (paying rent, so to speak) you're free to do what you want. nap, hunt, pester Ghost. be pestered by Gaz. sun on the rocks.

but when you're slacking--when you're tired, restless, or inattentive--Price will know. it's like he said: you're supposed to be doing what you were made to do. you're not some kind of pet who gets to laze around, look pretty, and do nothing.

sometimes, when you're not keeping up with your workload (according to him), he gives you a hard time.

he'll call you pet (derogatory). but he knows it makes your chest flutter.

the nighttime routine starts with Price prowling the reef to collect you.

once he finds you, he collects you. ushers you into the crook of his elbow and swims off toward his cave.

it doesn't matter what you're doing, either. you might be grooming Gaz, you might be sunning, you might be eating. doesn't matter. it's time to go to bed.

it's not in your nature to protest, but he can tell if you're not ready to sleep yet. you sort of just let him pull you in that case instead of swimming with him.

and god help you if you're away from the reef for any reason. if you make Price wait up for you, he WILL punish you.

once you've been living in the reef and sleeping next to him for a few weeks, Price starts to get irritable about collecting you this way. he starts to expect you in his cave by the time he decides to turn in. you do become sort of anxious about this, unsure about when to expect him sometimes--but that's how he enjoys you. fussing over him. worrying about his opinion of you. just a little. keeps you alert.

it sort of nudges you into this pattern of behavior where, as the sun starts to set and the water gets dark, you edge closer and closer to his cave and away from the others and any ideas they might have about having you cuddle up with them instead. 

once you see him heading toward his cave, you dart inside, quickly bustling around and preparing his bedding so he can settle in on something soft. that's his favorite--having someone small and cute and cuddly to ask him about his day, worry over the nicks and cuts he got, asking if he ate well, if he's sore, if there's anything you can do...

and of course attending to his other needs at bedtime, and all that entails <3

more mer au / more Price / masterlist

[wtfsteveharrington]

love love love your writing, could you do something with luca? maybe reader gets hurt in the kitchen and he has to help her

a/n: thank you so much :’) i went a different kitchen than you meant probably but i hope u like <33

warning!! contains non-graphic mentions of accidental cuts, blood, and a physical injury.

The apartment is peaceful. Candles lit, soft music playing from a playlist you both curate, and it was pretty enough outside to leave the windows cracked open for a breeze.

You’re turning around with a stack of t-shirt’s in your arms, only half paying attention when you feel yourself bump into something that promptly shatters to the ground and disrupts the peaceful environment.

“Shit!” You both echo at the same time from being startled.

Luca’s wrapping a towel around his hand, leaving everything in the kitchen behind as he hunts you down. “Darling? What happened? Are you alright?” He took just enough time to realize that the knife had gotten him when he jumped, acknowledged he was alright, and quickly went to check on you. You’d always come on the top of his priority list.

You’re standing in a pile of glass, a deep set frown on your lips as you look around at mess made by a broken vase. “I’m fine, I’m fine. I was trying to put away our laundry and forgot I moved the vase to the edge of the dresser earlier when we were cleaning. Just caught the corner and it fell.”

Looking up at him with a little pout, “I’m sor-“

You’ve honed in on his towel wrapped hand, the hint of blood soaking through the thin material.

“Are you okay?”

“Oh, yeah. Absolutely fucked my hand.” He gives you some sort of ‘What can you do’ look while shrugging his shoulders. Luca has had his fair share of kitchen incidents and was much more accustom to injuries. It was deep enough to need stitches, just needed to be rinsed and bandaged.

You, however? Very much not used to seeing your boyfriend like this.

A gasp falls from your lips as you rush over to grab his wrist, taking a peek under the towel and wincing. “Luca!” He doesn’t have time to respond before you’re dragging him back into the kitchen to get him taken care of.

You’re standing shoulder to shoulder in front of the sink, trying to fight the urge to panic at the sight of him injured due to a mistake you made. He can see the way your face is all twisted up with concern and he hates it.

“M’alright… Done much worse to myself before. Won’t even leave a scar.” A scar? You frown more as you make sure the cut is clean and step back to go fish out the first aid kit from the bathroom.

“Stay put, please.”

Luca, a man, stands there as he’s told but does admire the sway of your ass as you barrel away. He then gets to admire the swell of your cleavage under your top and - “Shit!” He hissed out as you’re grabbing his hand again to apply a bit of ointment.

“Shoulda paid less attention to my boobs and you would have seen this coming.” You tease while trying so hard to keep the mood as light as you can muster. There was still a course of guilt running through your veins as you continue patching him up.

“I truly am fine, you know? Comes with the job territory. Won’t be the last time I get cut.” He leans in to press a tender kiss to your head and you gravitate towards the touch. You know it’s not a life or death situation but between being embarrassed over both breaking the vase and indirectly injuring Luca you were a little solemn to say the least.

“I know, just hate I caused this.” The bandaid is smoothed over his skin and you give it another once over before bringing it to your lips, kissing over the bandaid. Luca allows you to continue fretting over the injury for a moment until he’s moving his hand to cup your jaw and make look up at him.

“It was an accident, no?” You both nod. “Exactly… I’m fine, you’re fine, we’re both fine. Don’t want you beating yourself up over this.”

You take a deep breath and allow his words to sink in for a moment before nodding once again. Eyes flickering up to his before you lean in and press a tender kiss to his lips. “M’sorry you got hurt…” Another kiss. “Was kinda hot how well you handled it though.”

Luca laughs against your mouth, a wide grin on his features as he feels your anxiety finally start to settle. He steals one more kiss before stepping back to acknowledge the state of the kitchen, giving your waist a squeeze before he goes.

He glances over the cutting board that was the culprit of injury and the food that started to burn while he was tended to. Shrugging his shoulders, turning to smirk at you with pure love and devotion in his eyes.

“Fuck it, let’s go have a date night out instead.”

A hand claps against the flesh of your ass as he passes you to go get changed.

[theminecraftbee]

Etho and Grian are back at base, hysterically laughing over their achievement. Cleo sits inside, staring, as the two of them talk about getting a wither and a warden to fight, and tries to figure out what she feels about it.

In some ways it's not their fault. Task made them do it and all that. Plus--

Well, it's not like she and Etho are losing hearts anytime soon. They've both done a damn good job keeping themselves from dying. A benefit, Cleo thinks, of deciding to team with Etho this time. Between the two of them, they'll largely only do chaos they can recover from. Maybe this is their game. Maybe this time, Cleo manages to stick with someone until the very end. It looks like it. It looks like...

Grian, of course, is the confounding factor.

She wasn't going to turn him away. He needed allies. They needed someone a bit better at actually doing damage than herself or Etho. It's mutually beneficial. And, besides, he's weirdly lovable, in an inherently kind of dangerous way. A little like loving a bobcat someone had accidentally raised as a pet cat until it got a bit too big and stinky and murdery for them. Like, yeah, he shouldn't be domesticated and he's not, really, in any sense of the word, but it's a bit sad to watch him try to survive on his own now, right?

Hah. Maybe that's what Scar managed to do to him. Would explain a lot, really.

Anyway, he's her bobcat now, which is the problem.

See the thing is: Cleo understands Etho. It's why finally deciding to be partners for once felt... right. They're similar flavors of people. Scared, mostly. Survivors, but not in the 'will stab anyone' way that like, Martyn is. Loyal, although Cleo has no delusions that Etho is as loyal as she. And scared. Has she already said that? Scared. It's important to the kinds of things she and Etho are. Like... mountain lions, maybe. Mountain lions that have been around just enough people to know how dangerous they are. Like that.

God, she's only doing cat metaphors. Bdubs really is turning them all into furries.

Anyway, the point is, Grian isn't scared.

And that... terrifies her.

That's scarier than anything else. Because, see, Cleo wants to survive. But more than that, she wants her partners to survive. And she and Etho, the two of them are doing well. Better than most people. They're green and they have so many hearts.

But Grian? Grian's yellow and not afraid and goading Etho into not being afraid too. It's not their fault, exactly, Cleo thinks. They both had hard tasks. They didn't have a choice, Cleo thinks.

But. But.

She doesn't know what to do, if Etho gets convinced the humans down the mountain aren't scary. She doesn't know what to do if he gets too close. She doesn't know what to do if he gets hurt.

Because she--she doesn't think she can learn to stop being scared, anymore.

But she also doesn't know how many times her heart can stand to lose someone.

Did you know--wild cats are social? They have a reputation for being loners, but mountain lions, they're social. They don't do well being alone. They don't actually hunt solely alone. That's the important bit here. They seem independent, sure, but actually...

Anyway. This is Bdubs's fault. For making her a furry, apparently.

She watches Grian and Etho scheme together and sits back and breathes and tells herself that Etho isn't going to stop being afraid anytime soon. That if push came to shove, he, at least, would retreat back, and that maybe the two of them could convince Grian to retreat too. Safe from hunters. Safe from red.

Maybe safe from hurting each other, too.

(She's not so sure about that part.)

[gremlingottoosilly]

The only thing you want to do is... [Price x fem!Reader]

Price broke his hand on the last mission. Fortunately for him, his caretaker is just as adorable as she is eager to help him in every way.

CW and tags: Legal age gap, power imbalance, daddy kink, pervert!Price, obsessive!Price, coercion into sex, handjob (m!receiving)

Word count: 3246

This work on AO3

You’re such a sunshine, it hurts. 

John Price never considered himself to be a good man. He did what he had to do to protect his country, to ensure that big bad terrorists are kept at bay, and foreign militaries are ending up where they belong – somewhere in the ditch, with reports stating KIA an anonymous bullet drugged out of their skulls. 

His job was just that – a job, something that had to be done because he knew that someone else, someone worse, would gladly take his place in case of retirement. The captain can be considered a fucking angel compared to some people he is working with – no one would ever dare call him evil when people like Graves still exist out there, hunting for innocents. 

But you’re so fucking sweet to him, he simply can’t handle it. 

When his arm got injured, and he was forced to get on leave for at least a month – he tried to argue for something less, but Lasswell silently pointed out that he hadn’t had a break in the past five years, and she would kick him out of his own Task Force if he’d continue to refuse – he got assigned a caretaker by Kate recommendation. 

John was fully expecting some old lady, probably a retired officer or field medic. Maybe some burly man with too much time on his hands and the ability to give really nice massages under flights of bullets. Perhaps, worst case scenario, he would be assigned an actual; nurse that wouldn’t buy any of his shit – that amount of whiskey he drinks is prescribed by his therapist, smoking cigars in the apartment is a nice form of relaxation, and he actually doesn’t need help and can go in service back again less than in two weeks. 

But, the Captain got wee ol’ you, all nice and warm, and adorable, and too fucking young to have anything to do with his apartment. 

You’re nice, warm, fresh out of college, where you got some recommendations about rehabilitating veterans back into normal lives. Probably was writing a Thesis about something as dumb as “Healing PTSD through flower crowns and little touches”. You chirp your way into his heart and refuse to go out – just like Kate promised to him, you really didn’t allow him to do anything on his own. 

God, it was infuriating – how much he wanted to simply grab your shoulders and kiss you. Or kick you out and find someone else to take care of him, someone boring, someone of appropriate age. Without dumb, bright eyes and cute smiles, without enthusiasm, that can only be seen in unpaid interns and college graduates who still believe that the world is fair and nice. 

You cook his dinners and clean up his apartment – as small as it is, never having a family or any other reason to make it even slightly bigger – and you do this with such a wide smile on your face it actually makes Price question basically everything he knows about young ladies doing charity work. You must be paid triple because you fold his underwear in neat little cubes and refuse to accept his help. Always chirped something about his hand like he can’t kill a man with his teeth only. 

— I can fold my own pants, love. 

He presses his body against the doorframe of the small bathroom – looks at your ass so shamelessly bent over the washing machine. You’re folding his dried clothes, and he can only pray that you aren’t slowly resenting him for being such a disgusting old man. He knew he looked good for his age, 37 years in this world molded him into something that many young women would consider hot – even though his beard is unkept and his hair grew a bit longer since he couldn’t be arsed to do anything about it, and his dominant hand is broken. 

— We don’t want to sprain your hand even more, right? — Everythin’ is alright with my bloody hand…

— Lady Lasswell said I shouldn’t listen to you like this, sir. Sorry. 

— Little minx. 

— Me or Lady Lasswell? 

John looks at you, so eager and cheerful, and he just wants to…he can’t, of course, he stops himself before he even forms the thought because it’s dirty and you don’t deserve this, and your shy smile as you laugh softly and push the last of the laundry in the neat pile on the washing machine. 

You look too eager to please, and he has an idea – the one he will never act upon. Maybe will entertain himself later, stroking himself in some abandoned base deep in the snowy tundra, trying to remember your warmth as if a sinner like him can even comprehend your light. 

God, you got him so bad, he starts thinking about good ol’ Jesus again. You really are a side to behold, aren’t ya. 

He looks at you again – you’re so easy to please. You cook for him, the smell of home cooking that he almost forgot, all the ingredients you invited yourself to buy when he left his card for you. You didn’t think it was weird, not a single mischievous bone in your body – if anything, he was casually prompting you to go and buy yourself something nice, something as compensation for all the trouble you endured for him. 

Instead, you went out of your way to cook for him, to make him tea like he wanted it – without sugar, but with a small amount of milk poured into a cup that is probably the most expensive thing in this whole place except for his weapons. 

The problem is – John Price doesn’t really like it when people are taking care of him. Not because he is shy or insecure, god forbid, but because he knows that if a pretty young thing like you is going to show him kindness, he will take a fucking mile and make you run from him as fast as you can. He has desires, he has needs, something that pretty good girls like you should know nothing about. 

You’re so eager to please that you’ll probably jerk him off if he were to whine about his arm being broken and his inability to get himself off because of it. Which, in turn, gives him an…idea. 

Price was never a good person – he isn’t the worst guy either. He sees your reactions, that adorable heat of your face when he brushes his knuckles over your cheek in an affectionate manner. How you are biting your lips every time you have to fold his underwear, when you cook for him, and he presses his body against yours, rocking his hips just gently enough to not make his arousal obvious. John knows you like him in more ways than just one – he doubts that such a lovegirl like you would ever agree to take care of a grumpy military man like him. 

He wonders where your father is – probably out of the picture if his precious daughter is almost crying from a desire to please a guy like him. He wonders if you have a boyfriend or if you’re seeing someone else – if you’re a virgin or you already had a series of disappointing sessions with blokes that have no idea how to behave with an angel like you. 

Pretty girl like you shouldn’t be taking care of a SAS captain – did your superiors forget to tell you just how girl-hungry men like him are? That he didn’t even bother to find a wife, and the loneliness of a single life will make him fucking explode if a girl as pretty as you were in the vicinity of that perverted old dog. You must be stupid – or so insanely naive, it’s not even funny. 

He licks his lips, staring at you again. He is certainly isn’t a good guy – not the worst either, but it’s up for debate. He wants to hold you close and say all of those pretty good things he knows you want to hear. He also wants to push you as close to him as possible and just fuck that pretty girl until you’re begging for him to make you his wife. He’d always laugh at the thought of other military commanders and higher rank soldiers having sugar babies – especially the mercs and their fucking inability to keep a girl who isn’t tied to their paychecks. But now…he might just pay for your adorable pout and eagerness. 

Might make a call to that one masked arsehole and ask how the hell he keeps his questionably young wife around without breaking her legs. Visibly, at least. 

— Sir? Planet calls for Captain Price. 

You giggle when you are waving your hand around him. Shit – looks like he zoned out for a hot minute, leaving you free to stare at his face, the fantom red spreading across his skin as if he is actually embarrassed to be caught like this. He isn’t, of course, he is stronger than some girl trying to get a rise out of him. He thinks he is stronger, at least. 

You wave your hand in front of his face again, and the insects are kicking in – captain grabs your hand, not even caring that his supposed helplessness stems from the fact his dominant hand is still broken. He has no problems keeping you in place with just his left hand – and you almost look scared when you understand that you literally can’t move. 

Your innocent smile turns into a pathetic whimper when he squeezes you even more. Bruises, no doubt, are starting to form already – well, it should be your fault. Good girls are usually smarter than teasing an old dog like him, even if you’re trying to play innocence. He knows what you are. 

His future special girl that is. A wife, if he plays his cards right…and the captain was always good at poker. 

— Shite, love. Sorry. 

His smile mirrors yours – an innocent display like he didn’t almost break your wrist in his hold. He is still squeezing your hand, but not he slowly presses his lips against your knuckles – thin, dry lips gently caressing your skin in a gesture that you should never accept from a guy who kills people as a job. Who saves people, too – but a good guy with a gun is barely an upgrade from a bad one. 

He kisses your fingers and finds heaven in the feeling of your soft skin against his lips. You are certainly embarrassed, and this is exactly what he wants – an old pervert trying to get in the pants of a cute girl who just wants to take care of him without any strings attached. He just has to make this whale thing complicated, isn’t he? 

— It’s okay, sir. Just thought I lost you for a second. 

— Not a chance. 

Your smile looks a tad bit mischievous – that is, or he is simply hallucinating from painkillers he is forced to drink every morning because you refuse to let him feel pain even though he is used to it. You are acting like he is a soft doll made out of pink ribbons and soft plushes, not a seasoned soldier with his own thoughts and ideas about what he can do about your desire to please him. He might just use your eagerness – his cock has been pitching for too long without female attention, and he usually doesn’t indulge in shitty one-night stands in some sketchy pubs, but he can make an exception for now. For you. 

You smile awkwardly, still trying to get your hand out of his grasp. Little minx, teasing him like he can’t just push you on this exact washing machine and fuck you like a slut you are. Poor girl, you probably don’t even know what kind of thoughts he has in his head – even though your eyes tell him something your lips cannot articulate. 

John acts on his instincts, and they usually don’t deceive him. 

— If you want to help so badly, I can think of another way. 

— Is that so, sir? You’re going to get him in so much shit with Lasswell, he doesn’t even know how he is going to get out of it after fucking her best little protege. Would have to marry you – like it’s not his end goal, like he doesn’t want to make your care for him a tad bit more permanent. He has done so many good things for humanity, why can’t he be a bit selfish and get himself a little something to make this place feel more like home? 

He thinks of a pretty thing like you, heavy with his kids, cooking something nice and hearty in his house – not this crappy apartment, of course, he’d buy you something in the countryside, away from terrorists and public squares, with good schools and greenery all around. 

You lick your lips and tilt your head to the side. He is daydreaming again. 

— If you want to make me relax so badly, love, there is something I need help with…

Beating around the bush like this isn’t in his character – but he knows that you’re a good girl, maybe way too good and proper. He can’t just shove his dick in your hand, it would be too unpolite. 

He has to prepare you, it’s a slow sniper mission where he needs to approach you as gently and quietly as possible – he still holds your hand in his, a phantom of his lips tucked away on the softness of your skin. 

Then he places his hand on his growing erection – as awkwardly as he can operate with only using his left arm as a helper. 

Price might not be the master of espionage, but he also didn’t get his rank for not being able to do cover missions under pressuring circumstances and lie in the faces of people who trust him. Not be the best person, of course, but he gives you a choice. You have all the power now – even with his weapons safely stashed in his bedroom, he knows he won’t ever try to force you. He won’t have to. 

— Help your captain, eh? 

You’re embarrassed, shy, scared even – your hands are trembling, fingers tracing the outline of his cock with morbid curiosity he never thought he’d find this adorable. You don’t stop and don’t try to fight him – like a little animal, nervous and terrified somewhat, you’re slowly indulging yourself in something that you actually shouldn’t. 

He lets go of your hand and allows you to continue on your own – like a good girl, you only nod and slowly duck your palm in his boxers. He’d say that the way he is rock-solid just from looking at your ass and pouting on your face is weak, but he can afford to be a bit pathetic after so many weeks without the ability to jerk off. With your watchful gaze, he just couldn’t find it in his heart – or the only remaining working hand – to do something to help with his raging crush on this adorable social worker who comes to help him. 

John is many things – a war hero, war criminal, the captain, and the butcher of many who may deem his actions irredeemable. He made peace with not being the poster good guy and often dirtying his hands just to keep the world clean – and he knows that, in the end, he deserves a pretty young thing to jerk him off while he kisses your hairline and whispers sweet nothing with that beautiful accent of his. 

— This is not very… appropriate, sir.

— Bullocks, love. You’re helpin’, that’s why you’re here. 

 You’re nervous when your hand, squeezing his shaft firmly, goes up and down on his cock. You’re trying to find the rhythm in his quiet grunts and little moans, not having too much experience with pleasuring men who you like this much. It’s fear of disappointing him that makes you go wild, that approving gaze of his every time you press your soft fingers against the head of his cock and squeeze a little. 

He is throbbing in your palm, pre-cum leaking on the small of your fingers – naturally, you lick it as slowly as possible, not breaking the eye contact. 

Price moans. 

— Bloody hell, luv…so good for daddy. 

The name makes your ears burn, the desire growing in your stomach – you fight the urge to drop on your knees and take him fully in your mouth. This isn’t what he wants, you think, so you just continue to squeeze him more, making sure he is satisfied with every little movement your hand makes. You lick your lips and continue, feeble attempts at containing the rhythm with shaky fingers. 

— I just wanted to help you with your life, not…this. 

He chuckles, unharmed hand presses on the small of your back to fix you in place. You lick your lips, understanding that he is not going to let you go this easily – you don’t want to behave like this, of course, it’s against the terms of your contract and your agreement to help him without feelings attached, but he moans so deeply for you, hips are buckling to fuck the firmness of your hand like he is ready to use your moist, prepared pussy. 

God, what are you even thinking about? 

You don’t know if you should be doing this, but the captain is not letting you go – and you can’t even do anything against his wishes, can you? 

— We really shouldn’t be doing this. 

— Quiet. I’ll help you out after my hand is healed, eh? — This isn’t what I’m talking about, sir. 

— Now, let’s not use that here. I’m sir in the field, not here. 

He is manipulating you as hard as he can – he can feel the tension in your eyes and the way you’re squeezing his cock, and he wants nothing more but to simply push you harder, make you fall apart in his hold like a precious porcelain vase. You’re sensitive and shy, just perfect for a bastard like him – his only regret is that the dumb cast on his right hand won’t really allow him to relax to have sex with you properly. 

He will pay you back later – on your back, on your knees, on your tummy, moaning his name as he plunges his seed deep into you. It was about time he’d settle down with a pretty wife of his own – he can afford you, certainly. 

— I can’t call you daddy, it’s embarrassing…

Your shy words are what send him over the edge. John Price was never a good guy to begin with, but your little pleas are enough to make him cum – and it’s certainly one of the biggest sins he has ever committed. Cute girl like you shouldn’t be so embarrassed about jerking him off, but here you are. 

Your hands are covered in cum as he continues to release his seed, only sad because he wasn’t able to breed you properly – that’s the agenda for the time when he finally is freed from this dumb cast. Might just ask Lasswell for extended leave. 

— You’ll just have to get used to this, love. Not letting you go after this. 

You can only whimper when he kisses you – possessive and tender at the same time. A silent promise of making you his dumb little wife. 

[supershot73199]

Dpxdc prompt here.

Valerie goes to Gotham and gets a bat Boy/Girlfriend

So the setup for this is that Danny just got done helping the big bad bat with some big ghost themed problem. What was it? Doesn't matter but in the epic adventure that happened identities were revealed (its a good parent fentons so no adoption) and at the end Batman says "If there is anything I can do to return the favor let me know."

And Danny responds with "Actually there is something but it's something Bruce Wayne is better suited for."

Danny then goes on to explain what happened with Cujo and Valeries dad and how he's pretty sure that the way he was fired is illegal in some way. Now he's not asking for you to try to sue these guys but if Maybe you were able to offer him a job with a living wage so that Val doesn't have to stress so much since Danny can't do anything to fix this himself.

Bruce who had already planned to open some form of Wayne Tech branch in Amity to give him an excuse to be seen there if it was ever necessary just says he'll see what he can do.

So Damon Gray (also I love how he has such a similar name to a bat) gets a call from a Wayne tech hiring manager saying that they are opening a location in Amity and would like to interview him for a position. Damian gets the past the initial interview but he has to go to Gotham for a few weeks foe relevant training etc.

Obviously Valerie has to go with him so they pack up and are off on this all expenses paid trip with a bigger paycheck at the end to look forward to.

Now obviously Bruce's kids notice what is happening and after he explains that a young hero he met asked for his help in setting things right that he doesn't have the resources to do himself. Of course the kids have to meet the family that this (rather impressive from what Bruce was saying, which is not biased by him looking like he could be one of his kids no way) hero gave up a favor from the Batman for so they "just so happen" to stumble upon the two and in true batfam manner convince the tour guide to let them tag along.

Now here is where things get fun so depending on which bat you choose obviously determines who's all there as if you choose Dick then the only other bat's of that age would be young Jason and maybe Barbara if you drag her in. Now me personally I think the best choices are Damian who's not my favorite for this as I think Val would find it weird to date a guy who has such a similar name as her dad one of either Cass or Steph and while that could be fun i think the only Bat boy who as far as I'm aware has not had a badass vigilante girlfriend who can snap him like a twig so far is Duke.

Now some other reasons I think it might be fun for Duke and Val as a couple is maybe he can see the changes her red huntress suit causes to her with his powers thus leading to that initial curiosity that causes him to spend more time with her to get to the bottom of it.

Maybe she asks one of the Wayne's if they know somewhere she can get a good spar and the others sacrifice Duke as he's got the least experience under his belt (not saying he's a bad fighter but some of these bats have been fighting since before puberty) since they assume she's just a standard civi. He tries to hold back since again civi, but she knocks him on his ass before he can react before saying she probably should have mentioned being a black belt.

Just think of all the cute moments they could have together.

One interaction I thought of for after they know each other's vigilante identity and val learns Danny is why Bruce reached out to her Dad. (She knows he is Phantom in this)

"So that dork went out of his way to ask Batman for help even after I finally pulled my head out of my ass to see it wasn't his fault? Of course he still feels guilty over it, damn Martyr complex, we aren't even dating anymore!"

"You guys dated?"

"Yeah in civis while I was actively hunting him for revenge in our hero ids. Who dates a girl actively trying to kill you?!"

"Can't blame him."

"What?"

[princessbrunette]

would bountyhunter!rafe ever comfort you when you’re crying about missing home?

i feel like he’d be weirded out the first couple times but eventually it’d be normal for you to fall asleep in his arms

｡•┈🎀┈• ｡ﾟ

yeah, he acts all reluctant about it but he’s not totally emotionless or anything. there is a weight of guilt on his chest when he sees you all curled up by the window at the shitty little motel the two of you were holed up in. he’d been out to get a bottle of whisky — treating himself after all the strife he’d been putting himself through with this whole bounty hunting thing.

as soon as he arrives back into the room you jump up, like you’re scared of being caught crying. quickly, you paw at your eyes — sniffing up as much snot as you can as you face him nervously, swaying on your feet with wide eyes like you were expecting him to be furious with you. he slows his pace, eyeing you over.

“you were crying?” he asks as if it’s not obvious and you look away, swiping beneath your eye once more.

“jus’ had something in my eye.” you croak, heart pounding with the realisation that lying might just get you in more trouble. “dont be mad.” you utter quietly like a prayer.

“i’m not—” he realises he projected his voice just a tad too loud because you tense up, and he sighs— pushing his floppy hair out of his face. “i’m not mad. i just want to know why. was — was it me? did i say some dumb shit?” he approaches you carefully, holding his hands up when you cower slightly to show he comes in peace.

“no.” you shake your head quickly. the last thing you wanted to do was accuse him of anything, grateful of the fact he’d somewhat treated you fairly despite being the one to steal you from your land. “i… i feel homesick. i miss my father… and i miss the barn, and my sheep, and all my chickens. i miss my horse and the cows. i’m so far from home.” you stare out the window, fat droplets wobbling on the precipice of your eye.

rafe sighs, scratching at his cheek awkwardly — unsure of what he’s supposed to say. after all you were homesick because of him. he wasn’t supposed to like you, nor were you particularly supposed to like him — but there had been moments of comfort you’d found in eachother, oddly enough — and now he had really grown attached to you, debating marrying you to keep you for himself.

“yeah…” he drawls, nodding and staring at the back of you for a moment as he perches on the edge of the bed. “shit, look— c’mere.” he beckons, and you do so. you suppose you’re just being obedient to stay out of trouble, but it was undeniable that you craved his comfort. craved him.

he pulls you to sit on his leg, a hand supporting your back. “suppose i should apologise for all… this. i— i didn’t wanna have to take anyone okay it’s… its just my dad is a very powerful man. my whole life i’ve been second best to my sister and… i wanted to show him that i could do what he does. now i’ve done the job and — and it has these real life consequences and i don’t enjoy that trust me, but… what’s done is done. i’ve got you now. i… will get you a new barn. a better one. with more sheep and cows and shit. alright?”

maybe you were too empathetic, because in that moment for the first time you felt kind of sorry for rafe. he wasn’t as big and scary as he usually was. he actually seemed kind of lonely, and insecure. it wouldn’t undo the hurt he’s caused, the fact that it was very unlikely you’d see your father again — but it brought you some comfort to know you were hurting together. you sniffle, nodding in understanding and he sighs again, pulling you into him. “c’mon. stop that.” he jogs his leg a little, comforting you like you were a baby, the only way he knew how.

｡•┈🎀┈• ｡ﾟ

[astrophileblogs07]

Astro Observations pt.21

Back with some very random Astro observations 😁

⚫ Saturn aspecting the 7th house actually can dislike 9 to 5 jobs or corporate office jobs. They are better with freelancing. Its coz they can't take orders. Sorry not sorry. 💀(Ig that's a Saturn 7H thing 😆)

⚫ An interesting thing I observed: Among two siblings, the elder one has Leo rising which means Scorpio 4H and the younger one has Scorpio moon. And their Mom is a Scorpio moon too. She's a nice lady though but is such a control freak. (I know I am one too, but like when I met her the second time that "controlling" vibe just hit me like a big yellow school bus 🚌😭😭). That was so funny lol😂. -All the more her birthdate is a single digit 1.(these people are the alpha type, always lead and never follow and hence are dominating, one to have the last say) which is cherry on top. -She is fiercely protective of her kids. Can't emphasize enough on "fierce" part. Very strict. Rules are to be followed very religiously. {She can't stand any one of them doing anything without her knowledge. She even monitors whom they interact with what they do on their mobiles etc.(from what I suspect)} (obv Scorpio moon mom traits) (sometimes Leo moon moms too){nothing unhealthy here, just Mom's way of showing they care 😂}

⚫Saturn and Workout: -Workout 🏋️‍♀️requires CONSISTENCY. Saturn LOVES consistency. -In fact the best remedy for Saturn is sweating. JUST SWEAT by hard work. No matter what it maybe: workout, walking, jobs, cardio, sports etc. 🤸‍♀️🚴‍♀️🏋️‍♀️

⚫ Whilst on the topic of Saturn, people who follow a time table for literally everything the planet doesn't harm them much during its Dasha (even if its your worst one). I mean obviously you played by the rules 🤷‍♀️

⚫ Magha is the only nakshatra for which you don't need in depth compatibility match. They get along with everyone.

⚫Scorpio Venuses/8H Venuses are paranoid. They notice and suspect everything (sometimes things which are not there/imaginary). (For eg, me, who thinks that someone is peeping thru my curtains even when nobody is there and all my curtains cover my windows properly. 🤣).

⚫Also as a basic Scorpio Venus behavior: while writing chats/texting, I always think- "what if someone else reads it?"..so I just don't give much details in texts. (Gosh, sometimes I think somethings wrong with me 😭😭)

⚫The proven way to hurt a Leo moon: compare them with any other person and tell them that the person is wayy better in a certain thing esp if it's a triat that the Leo is proud of. 🤣 (P.S don't do that, its mean and the Leo will hunt you, which you don't want 😀.)

⚫Why do Aries moon men have a bunch of good friends for life and Aries moon women struggle with having at least one good genuine female friend for life? (I'm jealous)

⚫ Maybe its becoz they get along more with guys than gals so the girls are jealous of them...so hence no good female friends. 😢🤡 Aries moons are the best-est people for friendships you'll ever get.

⚫ People born on a Saturday look melancholic.

⚫ You can NEVER mislead a Leo rising. They study litreally everything: what you say what you do, and why you do so. Similar to Scorpios

⚫If you see a person having graceful and "royal" way of walking or behaving, they're are sure shot to have a Magha Ascendant.

⚫Connecting the dots here: as I said in one of my previous posts that Maghas get framed even when they have done nothing, what I interpreted is that Maghas are actually the definition of royalty. They literally have that ✨grace✨, that kinda magnanimous personality and similar struggles to a monarch. Totally King/Queen typa energy here. So with that, the usual consequences in a Kingdom is conspiracy against the king, which the Maghas face. (Enough with Maghas ig, started observing them recently so..✌🏻💀)

That's it for today, until next time! (like,comment and reblog loveliesss❤❤😘)

[punkshort]

somewhere to run | 9. three lies

Pairing: sheriff!Joel x f!reader

Chapter Summary: Joel spends his day hunting down Patrick, and both you and Joel separately come to a depressing realization.

Chapter Warnings: language, angst, references to drug use, smut (MDNI 18+)

WC: 6.2K

Series Masterlist

When you awoke the next morning, eyes still closed as you stretched your arms and legs under the sheets, something seemed off. Your eyes snapped open, forgetting where you were momentarily. Glancing around, you quickly remembered the day before with a heavy heart. It had started out so perfectly, wrapped up in Joel's arms, and then everything went to shit the minute Patrick was released from jail.

The way he snarled at you when he confronted you at work was seared into your brain. The words he scrawled all over your bathroom walls were burned into the back of your eyelids. The sheer hopelessness you felt when you saw the wreckage of your little apartment still weighed heavily on your shoulders.

What were you going to do? You had some money saved up, but the damage he did to the apartment would clean you out, not to mention having to replace everything. Could you just sleep on the floor until you could afford a new mattress? Maybe you would get lucky at Goodwill and find a decent couch.

Just as you were formulating a plan to go to the dollar store for some new plates and cups, you heard soft voices and rummaging around in the kitchen below you. Glancing at the clock, you realized you had slept in a little later than you intended, so you quickly sat up and looked around.

Joel's mattress was much better than yours. It pulled you in the moment you laid down and you hardly moved an inch all night. You ran your hand over the soft, white sheets before standing up and tucking the blue comforter into the sides and fluffing the pillows, doing your best to leave it the way it was before you arrived.

The whole room smelled like him. It was overwhelming and confusing not having him there. Every time you inhaled, you expected to see him. You were grateful you were so exhausted last night, otherwise you were sure you would have tiptoed downstairs and curled up into his side.

After changing into clean clothes, you were about to head downstairs when you happened to catch your reflection in the mirror over his dresser. You yanked out your makeup bag and tried to do a quick job of covering the bruises and marks that remained. They were healing, but they were an ugly yellowish green color now, and you couldn't let Sarah know what really happened.

Once you were satisfied, you took a deep breath and swung open the door, heading down the steps. The smell of toast and the sounds of a frying pan being scraped became stronger the closer you got to the kitchen. You couldn't help but smile at the scene before you: Joel, freshly showered but still in his pajamas as he stirred eggs in a pan while Sarah hovered next to him, scolding him for letting some of the food burn.

They both whipped around when you softly cleared your throat, a small smile playing on your lips when they gave you a look like they had been caught doing something wrong.

"Mornin'," Joel said, fumbling with the burners on the stove before nudging Sarah to hand him a plate. "Wasn't sure what you liked. Eggs okay?"

"You've already done so much, you didn't have to-"

"We wanted to," Sarah said, handing you a plate of eggs and a piece of toast. You took it from her and gave her a smile before choosing a spot at their table and sitting down. Before you could even ask, Joel set down a cup of coffee in front of you with a wink.

"Sleep alright?" he asked, pulling out the chair next to you while Sarah dug into her food across the table. You noticed he chose to skip breakfast in favor of another cup of coffee and you frowned.

"Actually, yes. Thank you. I'll take the couch tonight," you said as you lifted your fork up to take your first bite. He shook his head and leaned back in his chair.

"No need. I usually end up fallin' asleep on the couch most nights, anyway," he said, then shot Sarah a look when she raised her eyebrows at him. That was the first lie he would tell that day. She grinned and ducked her head back down.

"How long will it take to fix your apartment?" she asked innocently. You froze, your fork hovering in the air, not sure what to say. Your eyes quickly shifted to Joel and he graciously stepped in.

"We'll find out more today once we get someone over there to look at it," he said, and that seemed to appease her because she nodded and pulled out her phone.

When she was distracted, Joel slipped his hand under the table to give your knee a reassuring squeeze. You glanced up at him and gave him a tight smile. Whatever this thing was between you was already getting complicated, and it had only barely been a day.

After breakfast, Joel got dressed for work while you did the dishes. Sarah sat at the kitchen island, her legs swinging off the edge of the stool as she flipped through a notebook, her eyebrows pinching together in frustration.

"Big test today?"

She glanced up at you and sighed.

"Yeah. English Lit. I love reading, but some of this stuff just goes right over my head."

"What're you being tested on?" you asked, drying the plates and leaving them in a stack on the counter when you suddenly realized you had no idea where anything went.

"The Great Gatsby. Have you ever read it?" she asked, looking up from her notebook.

"Yeah, a long time ago. I liked it. The parties and the lifestyle sounded so exciting," you replied as you began cleaning the frying pan.

"Well, I don't get it. Everyone's lying and cheating on everyone in this story and it ends in tragedy. Like, what did they think was going to happen?" she scoffed, flipping a page in her notebook.

You tried to not read too much into it, you really did. But once Joel left to take her to school, promising to return right after to take you to work since you never ended up taking your car the night before, you found yourself sitting on his bed looking around his room and wondering what did you really think was going to happen?

"Hey."

You inhaled sharply and looked at the door, surprised to find Joel leaning against it, watching you.

"Sorry. I didn't hear you come in," you said, untangling your legs from beneath you so you could gather your purse.

"Everythin' alright?" he asked softly, then stepped forward to circle his arm around your waist, pulling you close.

"Yeah. Just a lot to process," you said, allowing yourself to lean into his chest for just a minute.

"I still got guys 'round the clock lookin' for him. I'll find him, I promise," he said, kissing the top of your head. You tilted your chin up to look at him. His eyes were soft as he gazed down at you, his thumb gently rubbing against your jaw as he scanned your face, trying to figure out what else was bothering you. Before he could find out the answer, you pulled him down so your lips slotted over his own. His exhale tickled your cheek as you massaged his lips slowly, nipping at his plush bottom lip before pulling away, leaving him chasing after your mouth.

"We both have work, remember?" you said, your mouth hovering an inch over his.

"We got time," he said, dipping his head down further to graze his teeth over your throat.

You almost gave in, wanting desperately to forget all about your concerns for just a few precious moments, and then your eyes fell on the clock next to his bed, snapping you out of your trance.

"I have to be at the diner in fifteen minutes," you told him regrettably, taking a step back. He sighed and dropped his hands from your waist.

"He's my brother, y'know. I can make sure you won't get in trouble if you're late. It's one of the perks," he said, giving you a wink. You laughed and brushed past him, heading down the stairs.

"So along with eating for free every day, your girlf-"

You stopped yourself, coughing over the words and shaking your head. How could you be someone's girlfriend and also someone else's wife?

Joel said your name quietly as you shoved on your sneakers, clearly picking up on your mood shift. You forced yourself to smile when you looked up at him, pretending as though the word almost didn't slip past your lips.

"Ready?" you asked, hoping that he would just let it go.

You could tell he wanted to talk about it. You could see it all over his face. His mouth opening and closing, the gears in his head churning as he tried to come up with the right words, but failed.

"Yeah," he finally said, following you out the door.

The short drive to the diner was tense and Joel hated that he was at such a loss for words. But by the time he dropped you off, with only a quick smile and wave from you in return, he knew what he had to do to make you feel better.

When he got to the station, he threw himself into finding Patrick first, and then getting your apartment processed second. You needed to feel safe, and he would stop at nothing to make that happen.

He spent the morning speaking to everyone who had been involved in the search, triple checking their notes were correct and up to date before going back to his office to stare at the map of the county tacked up on the wall.

Patrick hadn't been to his motel room. Joel had a car parked outside his room since last night, and even if there was no activity, he made the officer report in every thirty minutes.

He sent two cars over to your apartment with his forensics specialist to take whatever evidence and photographs were needed. He also called a cleaning company, who were on standby, ready to go in right after the officers were done.

He was just making a mental note to stop by the hardware store and pick up supplies so he could try to patch the holes in your walls when he heard his calendar ping on his computer. He frowned and rounded the desk, leaning down to squint at the screen. When he read the pop up reminder, he sighed heavily. He had completely forgotten he had set up a meeting with the mayor that day to discuss the confrontation with Patrick in the bar.

Joel glanced at his watch and cursed under his breath. He had thirty minutes, but more importantly, it meant he wouldn't be able to go to the diner for lunch. He pulled out his cell phone and leaned against his desk to type out a quick text.

Joel: I forgot I have a meeting today, I won't be there for lunch. Is everything okay so far?

He tapped his foot anxiously and waited for your reply, his eyes occasionally flicking up to the map in front of him as a distraction. You were busy. He knew that you couldn't have your phone out all the time, but he had hoped he would catch you before the lunch rush.

An agonizing ten minutes later, you finally replied.

You: No problem. Yes, everything is fine.

He stared at the words on the screen, trying to read in between the lines. Was everything really fine? He couldn't help but feel like something else was going on. You promised you would try to open up and talk to him, but he was beginning to discover that it might take you some time.

Just as he was struggling to come up with something else to say, anything that might draw you out more, you sent him another text.

You: Do you think it's safe if I go get my car after work?

He chewed the inside of his cheek as he thought it over. He didn't like the idea. Your car was practically a tracking beacon, not just for Patrick, but the whole town would see you parked in his driveway. But then he decided the benefits outweighed the risks. You wanted some freedom, and he didn't want to deny you that. Besides, he was determined to find Patrick, if not today, then tomorrow. The town was small and everyone was on the look out for him now, it was only a matter of time. And the way that gossip traveled around, he wouldn't be surprised if people already knew you stayed the night at his place. He would get you back in your apartment once it was cleaned and Patrick was behind bars again.

Joel: Sure, but I'll pick you up and take you. Don't walk home.

You: Thank you :)

He smiled a bit when he saw the smiley face. It was a small gesture, but it put his mind at ease.

He glanced once more at his watch and pushed off his desk, yanking his blazer off the coat rack before warning Bobby he was heading out. Once the meeting was over, he could get back to tracking down Patrick. Maybe some distance from the station would help clear his head.

"He's pressin' charges, Joel. Got word this mornin'."

Joel sighed and squeezed the bridge of his nose.

"Yeah, Dan, I figured as much. He's got no case, I got a bar full of witnesses that'll say he came at me."

Dan Flowers, the town's mayor, had held the position for nearly twenty years. He knew the town and its people like the back of his hand, Joel being no exception.

Dan eyed him up wearily before sitting down behind his desk, the chair creaking under his weight. He had never been a small man, but even Joel couldn't help but notice the weight gain the past couple years. The buttons on his shirt were pulled so tightly he was afraid one would pop under the pressure as he readjusted in his chair.

Joel dragged his eyes up from the buttons and met his penetrating gaze. He had to assume Dan heard the rumors, but he refused to be the one to say anything first.

"Get Hank to give a state-"

"Already got it," Joel said, cutting him off.

Dan narrowed his eyes at him and laced his fingers together in front of him on the desk.

"Michelle still your lawyer?" Dan asked, and Joel's nostrils flared.

"You know she ain't," he scoffed. He knew what Dan was doing. He was trying to get under his skin. He was trying to make him talk about you.

"Okay, then we'll get you one," he said, glancing down at his desk, flipping through some papers. Joel watched him, his temper flaring low in his belly.

"What's goin' on with you and this guy's wife, Joel?"

Joel took a deep breath and hung his head, trying to keep calm. He knew it was coming, but he still had a hard time controlling his reaction.

"I've been hearin' things. Margaret's daughter, Nikki? She's tellin' some people somethin' else mighta motivated you in the bar that night."

"She's just pissed because we went on a few dates and it didn't work out," Joel gritted out.

"You sure?" Dan asked, leaning forward. When Joel took too long to reply, his gaze pinned to the floor, Dan sighed.

"Joel, I gotta level with you," he said, finally catching Joel's eye. "If somethin's goin' on, you gotta think long and hard 'bout how this'll affect not only her, but you."

Joel tensed. His gaze shifted back and forth between Dan's eyes, his mind racing. Too much was happening. Michelle, Nikki, and now you. Dan was trying to push his buttons, and it was working.

"Nothin's goin' on," he finally said. His second lie of the day.

Dan stared at him for a long moment, making Joel think he wasn't as good of a liar as he thought, or maybe he was doing a piss poor job of keeping the anger from reaching his eyes.

"Good," Dan said, leaning back and clicking his tongue against his teeth. "Because if there was, it could jeopardize this lawsuit against you. Maybe even your job."

"My job?" Joel repeated incredulously. Okay, that one he didn't see coming.

"Hypothetically, if somethin' were goin' on and this guy can prove it, you might be asked to step down," Dan said, scratching his mustache as if deep in thought. "Or at the very least, won't be able to run for re-election."

"Christ," Joel muttered under his breath before standing up from his chair. He had enough. "We done here?"

"Not tryin' to upset you, Joel," Dan replied, standing up with a grunt. "I'm tryin' to help you. You gotta see the bigger picture here. The guy's an asshole, but don't forget he's a cop. He knows the law and he's got a good lawyer. You don't wanna screw this up for either of you. Especially her."

Joel felt his stomach clench and he suddenly felt flush. He needed to get out of there. He needed a chance to think.

He managed to nod as he turned and headed towards the door, his vision narrowing the harder it became to breathe.

"I know you're used to dealin' with the locals, but this is a whole different breed," Dan said, pulling on the door and holding it open for Joel to step through. "This ain't like Marcus and one of his episodes."

"Yeah, I hear you," Joel muttered, desperate to end the conversation as quickly as possible.

In a haze, he made it back to his truck. Slamming the door angrily, he took a minute to sit in the driver's seat, breathing heavily with his forehead resting against the steering wheel. He had foolishly hoped he could keep your relationship a secret until everything blew over, but considering how fast news travelled already, it seemed like that would be impossible. What was he going to do? The thought of not being with you made him sick to his stomach, but as much as he hated to admit it, Dan was right. And deep down, he knew it all along. Carol already tried to warn him. He was quickly losing sight of the situation, his mind focused on all the wrong things.

He couldn't fuck this up. It was too important. If Patrick got away with it again, next time it could cost you your life. And as badly as he wanted you all for himself, he cared about you too much. He knew what he would have to do and was going to break his fucking heart.

On the way back to the station, Joel swung by your apartment to see where things stood. When he hopped out of his truck, he was pleased to find the cleaning service already making progress. He peeked into your bathroom and saw someone wearing earbuds scrubbing away at the walls, looking completely unphased by the filth.

"How's it goin'?" Joel asked the older man he found sweeping up the floor of your kitchen.

"Makin' good time," he said, eyes still focused on the mess before him. "Should have it done this evenin'. Place ain't that big."

Joel nodded and glanced around at your living room. He flipped the couch back over and gave it a shake. It seemed salvageable, at least, so he dragged it back to its original position in the room. He sighed and looked around at the rest of the destroyed furniture. Maybe he could ask around and see if anyone had anything you could use. He knew Tommy and Maria wouldn't have a problem letting you borrow the mattress from their spare bedroom.

It was a start.

As he headed down your stairs, he found comfort in knowing at least your apartment would be fixed for you.

Now he just needed to find Patrick.

He sat in his truck, staring out the windshield as he rubbed his thumb over his lip, lost in thought. His mind kept wandering back to you and he had to fight the swell of emotion that bubbled up when he thought about what he was going to have to do. To distract himself, he tried to focus on Patrick. Where the hell could he be? How hasn't he turned up yet?

He was about to give up and head back to the station when a thought occurred to him. It was a long shot, but he had to try.

With renewed purpose, he turned the key in the ignition and buckled his seatbelt before swinging his truck around, driving in the direction of the trailer park at the edge of town.

It wasn't a place he liked to frequent often if he could help it. It was unfortunate, but it just so happened that a few of the residents in the trailer park tended to have more overnight stays in the cells than most, and their neighbors weren't always the friendliest towards Joel as a result.

He squinted and shielded his eyes from the sun as he tried to locate the numbers on the trailers while he slowly crept down the dirt road. It had been a while, but he thought he remembered the right address.

When he pulled up to a familiar off-white double wide, he shifted his truck into park and looked around. The numbers 8667 were nailed next to the door, but one of the 6's were missing, leaving a dirty outline of the number in the paint.

Slowly, he stepped out of the truck. His gaze landed on a few neighbors peeking through their windows, their curtains ruffling closed when he made eye contact.

He swallowed and forced his feet to move. He put one foot on a rickety, wooden stair, testing it before trusting it with all his weight and knocking loudly on the front door. As he waited, he looked around, noticing a beat up old car in the little driveway next to some overflowing trash cans. He heard footsteps on the other side of the door and he turned his head towards the sound, a plume of cigarette smoke swirling around him when it opened.

"Joel?" an old woman's shaky voice said from the other side of the screen. "Lord, what'd he do now?"

"Nothin', ma'am," Joel replied with a soft chuckle. "But is he home? I gotta ask him a couple questions, he ain't in trouble," he reiterated. She sighed heavily and leaned up against the doorframe, her graying curls snagging on the splintering wood.

"Enough with that ma'am talk, told you to call me Gertie years ago," she said, flicking the ash of her lit cigarette before yelling over her shoulder. "Marcus! Get your ass out here!"

Joel heard some rustling in a room down the hall before a door creaked open.

"What, Mama?" Marcus whined, rubbing his eyes as he shuffled up the hallway. When he saw Joel standing on the front porch, he froze. "I didn't do nothin'!"

"He knows that!" Gertie scolded, blowing out one last puff of smoke before stubbing out her cigarette. "Sit down! Joel, c'mon in," she said, her voice softening when she addressed him.

Joel stepped inside, about to slide off his shoes but then thought better of it once he saw the sticky, orange carpet.

"Can I getcha anythin'?" Gertie asked, leaning up against the sofa chair where he sat.

"No thank you, ma'am, I'll be quick," he said, turning his attention back to Marcus. "You ever hear anythin' 'bout a guy named Patrick?"

You were waiting in the foyer of the diner after your shift, your eyes flicking up every time you saw a car rattle by, each time expecting to see Joel's truck. He was almost twenty minutes late and it gave you time to think. Too much time.

As far as you could tell, nobody seemed to know about the two of you, and that gave you a small bit of relief. The rainy evening he had innocently stayed overnight, the entire town seemed to know within hours. So you knew it was inevitable before word got around this time.

You wished more than anything your life wasn't so complicated. Why couldn't you just date like a normal person? Why couldn't you just be happy? How did you manage to let yourself get sucked into this shitty life with Patrick?

The guilt you felt for bringing his wrath upon this poor town was unbearable. This wasn't their fight, yet they continued to stand up for you, one by one, putting themselves in harm's way. Half of you was filled with gratitude, however the other half, the much louder half, felt like a burden.

And then there was Joel.

He was such a good man. He was willing to go to such extreme lengths to keep you safe, but all you've really done was cause more work for him. You could see the stress written all over his face, even though he tried to hide it. The muscles in his shoulders twitched and he would grind his teeth when he was anxious, thinking nobody noticed. But you noticed.

You worried about Sarah, as well. She was just a teenager. You couldn't imagine trying to navigate through the most complex years of your life while your dad dated a married woman. Her words from that morning rattled around in your head all day: everyone's lying and cheating on everyone... what did they think was going to happen? And although your situation was very different and most reasonable people wouldn't label your behavior cheating, you weren't sure someone her age would see it the same way.

Your head snapped up when you saw Joel's truck finally pull into the parking lot. You rushed out the doors, hoping nobody would notice you climbing into his car. Even if it was inevitable, you needed a break from the drama.

"Hi," you said after you quickly jumped into the truck and slammed the door. He looked at you curiously for a moment and then grinned. Despite what he knew he would have to do, he couldn't help but smile when he saw you.

"Everythin' alright?"

"Yeah, it's just-" you glanced out the window and waved your hand, not sure what to say, so you opted for deflection. "Working late?"

"Yeah, sorry," he said, shifting the truck into reverse and backing out of the parking spot. "But it's for a good reason."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yep," he said, and you took a moment to examine his face while he drove. He looked more like himself again. Less stressed.

"Well, are you gonna tell me or leave me in suspense?" you teased, and his grin widened as he stopped at a light and turned his head towards you.

"We got 'em."

Your mouth hung open in shock, his words echoing in your brain. All you've ever known was fear. You spent so much of your life lying and waiting until the next fight that you had just expected this one to end the same way as all the others: more bruises and dropped charges.

He pulled into the lot behind your apartment building and parked a few spaces away from your car as you still struggled to wrap your head around the news.

"H-how?"

"I had a hunch, it paid off," he said with a shrug as he pulled the keys from the ignition. He was about to open the door when your hand shot out to grab his arm.

"What do you mean?"

He sat back in his seat and sighed.

"I'm sure you remember Marcus?" he began, and you winced.

"Yeah, rings a bell," you said sarcastically.

"Well, it's a small town. The junkies all know each other, and I know you said Patrick used in the past, so I paid Marcus a visit. He told me where I could find him. Sent a couple of officers to the location and they found him with-"

Joel cut himself off, not sure how much to divulge, but you circled your wrist in the air, encouraging him to continue.

"With a few other users in an abandoned house on the other side of town. He was passed out cold, it was an easy arrest."

"Other users? You mean, women?" you pressed.

"Some were women, yeah," Joel admitted.

"And he's in jail?"

"Yes," Joel confirmed, nodding his head. "He'll be transferred to Austin and await trail there."

"Oh, my god," you breathed, closing your eyes and burying your face in your hands.

Joel frowned, trying to read your expression but not having much success. That is, until you flung yourself across the seat and wrapped your arms around him.

"Thank you," you said over and over into his shoulder. He was quick to return the embrace, his eyes closing as he tried to push the bigger issue from his mind. He would talk to you later. He didn't want to ruin this moment.

"There's one more thing," he murmured into your hair. You pulled back, your eyes glistening as you looked at him questioningly. "C'mon, lemme show you."

He took your hand as he led you towards the back of your apartment building, not caring if anybody saw. He wasn't sure how many moments like that he had left, and he wanted to make them all count.

When he led you into your apartment and up the stairs, you audibly gasped.

There was still work to be done. He hadn't had a chance to patch the holes in the wall, but it was clean. The words on the wall of your bathroom just a distant memory. The shattered glass and ceramic gone.

"Tommy and Maria let you borrow a mattress," he said, flicking the light on in your bedroom. "The couch was fine, and Bobby had an old kitchen table-"

You cut him off with a searing kiss, your fingers getting tangled in the curls at the base of his neck. He leaned into it, pulling you close and trying his hardest to memorize every second.

"Couldn't find a TV," he mumbled against your mouth.

"I don't care," you whispered, pressing your mouth against his with more urgency. "Thank you," you kept repeating between peppering kisses against his lips. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Your tongue flicked at his lower lip as you pulled him down closer, wanting to just melt into him, but he leaned back, breaking the kiss.

"We gotta talk," he said, his voice pained. Your eyes dropped, and even though you knew it was coming, you still felt that ache in your chest. The one that settled there whenever the other shoe dropped. That deep sadness that always simmered just below the surface.

"I know," you said softly, trying to keep the emotion from your voice, but he picked up on it. He always did. You closed your eyes and rested your forehead against his chest, feeling his heart thumping loudly just underneath. He wrapped his arms around you and squeezed, trying to find the strength to say what he needed to say.

"We can't do this anymore," you said before he could speak. Not a question, but a statement. A realization you had come to on your own, as well. He felt the tears burning in the backs of his eyes as he pulled you in closer, resting his cheek on the top of your head, trying to wrap himself around you in every possible way.

"No, we can't," he finally agreed, his voice wavering.

He heard you sniffle against his chest and when he felt the wetness from your tears seep through his dress shirt, he couldn't stop his own tears from falling and getting lost in your hair.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "Just for a little while. Just until-" He paused when your shoulders began to shudder, the force of your quiet sobs shaking your whole body. "Just until the legal shit is over and he's in jail," he managed to finish.

"Okay," you whispered back, your face still hiding against his chest. He brought his hands up to pull you back and cradle your jaw. His gaze trailed over your puffy eyes and tear streaked face as he tried to wipe them away until he realized they were his own tears falling on your cheeks.

"Nothin's gonna change," he told you, his lip trembling. "I'm still here for you. I'm still gonna see this thing through, okay?" His eyes were soft and wide as he stared at you, making sure you understood him. "You can't perjure yourself when the time comes to testify. I can't - I won't be the reason he gets away with it again."

"I know," you said, nodding your head as you gazed up at him, his hands still gripping your face.

His heart broke as he looked at you, hating more than anything that he was the cause of the pain you were feeling. He swore to himself he would never hurt you, and here he was, doing exactly that.

"Once it's all over, we'll be together," he said, leaning down to press his forehead against yours.

"You promise?"

"Yes," he said immediately, leaning down to kiss you. "I promise," he said, kissing you with a little more force. "We can still talk," another kiss. "I'm still gonna help you," he tilted his head in the other direction as he kissed you again. "Help you find a lawyer," he mumbled, his lips barely breaking contact with yours now. "We just can't-" he didn't let himself finish, his mouth crashing down on yours, your face still clutched tightly in his hands as if he were afraid to let go.

"We just can't kiss?" you asked, finishing his sentence once he gave you a chance to breathe, your chest heaving. He nodded as he backed you up towards the wall outside your bedroom, his lips never stopping, even though he knew better.

His tongue slipped past your lips, swirling around yours with urgency as your fingers fumbled with the buttons on his shirt.

"We shouldn't," he mumbled, but he dragged his mouth down your neck anyway while you shoved his shirt over his shoulders and down his arms.

"No, we shouldn't," you agreed breathlessly, tilting your head to the side, his mouth latching onto your throat, leaving a small mark that you would end up admiring in the mirror for days to come and shedding a tear when it inevitably faded away.

"It'll just make it harder," he said, his words holding no conviction, especially when his hands slid down your sides and cupped the back of your thighs, hauling you up so you had to wrap your legs around his waist as he walked you backwards towards your bed.

"I know," you whispered, your fingers getting lost in his hair. He dropped you on the bed and immediately crawled on top of you, his mouth finding yours yet again while each of you hurriedly undressed the other. "I - I need to feel you. Just one more time. Please, Joel," you whimpered, squeezing your eyes shut with a gasp when his hot, wet tongue circled your nipple.

Joel always thought of himself as a strong man, but he had his weaknesses, too. And he was quickly finding out that you were his biggest one. He could never say no to you. It was too late. He was already too far gone. All he ever wanted to do was make you happy, so that's exactly what he did.

He was already addicted to it: the way you moaned his name, the way you smelled, the way you tasted, the way you felt when you came on his cock. He would never get enough, he knew that. He also knew this would be the last time he would have you for a long time, so he did everything he could to prolong it.

You both lost count. Lost count of how many times he made you come, how many times he said I'm sorry, how many times you said each other's names, hushed little whispers muffled against skin.

But Joel had kept count of how many lies he had told that day.

Three.

The last one being the one he told himself while he held you close as you laid on your borrowed mattress together, exhausted and sore. A lie that dismissed that feeling in his chest whenever he thought of you or the butterflies he got whenever you looked at him. Because that one was a lie of necessity. A lie he told himself in order to survive the next few months without having you like this, knowing full well if he admitted the truth, he would never be able to walk out your door.

A/N: I decided to start a notification blog for anybody interested in keeping up with just fic updates - @punkshort-notifs. I will keep the tag list for this series until the end, however, because I want to make sure everyone who is following this story doesn't lose it by missing this note.

Taglist: @harriedandharassed@merz-8@sarap-77@nandan11@anoverwhelmingdin@fandomscollide@survivingandenduring@honeyedmiller@pedropascalsbbg@southernbe@pedrosfanny@gobaaby-blog-blog @eloquentdreamer @yomiyasxx @mrsparknuts@missladym1981@spacedoutdaydreamer @cosmic006533-blog @prettyinpunk85@maried01 @sunnyskyapplepie @sawymredfox@gobaaby-blog-blog@stevie75@mxtokko@sleepylunarwolf@lizzie-cakes@laurrrra@annieispunk@here4thedilfs @navystandardheatingoilcap @slugz-writes-shit@devilbat@ashleyfilm@scp116@tragerlover@iveseenstrangerthings50 @yvonneeeee @brittmb115@lulawantmula@abbysgirlll@ro-nahime-things@whxtedreams@ashhlsstuff@little-pookie@serenadingtigers@paleidiot@ashy-kit@lizlil@detectivejuliuspepperwood@buckyispunk @fckinel @sarahhxx03 @krispeenuggiez @flippittygibbitts@picketniffler

[southern-fried-simpin]

We Belong Dead| Alastor x Dead Wife!Reader

A/n: Hey everyone I know it’s been a LONG time since I’ve written something and I’m sorry it’s not DC related but I finished Hazbin with my fiancée MONTHS AGO and I’ve been wanting to write Alastor soooo bad! With all of that being said, let it be known that I do NOT condone or agree with any of the questionable actions and opinions of Vivienne Medrano, but I DO enjoy this show and a lot of the characters.

Warning(s): Floofy but suggestive, Alastor “using” reader and reader just kind of going along with it, mentions of murder, sad at first, human Alastor and reader mentioned, temporary unrequited love, Demi romantic Alastor, Alastor because he’s…Alastor, mentions of marriage, canon divergence, suicide, death, loooooong introduction and plot h🫠

“Mama, we’re gonna get married!”

Alastor had decided that you were both ready for marriage in the middle of the school yard and decided to announce this as his mother came to pick him up.

His mother feigned shock as she started to playfully chide him.

“You can’t just marry some girl you met on the first day of school!”

Alastor kept his arms around you as you both giggled and showed his mother the ribbon he had tied around your finger.

“Oh my!” She exclaimed.

“Obviously you two are very serious about this! How about we have your fiancée over for dinner after school one day so I can get to know her better, hm?”

Despite Alastor never having that wedding ceremony with you on the playground, you both remained close all the way up until you graduated high school. After that, you went your separate ways.

Several years later, when Alastor bumped into you as you were leaving the corner store one day, you ended up talking to him for hours. After which, you had started getting together more often. Eating out, going to shows, drinking and having fun together.

Somewhere along the way, however, having fun together turned into going on dates together. Going on dates turned into staying up late talking for hours about anything and everything, and lovely gifts.

One such gift being your engagement ring.

Looking back on it now, you don’t know how or why you thought it was normal for a man to propose after 6 months.

On the outside, Alastor was the husband that every woman dreamed of. He helped you clean and cook, he never raised his voice, and he always bragged about you. On the inside however, something felt stiff. Tense. Off.

Alastor rarely ever initiated kisses, he barely touched you, and he disappeared in the middle of the night rather frequently.

After he was killed, it all made sense. You weren’t his wife so much as you were his alibi. Who would have thought the vicious killer that buried his victims on a hunting ground had a wife waiting at home? A wife who, despite what everyone believed, was oblivious to his crimes. It didn’t matter, though. In a matter of days, you lost your job, your friends, and your peace of mind. In the weeks that came to pass, you slowly lost your mind and your will to live as well.

You died in your sleep after taking a cocktail of pills with a glass of brandy. The police found you in bed wearing your most expensive nightgown, your hair neatly styled, and makeup done perfectly.

Just like before, time had gone on, and your time in hell had been quite interesting. Maybe even a bit enjoyable if you were being honest. The old saying rang true: Hell truly had no fury like a woman scorned. Your arrival in Hell was a testament to that.

Armed with your broken heart and raw, stinging rage, you made a home for yourself and began your own business. Anyone who got in your way was sliced open with the very weapons you sold. You were very aware of Alastor’s presence, but made no effort to contact him. He had no idea you were here, either.

That changed a few days ago.

Who should you see while on an outing in Cannibal Town but your darling husband. He looked different, but you recognized him almost immediately. He offered to walk with you and followed you even after you declined. Every day after that, he miraculously ran into you everywhere you went. He was relentless in trying to get your attention. He would try to talk to you and when you ignored him, he would carry on speaking like it was nothing. Today you finally cracked when he invited you to come to a hotel. The Hazbin Hotel, specifically.

“Why?”

“Well, I thought I might show you this little…business venture…I’ve been working on recently! After all, it’s been awhile since I’ve seen my lovely wi-“

“Don’t call me that.” You spat.

His smile never faltered, but his eyes held a look of momentary discomfort.

“Ah, and here we are!” Alastor pointed his staff towards the building in front of you. It looked like some place from when you were alive, except old and decrepit.

Ever the gentleman, Alastor held the door for you as you walked in before he followed suit. Not 5 minutes passed before a woman with long silver hair angrily stomped in your direction.

“Alastor! Where have y-,” she paused when she noticed you by his side, “who…who the fuck is this?” A blonde was following close behind her.

“I’m glad you asked!” Alastor’s smile broadened. He proceeded to introduce you as his beloved wife to everyone in the room, and then introduced them to you, completely ignoring the looks of shock and awe on their faces. Before anyone else in the room could speak, Alastor hastily took your hand.

“Now, if you excuse us, we have some things to discuss.” With that, you and Alastor promptly dissolved into a shadowy mist.

The lobby was silent then as everyone stared at where Alastor and you once stood.

“Ssso…that was weird for everyone elsse too…right?”

Meanwhile, upstairs, Alastor turned after carefully locking the door to his room.

“Now, I suppose I owe you an explana—“, he was cut off by a resounding smack when your hand connected with his cheek. Alastor’s head turned with a sharp snap. He stood completely still there for a moment, eyes wide and smile looking painfully forced. If it had been anyone else, they would’ve been dead by now, but you? Well…he always liked how feisty you were. Alastor cleared his throat before speaking again.

“Alright…”, he said while turning to face you. “I probably deserved that…”

“You deserve a lot worse than that actually, but go on.”

“I know, and I can’t…” Alastor suddenly felt unsure of what to say. Granted, The Radio Demon was not one for heartfelt apologies (or any apologies for that matter) but if anyone deserved one from him, it was you. Yet, there he stood: the feared Radio Demon, lost for words at your mere presence.

There was a long and uncomfortable silence.

“Do you have any idea what you did to me?” You finally said. “What I suffered because of you?!”

Alastor offered no response.

“What FUCKING-“ you paused as tears began to well in your eyes. Your face red and splotchy and your lips quivering as you started to sob.

“You lied to me-“

“I did.”

“You used me!”

“I did.”

“You told me you loved me!”

“I do.”

And that gave you pause. Had he loved you? Really loved you? No. It had to be a lie. He couldn’t possibly-

“I know I can’t make up for everything I did and everything that happened…” Alastor said while walking towards you. When he stopped, just a few inches from you, you had to look up at him. Alastor was taller than you in life, but now he towered over you. He gently took your hand in his. “But I’ll spend the rest of eternity trying…for you.”

You watched as he gently kissed your fingers. With tears in your eyes and an uneven breath, you laid your head on his chest.

You missed him. You tried not to miss him, but you did and there was no use in denying it anymore.

“One chance,” you finally said. “That’s all you get.”

“That’s all I’m asking.”

You looked up at Alastor and locked eyes with him briefly. The feared Radio Demon wanted nothing more right now than a chance to have you back. His eyes flitted between your lips and your eyes before he dipped you low. To anyone else, it would be an over-the-top gesture, but to you? Oh, how his theatrics made you blush and swoon.

“So…what do you say, darling?” He leaned in closer, almost touching his forehead to yours.

“Do we have a deal?~”

You raised a brow at his words.

He chuckled then.

“Ah, I apologize for my poor choice of words. What I meant was: May I have the honor of courting you, my dear?”

Your eyes softened and you smiled up at him.

“Yes, darling.”

[nyashykyunnie]

˗ˏˋ Valentines Day Special Fic ◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚𝕊𝕦𝕟𝕘 𝕁𝕚𝕟𝕨𝕠𝕠˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

‼️[ My friend silly giving me this idea i had no other V-day special then they reminded me I'm actually a writer so O7 to u bestie ]‼️

・┆✦ Entry : 021 ✦ ┆・

╰┈➤ ❝ [ And In Those Eyes I see Heaven; My Heaven] ¡! ❞

"What? Why are you looking at me like that?" Jinwoo muses as he watches your face light up with a soft giggle.

Here he was, in front of you. Sporting a tuxedo that oh-so fits him perfectly that he looks straight of a dream with a bouquet of delicately arranged pink roses he plans to give to you.

Jinwoo had even went so far as to brush his hair neatly and maybe even wax it, making you laugh all the more uncontrollably as he tries to process what is going on exactly.

Silly.

It's so silly, really.

Back then, he was a shy boy who would stutter when he gives you your annual valentines day gift.

Jinwoo really couldn't spend too much money since he needed to save some for later expenses and academic stuff.

So instead he would resort into horribly handmade gifts

He started with the sloppiest and most crudely made paper boquets.

Jinwoo is ashamed of himself, but he couldn't take the gifts back since you would horde them to yourself for safekeeping.

His gifts would range to horribly made papercrafts, to seashells he found by the shore, to necklaces he put together by trinkets.

He would take you out to innocent dates, walking you on quiet parks of seoul. If the parks are too noisy, Jinwoo would go out of his way to search for possible date places.

Maybe it would be you two passing by supposed haunted buildings, maybe you two would be in the bookstore skimming around on the book covers and debating which book would look more fanciful to read than the other, other times he would take you to isolated cafes where only the two of you and the barista would be making noise in the soundless place.

No matter how funny and cute your valentines were, you knew, for sure— That whatever Jinwoo does is from the bottom of his heart.

He would think his efforts are stupid, but secretly that was why you loved him.

It's not because it was expected of a boyfriend, it was because he did something even if he knows he wouldn't do the best.

Jinwoo would always be trying for you, he would always be thoughtful of you, so much so that it makes your heart just cry from his sincerity.

How could someone just be so full of love? How could someone just give their hearts out like that? How is he so sincere?

Even if he were struggling with his odd jobs, even if he was silently crying behind closed doors from the stress living is causing him— Jinwoo always thought of you, he thought of how he could make you happy the next time you meet.

He thought of how he would hide his wounds and gashes from hunts just for you.

He always, always, thought of you.

But little did you knew, he had done some stuff for your attention.

He made those crude gifts because he wanted to see you make fun of him, he wanted to see you burst out laughing and gush about the little thing he made.

He took you to different places because he wanted you to see the more beautiful things of this world, he wanted to show you just how worth it living here is even if the world seems so dark and horrible.

He took you to those quiet little corners so he could hear your voice better without the background noise of anything else.

He often hides his injuries, yes, but sometimes he would purposely let those bandages get lose because he knew you would wrap it up for him. Whether you do it silently or you do it while scolding him, all he cared about, was how beautiful you are right at that moment.

Jinwoo loves you, more than you will ever know, more than any words could ever describe.

The swelling of his heart that never ends, the butterflies in his stomach that keeps fluttering around, and the galaxy he sees in your eyes— Oh how he loved you.

Even if he didn't say 'I love you' 3000' times a day, even if he couldn't give you everything back then— He loved you with all of him just as he does right if not more.

He loves subtly touching your fingers, he loves grazing his fingers on your lovely face, he loves staring at you in a complete daze, he loves running his hands through your soft hair.

Overall, he ust loved touching you and admiring you up close or from afar.

Because so long as you are in front of him, he doesn't really need to think about anything but just....

'Ah,... I love you so much'

Just how can he not spoil you no matter how much he embarasses himself?

And that same flimsy, wimpy and shy little boy, is now a man.

Dressed so handsomely in his suit, upright posture, a proud smile on his face.

This Man...

No

Your Man.

Your Sung Jinwoo

Your Jinwoo.

Not the Shadow Monarch, not the Tenth S-ranker of South Korea, not the World's Strongest hunter.

Just Jinwoo.

Your lovely, lovely, Jinwoo.

Even if he had grown so much, even if he had become so drastically different.

He is still Jinwoo.

The Jinwoo who made you crude paper flowers

The Jinwoo who dragged you into silly places

The Jinwoo who never stops at loving you.

...

"You know..." Jinwoo sighs, chuckling as he ruffles his hair to mess it up a little. "I think this version of me is better than a super formal gentleman, right?"

Yeah.

That's right.

A gentleman Jinwoo is always welcome.

But the Jinwoo who is just him is much... Much more lovable.

"Happy Valentines Day, Love."

ʚ(੭´͈ ᐜ `͈)੭ .｡✧･ﾟ: ~♡ —! stories written by kyunnie; translations, reposts, plagiarism are strictly forbidden.

[starlight-starwrites]

forehead kisses

din djarin x reader

summary: after din takes karga's offer of a cabin on nevarro, you find yourself joining the mandalorian and his adopted son on their bounty hunting adventures. or, five times you kiss the helmet and the one time you kiss him. wc: 3k warnings: some description of injuries, and my personal fave, yearning pining aching longing with heavy doses of fluff and smooching, and i revive a fan favorite character (the Razor Crest) note: banner by @janaispunk and fic written for her 1500 kisses celebration! i got the prompt forehead kisses and could not stop thinking of the potential. thank you so much for hosting this little challenge and congratulations jana!!!

The cockpit is quiet when you climb up. Din sits in the pilot’s seat, the only acknowledgment he knows you’re here is a slight turn of his head. You come to stand at his shoulder and gaze out the viewport at the expanse of stars.

“Call go well?”

“New job.”

“That’s fast,” you say. “Didn’t even get him back the last one.”

“Hot priority. Quarry is supposedly in this system.” Din relaxes back into the chair, finally turns to you. “The kid?”

“Asleep,” you answer. “Think he wore himself out with the…” you wave your hand in the mimic of the child’s magic. “He really likes playing with the new droid.”

Din grunts. “At least someone does.”

You laugh. “Be nice! R5 is very well-behaved.”

You hear his sigh through the helmet before he asks, “You don’t mind the detour?”

“No, of course not.” You lean your hip on the side of the chair, and Din’s bracer brushes your leg.

Your time spent traveling around with the Mandalorian and his adopted son has actually been some of the most relaxing bounty hunting you’ve ever done. They’re both more polite than you expected and it feels…domestic, even if the stream of gunfire and criminal cargo never stopped.

Din Djarin has been a surprise as well. What started as professional camaraderie has developed into an unspoken tenderness that puts a smile on your face and—if he ever took off the helmet to show you—maybe on his too.

“I can prep your locker and the carbon freeze. How long to the designated point?” You push off the chair where he sits.

“About an hour.” He looks up at you, reaches to squeeze your hand. “Thank you.”

You bend forward to press a quick kiss to the crown of his helm. “Don’t worry about it.”

You’re still smiling when you make it down to the hull of the Crest.

.

Nevarro was not the sort of planet you would think of as relaxing, but between Karga’s development of a well-respected port city and Din keeping one of the most quaint cabins you’ve ever visited, it has been the only place you can relax.

You carry a tin plate from the Mandalorian’s kitchen to the next room. Through the window you watch the kid wobble over the rocks to chase after a desperate frog. By now, the little critters know when he’s coming. At the table, Din sits scrolling through a datapad.

“Dinner is served,” you announce.

His visor raises to meet your gaze when you enter. “I could have gotten it.”

“I know.” You incline your head to the pad. “I had a feeling Greef got to you already. More work? We only got back this morning.” You set dinner in front of him, come around his side to look at the file over his shoulder.

“Just a side project,” he says. He closes out of the screen before you can read. “It can wait.”

“Well, well,” you say, raising your hands. “Keep your secrets then.”

He leans back in his chair to face you. “It’s not a secret.” His voice is dry, but he knows you’re teasing. “I wanted to thank you. You…saved my life today.”

“Oh, that?” It’s true. He fell off a building. You actually let him, before you remembered he wasn’t wearing his jetpack. In some odd stroke of luck you’d managed to steal some poor sod’s skyspeeder, catch the free-falling Mandalorian, and total the quarry’s speederbike in one arc with no casualties. “Hm, yes, I was thinking you should be the one serving me dinner.”

“Maybe I will.”

The way he says it catches you off guard. Your heart skips a beat.

“Next time then.” You smile, marvel at the frantic beating in your chest. Then you bump his shoulder with your hip. This time you’re bold enough to place a finger under the edge of his helmet, tilt his head a little more. You place a kiss to where his forehead would be. “Don’t worry, I’ll let you eat in peace.” You nod at the food getting cold, and leave him to do just that.

.

The hull of the Razor Crest is hard at your back. You sit on the floor, shoulder to shoulder with the Mandalorian.

“You know as much as I love the Crest…maybe it’s time to consider—”

“No.”

You sigh. The ship has landed ‘safely’ you’re glad to say. Grogu sits in Din’s lap. R5 is…a little banged up, but fine. The rest of the Crest? Complete disarray. Anything not tied down has been flung around, and there is a gaping hole across from where the four of you sit.

“She is an old ship.”

“She has seen worse.”

Sadly, you believe it. You lean closer to him, let yourself feel the relief of having made it. He leans into you, and the kid lets out a small sound like he’s disappointed too.

“Think we can find a mechanic for this one?” You raise a hand to gesture at the torn metal and frayed wires that frame the picturesque view of open fields and rock spires beyond them. Of all the places to be attacked, here is pretty nice.

You let your head fall to the side. Din shifts with a sigh, and his temple rests against yours. “We’re going to need more than a mechanic.”

You snort. After the distress of the last hour, it feels nice to sit like this. To relax. If that’s what you can call it.

You want to curl up beside him, long to know what it would be like for him to hold you. Part of you thinks he would, if you asked. But still you say nothing, content with the small doses of affection you give each other now. Closeness that is expected - known - but goes unspoken. You turn your head, and your lips brush over his helmet, just above his visor. His head stays tilted down, allowing it. He sighs when you move away.

“We should get to work.”

“Yeah.”

A tether pulls as you both stand to get things in order. Connection. Longing. You wonder if he feels it too. You brush a hand over your lips, savor the feeling of cool metal.

.

You don’t like it. Not one bit. But you understand. With every day that passed, you’ve been feeling worse—caught some bug on one of the trips you’ve made in the last week. It started with a cough, and now you can barely speak. You’re tired, and drained, but still you managed to stay on the ship with the Mandalorian. He wasn’t about to let R5 stay alone with the kid, and to be honest, you think he’s gotten used to having the backup. You have to be content he’s letting you do as much as he is.

“If they give you any trouble at the dock just send them this.” He presses something on his vambrace, and you check over codes on your datapad. You nod confirmation. “Keep the engine running. I shouldn’t be long, and if they decide they want a look at our cargo…”

You both turn to face the short line of frozen criminals.

“You’ll have to make a quick getaway.”

The problem you’ve found with working on newly established New Republic territories is the freedoms of the Outer Rim are being slowly taped over in red. Even bounty hunting hasn’t escaped the notice of the bureaucracy. Din hates it. You hate it even more. And now here he is going out alone to find a rich slimeball that likely paid his way into immunity with the New Republic officers here. Stuck sitting in the pilot’s chair was hardly helping. You nod anyway, watching as he straps on more weapons and gear discreetly into his armor. A knife slips into a hidden sheath under his chest plate. You try to be comforted that at least if he doesn’t have you, he’s well equipped.

You clear your throat, hopefully in a way that he understands your upset. You’ve mostly communicated with him about this job in a series of frowns.

He sighs. “I know.”

You huff.

“I know,” he says again.

Your shoulders slump, and you don’t know how else to tell him right now, so you tuck your pad under your arm and reach for him.

He’s slow to it, but he folds his arms around you to return your hug, awkwardly patting your back before holding you closer. You pull away after a moment, and take his helmet between the palms of your hands. You search his visor, wondering if he really does know.

His hands come under your arms to hold your elbows, thumbs rubbing in a comforting manner. You pull him toward you, rest your forehead against his.

Come back safe, you think. Come back to me.

His hands squeeze tighter. He must know. Surely, he must know.

You pull from him, but keep hold of his head and tilt. You press a kiss to where you rested your head just a moment before, willing his safety. Then you let go before you do anything else. Perhaps it’s good you lost your voice. His hands slip from you when you take a step back, though one hovers between your bodies like he’s not sure. You watch it drift down slowly.

Behind you, Grogu coos a goodbye, but you don’t take your eyes from Din. He looks down for a moment then back to you. Another beat, then he nods. You return it. He walks down the ramp of the hull, and you watch him until it closes, sealing you and the kid inside.

You press your fingers to your mouth. Come back safe.

.

Your hands shake as you pull away fabric and leather. The Mandalorian’s chest plate, marked with carbon scoring, rests on the ground beside him.

“Should have been here,” you whisper. Your voice isn’t better, but you try. You press a bandage to the wound, ignoring the way his blood sticks to your fingers.

“The kid…”

“Safe. On ship.”

Din’s hand clasps around your wrist. “They’ll find—”

You shake your head. You didn’t like it either. Your only comfort was that R5 could pilot the Razor Crest if absolutely necessary. The ship was locked and sealed tight to protect both of them while you found Din.

“I moved ship,” you croak. “They safe for now.”

You can’t see how far the wound reaches—his skin is covered in blood, soaking his clothing over his shoulder and neck. Does it go under his helmet too? Din takes your hand, halting your frantic search. You stop, eyes darting over his visor as though you’ll find answers.

“We have to go.” His voice is strained, but he is right. You can’t stay. Most of your medical supplies are stored on the Crest.

“Din…” his name is barely more than a breath through your lips. You want to say so much. Look at him, barely lucid himself, slumped and abandoned for dead when you arrived. You fear for him, even now that you are here.

“I’m…okay.” He takes his hand from yours and moves to cup your face instead. You can smell the old leather of his gloves, feel the rough patches on your cheek. But his hold is firm, grounding you back to him. “I’m okay. I just need you to help me there.” He breathes heavy, and so do you, but you can see his resolve once more. He’ll make it.

Tears spring at your eyes, and your bloodied hands grasp the sides of his helmet, mirroring how he holds you. You lean in, press a kiss to his forehead. And then another. And another. Then one more for good measure.

He has to know what he does to you. The bandage is pressed to his wound and tucked under the straps of his armor. You’ll have time to properly heal him later. He does his best to help replace his chest plate.

You take his good arm around your shoulders, wrap your arm at his waist. With your help, he stands. The coast is clear for now, and the two of you creep down the streets in the direction you hid the Crest. He follows you without question, each of you pulling the other closer at every turn—so close your shadows become one.

The image follows you all the way back to the ship—haunting you the same as the memory of cold metal against your lips.

.

The lava flats are quiet this evening. The sun sets behind a smattering of clouds, painting the sky an orange-pink you aren’t accustomed to seeing. The view from the Mandalorian’s front porch is unobstructed.

So here you sit, here you stare. You’re not sure when it happened, but it feels like home.

A steady beat of footsteps interrupts the quiet, and Din walks out of the doorway. He pauses there before crossing your view to join you on the bench. His movements are slow, and he’s not wearing his full armor where he’s covered in bandages. You sit up straight, gaze tearing from the sky to follow him. Your hand settles on his arm as he seats himself beside you.

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

“Better. Much better,” you say, eying where a bandage disappears under his helmet. “What about you? Doc still expects a full recovery?”

Din nods. “The bandages are just to protect his work. I should be able to take it off tomorrow.”

Upon your return to Nevarro, you had rushed Din to the nearest med center to fix the first aid you had attempted. Whatever device was used to cause the explosion he survived was nothing you had seen before. After a good soak in the bacta tank, some careful skin grafting, and a hefty dose of painkillers, Doc assured you the Mandalorian would be just fine.

Grogu had fussed profusely from your lap, but Din had set firm rules on when the kid was allowed to use his powers. If Din was still conscious to tell him no, then no it was.

“Starting to consider Greef’s offer? Retire as a bounty hunter, become marshal here,” you ask him gently. Karga had offered it to him before, and on several occasions. Still, your Mandalorian found himself back among the the stars. Something felt different this time. The way he settled in to his cabin, sought the comforts of home. The way he let the kid play and wander longer. “It doesn’t sound too bad.”

You filled in for the job when you were on world, worked bounties as they came in when Karga needed it. You knew he hoped Din would take the job—both of you knew he would be the best at it. After following him around the galaxy, seeing him in action, there was no way to deny it.

Din looks away from the sunset to face you. “I admit I’ve been finding more reasons to stay.” His hand takes yours. He’s not wearing his gloves. His skin is rough but warm, and you skim your thumb over his knuckles.

You don’t take your eyes from him even as you lace your fingers with his. The light from the setting sun reflects on the metal of his helmet, and it makes him look softer somehow. Perhaps it is the pink glow or, when you look him over again, you realize the only beskar he wears is his helmet.

Time slows. The moment feels frozen, the cooling evening air, the touch of Din’s shoulder to yours, the pull of your gaze to search for his. His hand reaches for the helmet, lifting it gently from his head.

You don’t move. You are not sure if you can. Lips part, breath stolen. He has tousled brown hair that falls on to his forehead, creases between his eyebrows, wide brown eyes that search yours. You follow the curve of his nose to plush lips that part just as yours do.

You feel the tether once again, pulling you in. All the times you stayed close to his side, all the times you found yourself reaching for him, pressing your lips to his helm in what you hoped spoke of the affection you held. It takes hold of you now, and graciously, seems to take hold of him too.

Your lips meet his. Eyes slip shut. The light of the sun is lost to the warmth of his skin, his breath on your cheek. It’s soft and gentle. Not unlike every kiss you’ve given him since you met. He kisses you now, slow and testing. Slanting his mouth against yours, drawing closer when you don’t move away. His hand cups your cheek, your hand rests on his chest.

He tastes like home.

Your need for air is what interrupts you. Mouth pulling from his, the light sound echoing in your chest. But you don’t pull away. Neither does he.

You rest, tucked in by one of his arms. Your shoulder leaned to his side, his forehead dipped to rest on yours. You smile.

When your eyes finally come to focus again, you can see the curve of his smile too. You want to say something, test the waters of this light feeling dancing over your heart. He lifts his chin first, and his lips press to the crown of your head.

It’s warm. You sink into his embrace, let the feeling wash over you. Both of you linger on that bench, painted over by the fading sunset as a memory of quiet comfort and forehead kisses.

[callooopie]

CALLOOOPIE‼️❗️‼️❗️‼️❗️‼️❗️‼️❗️

DROP A MODERN!CREGAN HEADCANON LIST. AND MY LIFE, IS YOURS. 🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶

Modern!Cregan Stark headcannons (pt. 1)

Forgive my northern attitude, oh I was raised on little light — Northern Attitude // Noah Kahan

okay… we did not get much Cregan.. so these modern vibes might be a little off. I looked long and hard (🤨) at a photo of him and these were the vibes I conjured up.

This man.. is so serious. Whenever you look at Cregan he looks like he’s going to pop a blood vessel with how tense he is. He’ll tell you not to worry, this is his natural state (“natural state?!?!”) you don’t think you’ve ever seen him relaxed… although there are times he lets loose, it’s reserved and calm. If he does relax it’s still oddly tense or as if he’s on edge. He’s mastered the art of being both chill but perceptive of his surroundings to a headache inducing degree. “Hm? Yeah I’m fine. Don’t worry about me, honest. One of us needs to be alert here.”

Immediately dipped after college. He got his degree in environmental engineering, he’s out of there. You, Jace, and Davos once planned a summer trip to Cregan’s cabin way up north. Now, way up north? Think like the Yukon or the bush of Alaska—that’s where Cregan would make his home. It’s secluded, no one bothers him, and he can live off the land in relative peace. You three get lost, of course. It’s like you have to take a seaplane, and then hike for a bit to the nearest town, and then you’ll have to wait for him to pick you all up. “You guys kept running around town. It took me forever to find you. Texts? I don’t get those traveling from the cabin… oh well—you’re all here now. The air will do you idiots some good.”

Dog dad. Dog dad. Dog dad. Cregan’s got big dogs, he’s got little dogs. A livestock dog to care for his chickens, some other big dogs for hunting, and a lap dog for emotional support purposes. It’s a hearty mix of Labrador, Pyrenees, mountain dog, maybe even a shepherd of sorts. But the little dog? I feel like it’d either be a dachshund or a corgi. A corgi is a reliable herd dog on top of being just a little guy. But a dachshund would be something he would hold as he walked around the perimeter of his land. Or even better he would have both. But this is his herd, his squad. “Hey!—settle down everyone. Sit down.. down now! Sorry about them, they’re just excited to see you. They’re usually pretty lax, except around you it seems.”

Terrible driver. But not because he’s bad at it, but because he’s literally in the wilderness, there are no traffic laws to obey. He’s driving down a hill full speed no braking. You’re in the passenger seat holding on for dear life as the car literally shakes and jolts you around. But Cregan? He’ll be holding a simple conversation with you, voice not even shaking from the sudden movements of the jeep or truck as he navigates the country road. I cannot figure out if he has more truck vibes or more Jeep vibes. I feel like either would work—as long as they got the job done. And either way, both cars would be muddied and somewhat damaged—filled with survival gear, winter gear, more things tied down on top with bungie cords and hooks. “What do you need? Oh, yeah that should be in the back.. somewhere. Probably in one of the bags—lemme go check for you. Hang tight, be right back.”

This man fishes. Not like “leaving my bitch wife to go fishin’ with my boys” more like “I’m catching the radioactive catfish of Chernobyl and no one’s stopping me” type fishing. He gets into it, he goes crazy. Cregan’s out on a boat at sea looking for Cthulhu. Y’all know the show River Monsters? That’s Cregan’s type of fishing. Sure he does more ‘relaxed’ fishing once in a while, he enjoys the mix of adventure but also the quiet and the patience of the fish. He will talk about how beautiful the fish is, like Steve Irwin levels of talking to fish (and animals in general). Cregan’s a catch and release king, but if he does choose to use the fish he will use all of it from the head to the bones. Everything’s getting used and processed into something. “Let’s see what you caught.. oh nice, that’s a chinook salmon. A beauty too, look at the size of that thing. You caught that beast yourself without my help? It’ll taste better on an open fire, c’mon I’ll teach you how to gut it… don’t frown at me.”

Master chef I would think. It’s not Michelin star cooking, but cooking with the freshest ingredients possible? Cregan makes a mean salad from the veggies in his garden (a pretty big garden too, he built those wooden garden beds himself) and when he hunts he uses all the meat and bones from the animal as said before with the fish. He’s not overly hunting either, he gets enough for you and him to last a while. “Good harvest today, real good—everything was ripe and ready. What do you think? It all looks good? ..that’s.. that’s good. I’m glad.. save room for dessert too then. Have you ever had acorn cake?”

You know what? He’s a park ranger. Or a state ranger. He’s got a job where he can take care of the land and teach people about the environment and how to respect it. Cregan’s all about teaching little kids what plants are poisonous and then on the next call he’s busting folks for throwing litter into a river. He is the type that if he spots you maybe hiking or doing something while he’s on duty he will pretend to bust you over for something heinous or embarrassing. Bonus if there’s people around you, now you’re getting arrested for leaving a dildo attached to a tree. But usually? It’s silly reasons laced with compliments that make you blush or smile. “..Whatcha doing out here? Hiking? Suuure. Y’know we heard some reports about a.. a very um—beautiful person wandering looking lost.. just saying, I know my way around..”

Such a good listener. Cregan is for the people who just need an ear to listen to them. If something’s bothering you, upsetting you, or you’re just not feeling like yourself; he’ll lead you out to the back porch, gesturing for you to sit down on the step beside him. It’ll be quiet, except for the sounds of nature surrounding the cabin and the woods. You can see mountain ranges in the background, the midnight sun casting a hazy glow over the land. And the next thing you know is you’re pouring your heart out to him. Cregan would remain silent, unless you ask him for advice or support. He’s the type to not want to impose on you if you don’t wish to hear unsolicited opinions or comments on a matter—so you’ll need to tell him you want to hear his advice.

Busted ass cabin. It’s so good. There’s a nearby lake, there’s mountains in the distance. The woods are thick and beautiful. The people yearn for such a place. It’s such a relaxed vibe too, take off your shoes in the house though. There is a lot of cleaning that goes on however on account of the dogs around the home. But the cabin is lived in and homey. It’s cool and refreshing in the summers with the windows open, and it’s warm and cozy in the winters with the fireplace roaring. It’s not too big, but it’s not too cramped either. “Not too warm? Too cold maybe? …well if you’re cold there’s a good way to fix that—“

Cregan loves teaching you how to live off the land. It’s basically a part of what he does for his job. But with just you? It feels more special, more intimate. You’re eager to learn, and he’s more than happy to show you how to start a fire in an emergency, how to skin an animal and use all its parts for different things. What to do if you’re in a bind in the woods and what you should do first. It’s good advice honestly. Pure survival skills. His hands would be over yours, guiding them through the motions of something. His chin resting atop your head or on your shoulder as he explains each step or how something can be utilized to its fullest potential.

Don’t take his silence or his lack of reactions as something negative. Cregan’s just the type to silently revel in your presence first and foremost, no talking required. Most of your fishing or hunting trips are filled with silence, save for the sound of music from an old portable radio and the occasional sound of a beer can opening. Sometimes you read, sometimes you fish alongside him. But know that he does enjoy your company heavily, and if you do say something don’t worry he’ll respond. Sometimes he does worry maybe he’s a little too aloof or reserved when it comes to you. Reassure him that words aren’t always needed, and sometimes it’s good to just be next to one another without adding anything to it.

With you he can get a little silly. Cregan would lean against your side of the truck, a stupid smile on his face as you talk to him. If you’re hiking and there’s a muddy spot, he will pick you up and carry you over it. He’s the type to serve you food first before him, and if he’s having a snack he’s the type to share it without needing you to ask him. It’s like the phrase to be loved is to be seen. Fresh flowers for you every day, he wakes up early to make you coffee in bed. If you’re the squeamish type about hunting/fishing, he won’t go into the details of your dinner. And if you’re with him, he’ll take care of the food far off from you so you don’t need to see it.