gvthic-gvrl - Tumblr blog

gvthic-gvrl · 12 days

Note

MUAHHHHHHHH GREAT AMAZING THANK YOU

so i enjoy your writing… and because i’m lazy to write this myself (since i’m working on my series) i might as well request it :P

I had this thought for a spock fic, where love at first sight is at play…

The reader is unaware of spock’s way of flirting with her. but fortunately for him, her delusion is the problem (reader is an engineer that overworks herself to the point where she wouldn’t even remember who she was talking with and what she was doing) spock would eventually realize that and help her out in the best of his ability which would result in her realizing she likes him too and you could go from there

Crush On You

Author's Note: I enjoy your writing, too!! When I saw your icon in my inbox I was like: 🤩 Hope you like it and I'm sorry it took me so long! 🖤 Divider by @cafekitsune Warnings: maybe a tiny bit of angst? WC: 2,636

For Spock, there wasn't just one moment in time that made him realize he was in love with you, but several.

Working with you on various projects aboard the Enterprise, he came to enjoy your company. You were intelligent and well-versed in the workings of the ship, much like him, but you never flaunted it like so many before you. Actually, he would even go so far as to say that you seemed to enjoy being underestimated.

“Maybe if you weren’t allowing your ignorance to cloud your judgment, ensign, you’d know that shortcuts equal mistakes, and mistakes equal casualties.” You say sternly to someone who had questioned routine inspection and maintenance on the nacelles. “Do you think the Enterprise can afford casualties? When we are—essentially—Starfleet’s flagship?”

“No, ma’am.” The ensign mumbled.

You purse your lips as you stare at him for a moment longer than necessary, making the kid uncomfortable. “Good. Now scram, before I decide to bring this up to the captain.”

He scurries off, fully intending to get back to working on the project you’d delegated while you looked down at your PADD to see what other kind of maintenance was scheduled within the next few days. You were Hemmer’s second-in-command, covering while he regained his strength from the incident on Valeo Beta V. It had been an ordeal for the books, and while he’d wanted to get back to work as soon as possible, M’Benga had placed him on mandatory medical leave.

Besides, Hemmer knew the Enterprise was in good hands when you were on the engineering deck. You didn’t become a commander by twiddling your thumbs and letting everyone else do the dirty work, after all.

“Are you sure that was wise?”

“Hm?” You look behind you to find Spock standing in front of the turbolift, hands clasped behind his back. “What do you mean?”

He approaches you, precise in his steps and calculating in demeanor. You’ve come to realize why people associate Vulcans with great big felines. It’s the way they carry themselves.

“Intimidation won’t raise the morale of your underlings, it will only make them resent you, and in doing so, this leaves more room for error.”

You lean on one hip and raise an eyebrow. “It’s taken me a long time but I know when you’re joking, Spock. Nice try.”

The corner of his lips twitch almost imperceptibly. “How did you guess?”

“You’re one of the most intimidating people on this ship.” You point out. “And I recall you once saying something along the lines of, ‘assertiveness will ensure they get it right the first time’...or something like that.”

He tilts his head, impressed. He enjoys these bouts of light teasing between the two of you. “It wouldn’t be outside the realm of possibility that I simply changed my perspective.”

You hug the PADD to your chest, thoughtful as you agree. “No…no it wouldn’t.”

“But,” You smile at him knowingly, eyes full of mischief. “You’re not a simple kind of guy, Spock. You’re not the type to change your mind like people change socks. It would have to either be a very hard lesson, or a…a revelation, to get you to do a one-eighty.”

You feel lucky to be able to see him like this as his expression turns to one of contentment. It brings to mind how close the two of you have become since the start of this away mission.

“You know me better than most.” He looks out at the people working under your care. “Not to mention the ship.”

It’s like ice water on you, but you just smile appreciatively and turn to look at the expanse of Engineering. “That’s what friends are for, right?”

He blinks as he lays a hand on the railing that leads down to the bay. That wasn’t what he was trying to—

“Commander, could I get your input on something?”

You look over to see a different ensign than before, looking hopeful, and both you and Spock go to answer.

“Yes?”

You share an awkward glance with Spock and he straightens, recognizing his blunder. “I…must get back to the bridge. Commander.”

“Commander.” You return, unsure as to why the air between the two of you had suddenly become so strained in the span of a few minutes.

***

Later, when you enter your quarters, you’re surprised to see an incredibly intricate vase with your favorite flowers posed on your counter. You kick off your shoes numbly and stare at the huge amount of flora that are illuminated by the kitchen light above them, the motion sensor having been activated.

“Wow,” You lift your fingers and touch one of the satin-soft petals, leaning in to breathe the natural scents. There are hints of delicate Queen Anne’s lace scattered in the vase, making the other flowers the focal point. “Where did you come from?”

You look for a note everywhere, even going so far as to hold the vase up to see if maybe it was hidden underneath, but there’s nothing except for a stamp declaring the iridescent vessel to be pure Andorian crystal (which explained the weight).

Surmising that the origins must mean it’s from Hemmer, perhaps a gift to say thank you for keeping Engineering in check, you jot a mental note to not scold him too much for being out of sick bay so early the next time you see him, even if the thought does irk you a little.

Men and their stubborn need to disobey medical advice…

***

“While I love the idea of sending you on a wild goose chase for no reason, I really have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Wait—” You scrunch up your face. “You really weren’t the one to send those flowers?”

Hemmer shrugs as much as he’s able to with one arm in a sling. “I don’t know where the vase came from either. All I have of Andoria on the Enterprise is my ushaan-tor, an ice-cutting tool. I have no use for crystal here—certainly not a vase.”

“Oh.” You sigh, pressing your fingers to your temple, feeling a headache coming on. Hemmer’s antennae focus in your direction and he gives you a knowing smile.

“I think you should face the fact that you have an admirer.”

“Don’t even. I’m sure it was just a nice gesture from someone.”

“And here I thought I taught you better than that.” He feigns a sigh.

“...What do you mean?”

“You’re making an assumption without even asking questions.”

You huff and extend your arms in defeat. “What questions am I supposed to be asking?”

Hemmer rolls his milky eyes. “The flowers were in your room, correct?”

“Yeah…?”

“Who on the Enterprise can gain access to another person’s quarters without their code or genetic signature?”

You blanch in horror. “The captain?”

“Or someone of equal rank as you.” Hemmer groans. “Honestly, what would you do without me?”

“But why would Spock of all people send me flowers?”

“Maybe you should go ask him.”

“Oh my god,” You whine as you turn to leave the sick bay. “I wish I’d never come to ask if it was you or not.”

“Not my problem.” Hemmer calls amusedly after you.

“Clearly!”

***

"I simply don't see how my feelings could be unclear at this point."

Uhura and Erica share an amused glance across from Spock.

"Maybe because you're looking at this the wrong way." Erica points out.

"How so?" He asks.

"Well," She sets down her beverage before continuing. They're gathered at one of the tables in the ship's mess hall, the three of them having finished their respective shifts. "Are you trying to court another Vulcan, or are you trying to go on a date with her?"

Understanding flashes across Spock's face. "You're suggesting that our two cultures are different enough to also warrant different courting rituals."

She grins as Uhura rolls her eyes good-naturedly. “Of course they do! Spock, she’s human, and I hate to break it to you but human women can be both extremely smart or extremely clueless—sometimes both. Sending Y/N an old textbook that she’s been trying to find since her Academy days is a nice gesture, but it's not going to get your point across. And sending her a bunch of flowers with no note won’t either. Don’t even get me started on the necklace you gave.”

“Is it not customary to give gifts to those you admire?”

“It was on her birthday,” Erica shakes her head good-naturedly. “It’s not the same.”

“Don’t worry—she thinks all of it was really sweet,” Uhura interrupts. “But I think she just assumes you did those things as her friend. The necklace on her birthday, the book when our last shore leave was over, the flowers after it was tense between the two of you…it’s not exactly a neon sign.”

Spock blinks, seemingly at a loss. “What do you propose I do, then?”

“Tell her.” The two women state, their tones as deadpan and obvious as they could possibly get.

He sighs so minutely that you’d miss it if you blinked. “Point taken. Then I suppose the only logical course of action would be to follow your collective advice and…tell her how I truly feel.”

They look expectantly at him, Uhura choosing to sip at her martini at that point with interest.

“Why do I now feel an incredible sense of dread?” He asks, voice wooden in his throat.

Erica snorts and downs the rest of her beer, slapping his shoulder as she stands up to leave. “You’ll be fine, trust me. People do it all the time.”

She turns to Uhura. “You still feel like watching that new movie everyone’s been talking about?”

“Ooh, yeah!” Uhura enthusiastically hops off of the bar stool. “I’ve been dying to see it ever since Jenna mentioned it. Your room?”

“Wait—” Spock tries to stop them but they're already gone. He sighs through his nose as he stands, resigned to making his own way into the hall and towards your quarters.

He has no idea what to say to you, doesn't even know if you'll be up at this hour, but if tonight was anything like the rest of this week—the rest of this month, even—he clearly wasn't going to be getting an adequate amount of sleep until this issue was resolved. Much as he’d like to deny it, his emotions are getting the better of him, and he feels like they might just start to bil to the surface if he isn’t careful.

He takes a deep breath as he stands in front of your door, but it slides open just as he reaches for the control console.

“Oh—” Your eyes widen as you nearly walk smack into him. “Spock—hi. I wasn’t expecting you.”

“Hello.” He surveys your change of clothes; a cowl neck blouse that dips lower than your uniform and shows off the—

“Going somewhere?” He asks, swallowing when he sees the pendant he gave you nestled in the space just below your clavicle. It’s the first time he’s seen you wear it, only because you keep it tucked safely away underneath your uniform.

He doesn’t know that, though.

“Yeah, actually, I was going to meet up with someone for dinner tonight. I figured since we’re docked for repairs, it wouldn’t hurt to have a real meal.”

He feels a twinge in his chest. “My apologies. I’ll let you—”

“Oh no, no,” You press your hand to his elbow, expression hopeful. “I’m leaving super early, I just wanted a nice walk first. Wanna come with?”

He knows for his own sake, he should decline. But the warmth of your hand is enough to change his mind, even if you drop it almost immediately.

“After you.” He agrees. The smile you gift him with is worth it, he thinks. At least for a little while.

The walk from the ship to the dock is quick, and then before he knows it he’s escorting you through the city towards the restaurant.

“So what did you want to talk to me about?”

He’s snapped out of his thoughts abruptly. “I—”

The words seem to jumble on his tongue, and for what feels like the umpteenth time, Spock curses his emotions.

You pause in your steps, your long skirt swaying in place just above your ankles. It’s a rare occasion that Spock is speechless, and even rarer for you to witness it yourself.

“You can tell me anything, Spock.” You promise sincerely, eyes soft.

“I know.”

He clenches his jaw. “I wanted to talk to you about my feelings.”

“Your…feelings?” You ask. “About what?”

He looks at you for a considerable moment, expression full of weight, and recognition suddenly flashes behind your eyes.

“About you.” He admits quietly, nodding his confirmation. “Our friends have told me I’ve been going about courting you incorrectly, and I assumed you would understand without me having to say the words out loud.”

He clasps his hands behind his back, as he usually does when he’s putting a lot of thought into something. “That wasn’t fair to you, and you shouldn’t have to guess what my intentions are. I hope to remedy this by telling you now.”

“I’m in love with you.”

You nearly startle at those five little words, even though you knew he was going to say them. “Wha—”

Your voice cracks in your throat and you sniffle, having teared up as you listened to him. “Spock I—I don’t know what to say.”

His face falls. “I’ve upset you.”

“No, no,” You duck your head, giving him a watery laugh. “I’m not upset, I promise. I’m crying because I’m happy.”

He reaches for you hesitantly, but you melt into his embrace.

“I feel so stupid.” Your embarrassed lament is muffled in his blue uniform. “All those things you did, it was because you liked me?”

He huffs amusedly. “Yes. Although the phrase you just used seems quite inadequate.”

You pull back and he uses the opportunity to brush the wetness from your cheeks with his thumbs. “Vulcans feel emotion much more strongly than humans do, and because of that, the adoration I feel for you is multiplied exponentially.”

You search his own dark eyes as he goes on.

“As you humans are prone to say…you're driving me nuts.”

Your snort and resounding laugh as you press your face back into his uniform makes his heart lighter, and Spock wonders if he’s ever been quite this happy before.

***

“Your shift ended an hour ago.”

A voice behind you startles you and you bang your head on bare metal when you try to lift it. “Shit!”

“Are you alright?”

You wince as you rub the sore spot, peeking out from underneath the shuttle at Spock, who is bent at the waist to inspect your work.

“Yeah, I’ll live.” You grumble. “Did you say it ended an hour ago?”

“I did.” He holds a hand out and isn’t surprised when you grasp it, slick oil covering your fingers and wrists. You’ve tried to discourage him from touching you when you’re dirty, but he doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, you’d argue that he reaches for you more often.

When he hauls you from underneath the shuttle, you’re pleasantly surprised with a steaming cup of coffee at your workstation. “I’m also aware that the odds of you coming back to bed without finishing your task are slim to none.”

The steam from the cup curls around your cheerful face. “You know me better than most.”

“That’s what boyfriends are for.” He retorts just as quick. He crowds against you and nuzzles against your cheek, despite your half-hearted protests.

“I’m all gross.” You warn.

“It’s of no consequence.”

You giggle, setting the coffee down to return his light kiss. “Nothing’s ever of any consequence to you.”

#spock #star trek spock #spock x reader #star trek strange new worlds

394 notes · View notes

gvthic-gvrl · 25 days

Text

fucking adorable

"valley reverie" - sebastian

summary: the timeline of sebastian and the farmer’s relationship based on canon dialogue

pairing: sdv sebastian x farmer

word count: 2.5K

a/n: this may be my magnum opus

The sun was beginning its descent behind the mountains when Sebastian emerged from the house for the first—and only—time that day.

He shot a glance to his mother and Demetrius, who were standing at the edge of their property, looking over the valley bathed in golden light. His mother sent a small smile back, followed by a pointed disappointed look at the carton of cigarettes held loosely in his glance. Demetruis didn’t acknowledge his existence.

Sebastian knew it was a nasty habit, but he spent most of his life with not much thought to the future—he was surprised he made it this far. Maybe his life would have been different if he had planned better; if he had considered for a moment that there was such a thing as life past sixteen, then eighteen, then twenty-one. He supposed he should start to consider a life past twenty-four, but quickly dropped the thought as he placed the cigarette between his lips and continued his stroll to the lake.

He saw it then, as his lighter sparked to life and helped the cigarette take eleven minutes off his.

Someone was sitting in his spot. A humanoid blob of denim focused intently on the bobber floating in the water.

He hesitated, then decided to keep moving—his trajectory now locked in past the stranger and across the rickety planks of wood to the smaller islands in the middle of the lake. His mother had been saying for years that she needed to build something more structurally sound, but had yet to get around to it.

As he got closer, he took in more of the scene. There was a muddy bucket next to the stranger, and he noticed a couple slimy carp flopping around inside. Whoever this was, they clearly didn’t have enough experience to catch the tricker creatures in the lake.

Just as he was about to slip past toward solitude, he locked eyes with the stranger. Their bored expression quickly turned to worry.

“Sorry, am I in your spot? Robin said it was okay for me to fish here.”

Recognition sparked in his brain—his mother had told him about the new resident of Pelican Town. The words she had used to describe them flashed behind his eyes: sweet, a little lost, cute. That last one was sent his way with an exaggerated wink and met with a scoff from him.

“Oh. You just moved in, right? Cool.”

The farmer didn’t respond, just looked on waiting for an answer to their question. Sebastian didn’t gratify them with a response, instead looking across the lake at the tree line and abandoned quarry.

“Out of all the places you could live, you chose Pelican Town?”

The farmer scrunched up their mouth slightly, beginning to reel in their line. There was nothing but a limp worm dangling from the hook. Sebastian took note of the grieving look flashing on their face before it was gone in a blink.

“Better than where I was.”

Sebastian didn’t bother responding as the farmer heaved up the bucket—they were a lot stronger than they looked—and walked away without another word.

Robin smiled at the farmer with a wave and shouted goodnight before sending another disapproving look to her son.

_________________________________________

Sebastian heaved open the door of the house, exhausted from band practice. Sam was his best friend, and he enjoyed spending time with him more than he would admit, but the newest addition to the band was definitely a hindrance.

He didn’t dislike Abigail, and he couldn’t deny that she was a talented drummer, but he had been hoping for years that her little crush on him would fade away. He could only take so much of puppy dog eyes and over exaggerated laughter at his quips that definitely aren’t that funny.

He was so absorbed in his thoughts on how to shake off the purple-haired girl—more importantly, how to shake her off without actual confrontation—that he didn’t notice the farmer leaning against the shop counter until their voice pierced through. His mother was nowhere to be seen, so they had to have been talking to him.

“What? I didn't hear you...I'm busy thinking about something. What do you want?”

The farmer narrowed their eyes at him, leveling him with a glare. “You know, I get that you’d rather be listening to My Chemical Romance and jerking off to Nietzsche than interacting with a human being, but you really need to work on your people skills.”

Well, he hadn’t been expecting that.

He expected avoidance from the farmer, based on their first meeting and subsequent run-ins where they gave him a nod of acknowledgement before going back to acting like he didn’t exist.

He realized that the farmer wasn’t as timid and one-dimensional as he let himself think.

The moment was saved by Robin entering the shop room and dropping a workbench on the floor with a heavy thud. “You’ll make better use of this than I have lately—it’s pretty old,” she looked up from the dusty bench, noticing her son frozen in the doorway, “oh, hi Sebby.”

“Sebby?” the farmer questioned with a smirk.

Sebastian rolled his eyes, brushing past his mother to get to his lair.

“Sorry about him,” he heard his mother as he descended the stairs.

“It’s fine,” the farmer laughed, “he’s cool.”

He couldn’t help the smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. _________________________________________

Sebastian looked down at the frozen tear in his hand with a neutral expression on his face, though his heart was quickening its pace.

“Gunther told me it’s fabled to be the frozen tears of a yeti.”

He met the farmer’s grin with one of his own, “I really love this. How did you know?”

They shrugged, “Seemed like some emo shit you’d be into.”

A breathy laugh escaped him before he could stop it. “Well…thanks.”

“No prob. I’ll keep an eye out for more when I’m in the mines.”

“The mines?,” his brow furrowed, “how far down did you go?”

“Not super deep, I think I stopped at sixty since it was getting late.”

Sebastian gaped at the farmer—who he now realized he really misjudged—as they shouldered their backpack and turned toward the door.

“Oh,” they stopped just shy of the threshold, “your code is wrong, by the way. Third line down.”

He looked to the screen, baffled, seeing that there was, in fact, a mistake in his code.

He began to ask the farmer how they knew that, but they were gone. _________________________________________

The sun was setting on the valley, and Sebastian found himself sitting by the lake’s edge with the farmer, who was reeling in sturgeon and bass with ease.

“I’m sure the city’s different for other people, but it was corporate hell for me,” the farmer spoke softly as they baited their hook—it was different than any bait he had ever seen, and the farmer had informed him that the wild man living behind their house had taught them the recipe.

Sebastian hummed, “I guess that makes sense.”

“You guess?” the farmer teased him, flicking water at his face.

He blew a puff of smoke in their face.

The farmer coughed, then began to laugh as they fanned the smoke out of their face, “asshole.”

Sebastian grinned, leaning back on the palms of his hands and gazing across the water.

They sat in comfortable silence as the farmer cast out their line and half-heartedly focused on the bobber—they didn’t really need it anymore, but liked the safety net.

“You and Sam are probably my only friends in this town.” Sebastian broke the silence, but continued looking straight ahead.

“Well I am very likable.”

Sebastian knocked their shoulders together with a scoff.

“Sure, keep telling yourself that.” _________________________________________

Sebastian was indifferent—and sometimes loathful—toward most events held in their little town, but tonight was an exception. It was hard to not be in awe of the midnight jellies, and he was excited for the farmer to see them for the first time.

They were perched at the edge of the dock, along with Sam and Abigail, their feet dangling inches above the water.

It was a lot colder than expected, and the farmer was bundled in his black jacket. He couldn’t help but feel bad about the sad glances Abigail was sending their way.

The farmer looked content, and Sebastian recalled something they told him at the beginning of the season—the used to be terrified of the ocean before moving to the valley.

He nudged their shoulder with his own. It didn’t take much effort—they were sitting a lot closer than he realized. A light blush dusted his cheekbones.

“I thought I saw something moving in there…” he pointed to the void of the ocean and leaned closer to their ear, whispering, “something big, something dark.”

The farmer’s eyes widened as they looked across the vast darkness before they narrowed and turned to him.

“Just trying to scare you...” Sebastian laughed.

The farmer smiled, knocking their knee against his, muttering an all too familiar “asshole.”

It wasn’t too long before Lewis sent out the first lantern, and the water surrounding the docks was filled with glowing jellyfish.

“It’s beautiful,” the farmer breathed out as their head landed on his shoulder.

“Yeah,” his eyes landed on a glowing green jelly before looking down at the farmer, “it is.” _________________________________________

Sebastian never saw the farm in its full glory—before the farmer’s grandfather grew old and passed away—but he had been there plenty of times when it was overgrown and abandoned.

He had told the farmer this as they sat on the newly installed swinging bench on their porch. They joked that they would be suing him for trespassing, since it was technically their property at the time, even if they hadn’t known it.

It was a chilly fall day, but the farmer had made a pot of coffee to keep them warm.

“I thought this was your busy season,” Sebastian lit up a cigarette and moved the ashtray closer to where he sat. It was a newer addition to the farmer’s decor. He thought about the prideful look on their face as they held it up and told him that Leah let them use her pottery wheel. It was painted with little creatures that looked like the much happier cousins of the slimes living in the caves.

The farmer hummed, holding their mug close to their face, but not taking a sip, “Yeah…a lot busier than I thought it would be, actually.”

He grinned at them, “so, you’re slacking today, huh?”

The farmer laughed.

“I’d rather hang out with your sorry ass than work.” Despite the insult, the farmer’s tone was soft and earnest. Sebastian felt his cheeks heat up.

“Could you picture me living on a farm? It seems ridiculous, but I have been thinking about it lately.”

“If I could do it, then so could you,” the farmer linked their pinky with his, “it’s a lot more freeing than you’d think.” _________________________________________

Boxes filled with Sebastian’s things lined the walls of the farmhouse, but Sebastian and the farmer lay in bed, choosing to ignore them.

They had all the time in the world.

The farmer was twirling the pendant dangling from Sebastian’s neck, “there’s steam coming out of your ears, Seb,” the farmer giggled and smoothed out the wrinkle between his brows with their finger.

“I’ve just been thinking,” Sebastian turned his attention from the ceiling to the farmer, “The older I get, the less I'm drawn to the city. It had a certain mystique to it, once. But it turns out that was just a romantic fantasy. The city's so busy, so full of people... I don't belong there. I'm a loner.”

A beat.

“Present company excluded, of course.”

The farmer laughed, “Well I would hope so,” they tugged gently on the pendant, pulling him closer, “because you’re stuck with me.” _________________________________________

Sebastian and the farmer had joined his family for dinner, and his mother had shooed them away with one hand as she cooed at the bundle held tightly in her other arm.

The valley was coming to life, but the ghost of a winter chill was in the air. They settled down by the lake despite the cold. It was no longer his spot, but theirs.

The farmer was skipping stones across the lake when he grumbled about how being in that spot made him want a smoke.

“No one’s stopping you,” the farmer laughed.

“I am.”

The farmer still held a loose smile as they raised their eyebrows at him, “oh?”

“I'm trying my best to quit smoking now that we're married…” He avoided their gaze and brushed some mud on the palm of his hand onto his jeans, “I don't wanna die on you. It's a bad habit. I want to have a future together.”

A baby cried in the distance. Sebastian and the farmer smiled at each other. _________________________________________

The farmer was surprised to find Sebastian’s side of the bed empty when they woke up. It wasn’t a rare occasion, as they usually found Sebastian in the kitchen after a restless sleep, but he was nowhere to be found.

They couldn’t help but worry a little bit as they pulled on their boots and opened the screen door. They paused out of instinct to let the dog run out before them only to realize that the dog wasn’t hot on their heels like usual.

They had only gotten two steps onto the porch before a mass of fur and slobber crashed into their legs.

“Oh hello baby,” they cooed down at the dog as it rolled onto its back, breathing heavily out of excitement, “good morning stink.”

“Good morning to you too.”

The farmer was so caught up in giving the dog attention that they hadn’t noticed Sebastian leaning against the porch railing.

They straightened from their crouch, smiling at him as the dog whined from the loss of affection.

“I couldn’t fall back asleep, so I went ahead and fed the animals,” he pushed off the railing and took a few steps forward to fix a rogue piece of the farmer’s hair, “one less thing for you to do.”

“Thanks, Seb,” the farmer said softly, suddenly bashful, “I’m going to check on the pumpkins. Thought I could make some soup tonight if any of them are ripe.”

They took a few steps off the porch, “feel like being a country boy today? Or did you get your fix?”

He smiled, leaning his forearms against the railing, “I'll just watch you from here. I enjoy watching you.” _________________________________________

Sebastian and the farmer found themselves sitting on the porch swing once again. It was a mild summer evening, and he was looking on as a toddler played with the dog in the yard.

He tore his attention away from the rowdy scene in front of him to look at the farmer, who was curled up at his side reading a book. He felt his heart swell.

“This is so different from my old life, but I'm really starting to like it. I feel like I really belong here.”

The farmer looked up from the book in their lap, smiling.

“I don't often show it, but I'm really happy that I'm your husband. Marrying you was the best decision I ever made.”

#stardew sebastian #sdv sebastian #stardew valley #sebastian x farmer #sebastian x reader #sdv sebastian x reader #sdv sebastian x farmer #stardew farmer

872 notes · View notes

gvthic-gvrl · 1 month

Text

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

But Put Together, the Cracks We’ll Close In

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Setting: Early Alexandria

Warnings: Typical TWD violence and gore; mentions of past child abuse; mentions of suggested abortion; blood and injury

Summary: Fresh into Alexandria, Daryl meets his match in a two year little girl and slowly loses his heart to her mother. You.

A/N: Based on the request/headcanon from @louifaith Just a couple of things. The child is described as in hair and eye color. Nothing is mentioned of reader so these traits could come from her father. There is also the mention of an “Eskimo kiss.” I grew up using that term but I’m not sure if it is offensive or PC nowadays. please feel free to send me a message if I need to change it. It is not my intention to be offensive to anyone! Also, sorry if anyone likes Spencer. He's always my go to asshole.

©celtic-crossbow 2024. I do not allow for my work to be copied, translated, modified, adapted, or placed on any other platform without my consent.

“S’that?”

Daryl felt the opossum sway in his grip, looking down with a scowl firmly plastered at the bright eyes returning his gaze, brimming with curiosity. She was a toddler, maybe two years old? Christ, someone had a toddler in this mess. “Dinner.” He grunted, pulling the dead animal out of her reach. He found out quickly that the curious little creature would not be deterred so easily. Standing on her tip-toes, she made a grab for the marsupial. “Knock it off.” He huffed and took a step back, bumping into Carol.

“Daryl, she’s a child. Don’t be such a grump.”

“Ain’t you got a mama—family to get back to?” He snapped, ignoring his best friend. The little girl’s eyes brightened.

“Mama! Mama!” She clapped. Daryl rolled his eyes at her enthusiasm.

“Yeah, go get ‘er.” There was an intense sigh of relief when the little human went running (waddling?) out of sight. “They got kids here.”

“Yes, Daryl. That’s what that was.” Carol nudged him playfully. “The people seem to think they’re safe here. It gives me the creeps.” He nodded but didn’t comment. “They obviously don’t know what’s going on out there, not like we do. I think we need to be cautious here. Find a way to fit in but keep our guard up, you know?”

Daryl snorted. “Yeah, good luck with that. Ain’t got no intention of tryin’ to fit in with these folks. Livin’ in a fuckin’ fairytale here. Ain’t gonna last.”

“You’re such a ray of sunshine.” Sasha clapped him on the shoulder as she passed, earning yet another grunt.

“Mama, here!”

Oh dear god, no. “S’back.” The hunter stated flatly.

“Oh, and she brought a friend.” Sure enough, the little girl was dragging you along, tugging incessantly at your hand as if the child had found the world’s most priceless treasure. “You did tell her to ‘go get her.’”

“Nadia, slow down!”

And slow down, she did. Right in front of a scowl-wearing redneck with a bleeding opossum in his grasp.

“Mama, dinner! Dorl dinner.”

Dorl?!? Daryl looked helplessly over to where Carl was carrying Judith, the little light of his life. Would this be what she was like as she grew up? She already knew him, loved him despite how broken and hopeless he was. She would laugh at him if he was ranting about something and hold out those chubby little hands and he was done for, whatever had irritated him was forgotten.

But this child? This wasn’t his lil’ asskicker.

Daryl liked kids but he liked them from a distance. He had no business being around them, save for Carl and Judith. I wish I could have known Sophia. He wouldn’t bother getting to know anyone in this place. It’d burn like every other home they had anyway.

“Dorl, huh?” You smiled.

“Daryl.” He replied flatly, his lip curling.

“I’m Y/N. I assume Aaron found your group?”

He didn’t answer, too occupied with trying to continuously move away from the small child clumsily reaching for his knife sheath. “Stop that.” He barked, expecting the kid to balk. She did quite the opposite and wrapped her tiny arms around his leg, just below his knee. What the fuck was he supposed to do now? Shake her off? Of course not. She might get hurt. While he really didn’t want to be touched, he couldn’t help but feel like it was somehow his job to make sure this kid wasn’t hurt. “Can ya—would ya—?” Shoulders slumped, he didn’t even gesture. You know what he was asking.

Chuckling, you reached down and gently pried the little girl loose. “Nadia, you’re supposed to ask before hugs, remember?”

“Hug Dorl.” The dark-headed child pouted.

That was his cue to step away, as quickly as possible, without running. He absolutely did not run.

When you looked up, he was already gone, lost in the middle of his group as they headed in to surrender weapons and be interviewed by Deanna.

Daryl sat on the now red-stained porch, prepping his kill for cooking later. Carol had scolded him and made him promise to use the backyard going forward, but he doubted they would be there long enough for him to need the area. It was just the way the world was. Nice places like this could never last.

“Dorl dinner!”

Jesus take the wheel. “Ya need a bell.” He grunted, looking around for you. “An’ apparently a leash.” Maybe if he ignored her, she would go find you. But what if she wandered off alone and somehow made it out of the gates? Shit. “Sit down, gremlin.”

She giggled and patted her chunky hands against her chest. “Nada.”

Daryl stopped moving and stared for a moment. Wasn’t that Spanish? Maybe? Wait. You had called her Nadia. Maybe that’s what she was trying to say. “Nadia?” Blue eyes squinted in wait.

Nadia bounced and nodded and then pointed at him. “Dorl! Dorl, Nada!”

He released his knife and leaned his elbow against his knee, the heel of his hand pressing into his forehead. “Dare-ul.” He tried.

“Dooorl.”

“Oh, for fucksake.” The archer gave up, picking up his knife and continuing with his task. Nadia didn’t even seem to notice what he was doing but leaned in closely with the most serious look he’d ever seen. He needed to lean back once she made it much too far into his personal space.

“Fucksy.” She said, maintaining eye contact as if she were challenging him.

“No! Don’t say that. Can’t be teachin’ ya sh—stuff like that!” He panicked, opossum forgotten. Daryl threw back his head with a groan. “Can’tcha please just go to your mama?”

Nadia’s little face lit up and off she went with a chorus of mama mama mama. Watching her go, Daryl wondered where the little one’s father was, but soon banished the thought. It was none of his business. What was his business was to make sure the annoying curtain-climber made it home safely. Abandoning his dinner—no time to cover it if he was going to catch up—he walked briskly until he caught sight of her. Little legs can fuckin’ move. We’re fucked when Jude learns to walk.

He stayed close, but far back enough to not catch her attention. She seemed to know exactly where she was going. Rounding the curb to the end of the street, he caught sight of the small house. Quaint compared to the other homes. The front door was open but he dared not go closer. Boots firmly planted on the sidewalk, he observed the struggle of a tiny human tackling front porch steps. Nadia was determined though. Had he chosen to help, he was certain she would give him that serious look again and yell at him in baby-speak.

“Nadia Avery, how do you keep getting out the door!”

Maybe cause you leave it open? He suppressed the urge to roll his eyes.

Regardless, there you were, swooping down to gather the bundle into your arms with a couple of sobs and more than a few sniffles. “Baby, you have to stop doing that! You scare mommy.” Nadia was nuzzling your jaw but then suddenly pointed right at him.

“Dorl got Nada.”

When your eyes found his own, Daryl froze. His arms were out to his sides, his eyes wide. He looked nothing short of a deer caught in the sights of his crossbow when it realized it’s about to be shot. “I—uh, kid found me.” Forcing himself to relax a fraction, he rubbed at the back of his neck. “Didn’t want ‘er wand’rin’ ‘round by herself.”

Your face softened into a grateful smile. “Thank you for making sure she got home.” He nodded curtly and you turned away, only to turn back in the same motion. “Would you like to come inside? I have some stew that I’m heating. Plenty for the three of us.”

A part of him that he didn’t know existed wanted to immediately accept the offer but the part of him that had kept him alive this long spoke louder. “Nah, got my own dinner I need to take care’a. Thanks, though.”

You nodded, the smile never faltering. “Think of it as a standing invitation. Nadia seems to like you. She’s a good judge of character.”

He snorted. “Alright.”

“Goodnight, Daryl.”

“Night.” He took two steps.

“Nigh’ nigh’, Dorl!”

He heard the sound of a kiss being blown his way, but didn’t turn around. Maybe if he ignored her, she’d go away.

It had been three days since he had last seen you or Nadia. He found that it unsettled him but not enough to go looking. Aaron had gifted him a work area and parts to build himself a bike. It was the best thing anyone could have offered him at that point. He felt like he still wasn’t fitting in, and while that was the idea at first, now it just felt…lonely.

Carol was always gone when he got up and not home yet when we retired to bed. Rick and Michonne couldn’t stay out of the bedroom for more than five minutes unless something ‘coppy’ needed to be handled. Carl was always outside with Jude in the nice weather.

Daryl was alone. Though he usually preferred it that way, he couldn’t seem to shake the negativity it seemed to bring to the surface.

Spending time around something familiar from the old world came to be a comfort. When the posh little community with its “good morning” while walking the dog and laughter over coffee at the gazebo became too much for Daryl, he disappeared into Aaron’s garage. Aaron and his husband seemed okay in the archer’s book. They never once stared at him like he was going to rob them blind or beat them to a pulp. They showed him kindness even if his only attempts at conversation consisted of nods and grunts.

“You going to this party tonight?” Aaron asked from the doorway the led into the house from the garage.

“Nah.” Daryl picked up a wrench and continued his work, not giving the question a proper thought.

“You really should make an effort to get to know more people here.”

“They don’t like me. Shouldn’t, really.” The archer shrugged.

“They just don’t know you. Maybe you should give them a chance.” Aaron kept his persuasion in the doorway. He had gifted Daryl that space and was unwilling to step into it without an invitation he was unlikely to receive without asking.

“Better they don’t know me.”

There was a sigh that made Daryl curl his lip. “Just think about it, okay?” The shuffle of feet and the door opening signaled the other man’s exit.

Why should Daryl go? He had little interest in fitting in, even when his own group was making such an effort. Carol and Rick were wary and had whatever it was they had but Carol would tell him if she felt it necessary. Daryl was just plain wary, utterly uninterested. Most of them would likely be dead soon and he didn’t need anyone else to mourn.

So why he found himself showered and in a fresh set of clothing that was his own form of presentable was absolutely beyond him. It had nothing to do with the fact that on his walk home, he thought maybe you’d be at the party. Nope, nothing like that.

He had made it at least to the yard outside, watching the festivities through the window. Everyone he knew seemed so at ease in there. Dressed up, laughing and drinking. Mingling like they belonged there. He didn’t belong there.

“Nah.” He said softly before turning away. He was passing by Aaron’s house when a call of his name from that familiar voice had him stopping with a sigh. “Yeah?”

“You went. Good for you. Did you have a good time?” Aaron asked from the porch. Daryl shrugged. The man’s eyes narrowed and suddenly the archer was nervous, feeling judged. “You didn’t go in, did you?”

Daryl shook his head. “Just ain’t my thing.”

“Hey, you tried.”

“Why didn’t you go?” That wasn’t supposed to sound so accusatory but Daryl was tired and had simply had his fill of the day and that place.

“Eric’s ankle is still giving him trouble. We just thought it best to skip out on this one.”

This one? Christ. That insinuated there would be more. With an inward groan, he answered outwardly with a grunt.

“We’ve got dinner ready. More than can feed us. Can we tempt you?” The offer was sincere and Daryl was hungry, but his battery was running on fumes. He glanced toward his own home and then back at Aaron. “Eric makes a mean spaghetti, man. Come on, you’re already out.”

Daryl sighed. “Fine.” He was grateful for the invitation, he just sucked at showing it, as with almost every other emotion. Aaron held open the door and with a nod, the archer entered, still ill at ease being inside someone else’s home when his own still felt less than comfortable.

“Dorl.”

Before he could prepare himself, Nadia was latching onto his lower legs. Arms out awkwardly, he glared at Aaron. “Didn’t say she was here.”

The man just shrugged a shoulder. “Didn’t say she wasn’t either.”

“Hi, Daryl!” You came around the corner from the dining room, no doubt to gather your spawn but he couldn’t seem to form a thought around the smile you were giving him.

“Mama! Dorl!”

“I can see that, baby. You think you can let go so that he can walk?” Nadia shook her head with a vicious pout.

“Dorl up?”

“What?” He looked down at the toddler and back up at you, silently hoping you’d act as translator for the little gremlin.

“She wants you to pick her up. You don’t—”

For reasons unbeknownst to even him, he bent down and placed his hands beneath Nadia’s arms, lifting her onto his hip. It felt no different than holding Judith. Nadia was heavier of course.

“Dorl!” Chubby arms wrapped around his neck, her little cheek rubbing against his stubbled one. “Tickle.” She giggled like it was the funniest thing in the world and repeated the action.

You were still smiling but much more softly. “She really likes you.” Daryl grunted. “You don’t say much, do you?”

“Ain’t gotta lot to say.” He shrugged the shoulder Nadia’s chin was resting on, sending her into another fit of giggles. She pulled back suddenly, very in his space and then pressed her face against his cheek. He flinched but otherwise didn’t move. There was the smallest flutter that tickled his skin before she reared back again, smiling proudly. “What—”

“Butterfly kisses.” You informed, arms crossed but your smile hidden behind your hand.

“What the fu—heck’s that?”

“Oh come on, you never gave your mom butterfly kisses?” You chuckled.

Daryl felt nauseous at the mention of his mother. The only thing he’d shared with her were bruises and a few after-beating hugs. But you didn’t know him. He took the anger and locked it down, but it must have spilled into his expression.

“I’m sorry.” Your smile was gone, but to his surprise (and relief), there was no pity in your eyes. Only understanding. Still, it wasn’t a subject he cared to let linger.

He turned his attention to the child, who had developed a sudden interest in the hair over his ears. “Ya ever gave a Eskimo kiss?” He almost laughed out loud when Nadia’s eyes flew wide with wonder. She didn’t confirm or deny but the fact that she hadn’t moved was answer enough. “S’simple.” Daryl brought a hand up to the back of her head and gently urged her forward, rubbing the tip of his nose over hers. “There. Eskimo kiss.”

She kept those wide eyes as her little mouth began to spread open into one of the biggest smiles he’d ever seen on a kid, granted he hadn’t spent much time around any.

“Again!” She squealed, grabbing his cheeks and pulling him forward. He expected to have a bloody nose from the force with which she came at him, but her movements became deliberate and gentle, as if getting it right was the most important thing in the world.

Nadia was incredibly pleased with herself, her little hands patting against Daryl’s chest before she wiggled out her request for freedom and sprinted toward the dining room with this newfound information to share with Eric and Aaron.

“Careful.” You said, though there was no hint of anything unkind in your tone. When he looked away from the other room, he found your expression to be one he couldn’t seem to identify. It was soft yet guarded. He didn’t move away when you reached a single hand out to adjust his vest. “You’re smiling.” And you walked away, leaving him there to realize that he was indeed wearing a small, lopsided grin.

He shook it off with a groan, absolutely regretting his decision to come in for dinner.

“Dorl!” Came the loud shout from the table. “Dorl, sketti!”

This was not going to end well.

It had been two weeks since the spaghetti dinner, which in fact had ended rather pleasantly. Aside from your giggles when he realized he was eating his meal with the same gusto and manners as the toddler next to him, Aaron had offered him a job that let him go outside the walls. He’d accepted almost immediately.

Little Nadia had been determined to take him home with them, so he walked you there with her tiny hand in his. Halfway, she had begun to tire and fuss, instinct had kicked in and he scooped her up in the same manner he would Judith. The child was asleep on his shoulder almost instantly.

He had zero intention of entering your home and was thankful the kid was out cold so that she couldn’t initiate the suggestion. He had passed her off to you and started to leave.

“Daryl.” You had called quietly. He still wasn’t sure why he had turned back to you so quickly. “That invitation is still open.” You smiled, he grunted. “Thanks for being so sweet with her. Goodnight.”

There had been a heavy feeling in his chest but he had nodded. “G’night.”

Now, you and little Nadia were almost a constant presence when he wasn’t beyond the wall. A presence that he found no longer really irritated him.

He would sit on the porch with the kid, working on his crossbow while Nadia colored or played with toys. He had to find her some of her own to have there because it seemed she and Judith were at odds about Daryl’s attention. He had made the mistake of lifting lil’ asskicker out of her playpen while Nadia was on his heels and the latter had begun to wail.

He had quickly passed Jude off to an equally concerned Michonne and scooped up the kid. “S’wrong? Hey.” Little arms wrapped around his neck and, though he didn’t see the angry pout directed at the other baby, Michonne did. He turned at her chuckle, eyes wide and confused.

Before she could explain, those little arms squeezed harder. “My Dorl.”

From that moment on, he saved time with Judith for emergencies (there were none) and for after Nadia had gone home with you.

“Don’t touch that, Dia.” Daryl huffed, catching her little hand reaching for the knife he had on the porch table. He had spent the morning skinning a few squirrels for Carol to use in a stew but was at that point, working on the tension on his bow.

And babysitting.

You had some inventory to do at the infirmary with Pete. The doctor gave him bad vibes so when you had asked, he’d accepted all too quickly. Even offered to tag along and keep an eye on the kid there. In the end, after you had politely declined, he had reasoned that you were a grown woman and could handle yourself.

“Babysitting, again, hmm?”

Daryl glanced up from his crossbow toward Carol on the top step, Nadia already beaming up at her from the hug around her waist. It lasted all of three seconds before the kid was back to her toys beside Daryl’s boot.

“Mhm.” Was the only answer he offered, one that was mimicked from the little person below him. He didn’t smile but Carol didn’t miss the way his eyes left the weapon to regard Nadia for a moment before returning to the task.

“Where’s Y/N?” She asked, plopping down onto the other chair. She grabbed a toy that had rolled away and handed it back to the child.

“Some inventory shit at the infirmary.” Daryl shrugged, rotating the bow to check his work. Carol made a noise that gave him pause, one he didn’t like. “What?”

“No one’s at the infirmary. I was just there for Mr. Henderson’s blood pressure medication.”

He could feel his heartrate picking up, a sense of foreboding so strong that he could barely think straight. “Pete weren’t there?”

Carol shook her head. “No one.” She sat up straight when Daryl stood, sheathing his knife and placing his crossbow on the railing. “Daryl?”

“Dia, I’m gonna be right back. You’re gonna stay with Carol for a few minutes. Tell me the rules.”

Nadia’s wide eyes narrowed into seriousness. “No bow. No move. Be good. No shit.” It took her a moment to babble through the small list but Daryl ruffled her hair with the smallest of half smiles.

“No shit, Daryl?”

He was already stepping off the porch. “Her mama hears ‘er sayin’ that an’ m’a dead man.”

Carol laughed and shook her head, turning her attention to the little human that was already working up to a cry as Daryl walked out of sight. “Do you like cookies, Nadia?”

He checked the infirmary first. He didn’t doubt Carol, but maybe she had missed a room or something. It was, as Carol had said, empty. “Fuck.” The next most logical place would be your home. He ran the entire way. He’d feel like an absolute fool if you were fine, but he’d cross that bridge later. The door was open, he could see that from the moment he rounded the curb. You had a habit of doing that and he hated it, but who was he to tell you what to do?

“Y/N?” He took your steps two at a time and stopped on the threshold. “Y/N? Are ya here?” No answer. He felt like shit the moment his boot touched the floor inside. He’d never taken you up on an invitation for the dinner you continuously offered him, much less any offer to simply come inside. Now here he was tearing room to room, in your safe space. There were covered pots on the stove and the oven was on, but where were you? “Y/N!” He placed a booted foot on the bottom stair before your voice stunned him frozen.

“Daryl?”

He nearly collapsed in relief.

“What’s wrong? Where’s Nadia? Daryl?”

“She’s fine. She’s with Carol.” He rasped, sheathing his knife when he saw you staring at it. Your hair was wet, your clothes damp. You must have been in the shower. “M’sorry. Carol said ya weren’t at the—just got worried. M’sorry.” His eyes had lowered to the stairs below you but then your bare feet were padding down them to stop directly in front of him. “I’ll, uh—lemme go get ‘er.” He had barely moved before your hand was on his shoulder. To his shock, he didn’t flinch; didn’t even have the urge.

“Are you okay?” You asked, ducking your head to seek out his gaze. He continued to expertly dodge.

“M’fine. Just—I’ll go get Dia.” He stepped away and out of the loose grip you had on him, immediately missing the warmth of your hand. What the hell was wrong with him?

“I was making us dinner.” The words rushed out of you, like you were trying to get them out before he could leave. Daryl looked over his shoulder from the doorway, an eyebrow arched. “Us. Me, Nadia, and—well, you.”

“Me? Why?” He hadn’t meant to sound so unkind, ungrateful, but that was just who he was down deep, wasn’t it? Still, you seemed unbothered, your nervousness born of something else entirely.

“Because Nadia likes you. I like you. We’d like to spend time with you that doesn’t involve me asking for favors or the entire community leering and making assumptions.”

He still hadn’t fully turned, but narrowed his eyes. “Think they ain’t gonna make assumptions when ya have me in your house?”

“Fair point.” You nodded, chuckling. “Honestly, I don’t give a fuck what they think but I worry that you do.” Head tilted, Daryl turned but remained in the doorway. “You seem so private, quiet. I don’t want to do anything that makes you uncomfortable.” Your bottom lip disappeared between your teeth for a moment. “So, will you come? Please?”

As much as he tried, he couldn’t sense a single ounce of dishonesty or ill intent in you. It was certainly there, wasn’t it? No one outside of the group that had grown to like him over months of death and sorrow wanted anything to do with him. So, why you? Why Nadia? “Alright, I’ll go get ‘er an’ be back.” He turned and took a step before you called out again.

“Don’t worry about changing or anything. Just bring you, okay?”

He nodded around the very foreign flutter in his chest, clearing his throat and leaving the house before he could overthink things right there in front of you. He’d be able to do that in abundance on the way to grab the kid.

To say he was confused was the largest of understatements. You were a beautiful woman. Where was Nadia’s father? In that world, the absence usually meant he was either dead or had willingly left, which he couldn’t fathom either. Was the kid the reason all the single men weren’t knocking down your door? That couldn’t be it. Nadia was amazing, all bright smiles and such an innocence that was refreshing in a world as dark it was.

Even if you did have suitors, why were you taking the time to get to know him? He was damn sure nothing special and had nothing to offer you. Daryl growled at himself. He was jumping the gun. You hadn’t expressed any real interest in him. You wanted to have dinner. Aaron and Eric had him over for dinner all the time. It was what friends did. He was your friend after all. He had to be for you to trust him with Nadia. He snorted. Maybe that was all the brat’s doing and you were just along for the ride.

His shoulders were slumped, feet dragging by the time he made it back to his house, already opening his arms in expectation of the bundle of Nadia that would be leaping into them any moment. “Dorl!”

“She was about to strap on your crossbow and come find you herself.” Carol teased from the doorway.

“I was barely gone twenty minutes, kid.” He nodded to Carol and turned back to take Nadia home. “Your mama’s at home makin’ something for supper. Ya hungry?”

“Mmmmhmmmm!” Little legs were swinging while bright eyes watched the street in front of them, her arms loosely around his neck, trusting him to not let her fall. And he would never. Daryl craned his head to look at her, all dark hair and big blue eyes. She could pass as his own kid to anyone who didn’t know better.

Whoa. That train of that was roughly derailed.

Easily done when the top of her head leaned against his temple and she began to hum some tune he didn’t know. It calmed his anxiety enough to not eat him from the inside out before he made it back to your house. Nadia was wiggling to be lowered before he could even get her to the steps. Much to her annoyance (if her little growl and pout were anything to go by), he didn’t place her on her feet until they were on the porch.

The door was still open and, man, he really wanted you to stop doing that.

“Mama!” Nadia squealed, running right into your arms.

“Hi, baby! Did you have fun with Daryl today?” You hefted her onto your hip, your face turned toward hers even though your smile was aimed at the archer.

“We always have fun.” He was close enough to ruffle the kid’s hair without invading your space.

“No shit!” Nadia proclaimed with her arms in the air. You were smiling but your eyebrows shot up toward your hairline. Daryl cleared his throat.

“M’a tell Carol to watch ‘er mouth.”

“Carol. Right.” You chuckled. You started to reach for his arm but must have thought better of it and motioned toward the dining room instead. He found he was disappointed. “Go ahead and sit down wherever. There’s some wine and water already there.”

Daryl liked wine. He’d partake when at Aaron and Eric’s for dinner but here? He wasn’t sure that was such a good idea. The table could seat six but there were three places set, the middle chair holding a booster seat. He didn’t sit, wouldn’t until you did. Instead he noticed how close the glasses of wine were sitting to Nadia’s place and took the liberty of moving each of them to the other side. Not that the kid would bother them but it just felt—right?

“Alright, kiddo. You get to eat first.” You weren’t carrying Nadia anymore but she was right behind you, looking up at the bowl of pasta like a pup that was about to get its kibble. Daryl was already lifting the kid into her seat when you turned from placing the bowl on the table. “Thank you.” You did touch his arm then. “Go ahead and sit. I’ll be right back.”

Nadia had apparently chosen his spot for him, patting the back of the chair to her left. Chewing on the side of his thumb, he glanced toward the kitchen. Wasn’t he supposed to pull your chair out for you or something? Aaron had.

“No, no, Dorl.” Nadia pulled at his elbow, earning a halfhearted scowl before he realized she was trying to get him to stop the anxious habit.

“Sorry.” He mumbled, not sure why he was apologizing when she just went back to dancing and eating once he had dropped his hand. He watched her for a moment, just being a kid, innocent and oblivious to the dangers and heartache that lay in wait just outside of Alexandria’s protective walls. She and you—just two more people for him to mourn in the end. What was he doing there? He had no business being in your lives. If he didn’t lose the two of you, then you would lose him. It was inevitable. It was fate. It was the way the world worked now, tirelessly snuffing out any semblance of light that could give someone like him hope.

And goddamnit, he’d be devastated. He adored your kid and though he couldn’t quite decipher what it was that he felt for you, he knew that if anything happened to you, he’d shatter.

“Daryl?”

“What?” He snapped out of reflex, not fully out of his head before he had realized you were speaking. You flinched, the pasta in the two bowls you were holding bounced but didn’t spill. “M’sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. Are you okay?” The bowls were placed on the table and a basket of fresh bread that he hadn’t noticed you had already brought out. How long had he been standing there?

“Yeah, uh—yeah, m’fine.” He shifted his weight from foot to foot, suddenly feeling very trapped in the small room. It wasn’t really that small, was it? “M’just—” He didn’t finish before he all but ran to the door, closing it behind him like he really wished you would start doing. He had a cigarette lit within seconds, trembling fingers bringing it to his lips for a long drag.

Pale light from inside cascaded around him as the door opened. You didn’t move any closer, obviously staying near Nadia while the little girl ate. “You okay?”

“Mhm.” Lie.

“Come back inside?” You requested after glancing toward Nadia, finding her eating her pasta elegantly with her fingers. Daryl said nothing, wasn’t even sure he could, but he flicked his cigarette toward the sidewalk and stood, walking past you with but a beat of hesitance.

Despite Nadia’s excitement at his return, he remained quiet, but offered the kid a ghost of a smile when she offered a bite of her own food. Disgruntled at his refusal, she wore her own version of a scowl and continued to eat. You had taken your seat, giving the bread basket a tiny shove toward the archer.

“Thanks.” He mumbled. He wasn’t sure how to act around you anymore. Staring at his food, he questioned whether the way he usually ate might disgust you. It was never something he actively thought about. He grew up in a home where he snatched what he could get and ate it quickly before someone could take it or reprimand him for it. It was nearly the same now that the world had ended. Thankful for any scrap of food, but quick to make sure it was gone before someone came ready to fight for it.

“If you think any louder, I might be able to hear it.”

Daryl glanced up, unable to meet your eyes. You were swirling the wine around in the glass with your gaze settled on him. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s just dinner, Daryl.”

With a barely there nod, he picked up his fork and began to eat, slowly and carefully, not noticing the way you watched him with a quizzical expression.

Nadia was having a hard time keeping her head up by the time dinner was finished, her little eyes closing before snapping open with a jerk of her head.

“Time for bed.” You announced, attempting to wipe her face around languid movements of annoyance. “Come on, baby.” Lifting her from the chair, you tilted your head when she leaned her upper body back toward Daryl, reaching out with lazy, grabby hands.

“Dorl night night.”

Halfway out of his seat, he froze. “Think ya should, uh—your mama should handle this’un, Dia.” She didn’t seem to have it in her to argue, flopping onto your shoulder. You managed to hold up a finger, asking him to wait while you put Nadia to bed. He did, but busied himself gathering the dishes, taking them to the sink, and rinsing them out as Carol had trained him to do. “Wow, my very own human dishwasher. Can I keep you?”

Daryl felt the heat rise in his face, traveling down to his chest and up to the tips of his ears. “Stop.” God, you were just as bad as Carol.

“Daryl.”

Oh, boy. Your tone had gone from playful to serious in two seconds flat. His stomach was in knots but he dared not turn around and rinsed the same bowl at least three times. “Hmm?”

“I’d like to see, uh—I’d like it if you'd come around more often. Tonight was—it was nice.”

And there it was. The one thing that had caused him so much inner turmoil now confirmed. You were interested and, for the life of him, he couldn’t understand why. When he finally managed to get his tongue to work, the words that spilled out were nothing like the ones running through his head and he regretted them immediately. “Where’s Dia’s daddy?” Christ, Dixon. “M’sorry.” He tried to backpedal, finally turning toward you and leaning back against the sink with a white-knuckled grip against the edge of the countertop. “Ain’t my business.”

“Gone. I don’t really give a fuck where.” You shrugged, so nonchalantly that he had to look at you. “He didn’t want her. Nearly got himself killed finding pills for me to take. I refused, he left. But I have her and I hope he’s a walker.” Your gaze was fond but serious, and he found not a single trace of annoyance or anger. “She’s never really liked men. Even Aaron and Eric had to coax her inside for dinner with a stale candybar.” You laughed at the memory, and Daryl realized he could listen to that sound for the rest of his life. “But then you. She wasn’t afraid, not for a single second.”

“It was the ‘possum.” He shrugged, shyly ducking his head for only a moment but looking back up through his fringe when you laughed again.

“Okay, we can go with that.” You lifted yourself up onto the island, kicking your legs, reminding him of Nadia. “Doesn’t really explain why she stuck to you like glue every moment since then, though. Dorl this and Dorl that. I’m not complaining. You’re good for her.” Daryl scoffed, ducking his head once more. “You are, Daryl. And I think she might be good for you too.”

“She’s a kid. Don’t know no better.” He shrugged, the urge to run becoming more and more prevalent. He didn’t belong there. It wasn’t his family. Nadia wasn’t his kid and you weren’t his. God, he wished you were.

You hummed, holding back something. “I had fun tonight, but when you come back, don't worry so much about what I think, okay?” The way he tried to eat more slowly?

“Yeah, okay. Was nice. Thanks, uh—thanks for havin’ me.” The archer made the choice to pass you and head for the door. Your bare feet hit the floor just behind him. “I’ll see ya ‘round. Lemme know if ya need someone to watch Dia.” Why the hell did he offer that?

“I will. Thank you.” The smile you gave him was almost sad. Maybe disappointed? “Goodnight, Daryl.”

“Yeah. Night.” He crossed the threshold but turned back, keeping his head low. “Keep your door shut.” There was no time for you to answer before he was jogging down your steps, barely slowing his stride all the way home. All the lights were off when he arrived and he couldn’t be more grateful to slip in and down to his room to berate himself properly until he was finally able to fall asleep.

Logically, he should have avoided you since that night, but Daryl never claimed to be the brightest crayon in the box. He absolutely did not look for reasons to go to your house, satisfied to find the door closed each and every time. If he saw you carrying something, he’d jog over to take it from you, no matter how big or small. He responded by meeting Nadia in the middle each time she called for him, even if he was covered in dark blood and brain matter.

“Dorl smell ick.” She would say.

He was down bad and though he would deny it until his last breath with the age old line of we’re just friends, Carol was smarter than that.

“Daryl, you and I are friends. You’re sweet on that girl and you can fight me if you try to claim any different.” She stirred at the brownie batter, intermittently swatting away his hand when he tried to sneak a taste. “You should just tell her how you feel.”

“Stop actin’ like ya know ev’rythin’.” He snapped with no real heat.

“Okay, fine. I know nothing.” She stated coolly, spreading the mixture into a baking pan. “Except that Spencer has been spending an awful lot of time around her and Nadia.”

Well, that had his attention. “What? When?” He hopped off the countertop and was quickly standing just beside Carol, moving accordingly so that she could continue her baking.

“Usually when you’re out. I think you intimidate him.”

“Damn well better intimidate him.”

“Why? You’re ‘just friends,’ remember?” Daryl curled his lip at her air quotes, turning on a heel to head toward the door.

“Shuddup.”

He hadn’t been focused, lingering on what Carol had told him that morning. Worrying that Spencer was putting the moves on you that very moment he wasn’t there to do anything about it. What if he’d missed his chance? He growled, trying to take more of his own weight off of Aaron but his leg burned and ached.

“Ain’t that bad.” He tried to brush it off, but it was, in fact, that bad. He hadn’t seen the damn trap, the walker backing him right onto it. He was lucky the dead bastard didn’t take a chunk of him when he went down, but Aaron was quick. Had Daryl been alone, he’d likely be snarling and growling on the ground with his calf still locked within that metal.

“Keep telling yourself that and maybe your stubbornness will keep you on your feet until we can make it back.” The other man huffed. “First Eric, now you. I swear, I’m cursed.” Daryl groaned but couldn’t disagree.

Christ. The archer’s head was fucked. He couldn’t focus with images of you running rampant at the forefront of his mind. The way you would smile when you saw him; how you’d laugh when he’d huff at Dia for calling him Dorl; you’d have him for dinner a few times a week and it was less and less awkward.

He was so fucked.

“Open the gate!” Aaron called urgently. Daryl hadn’t even been paying attention but maybe zoning out was what brought him that far with such an injury. The toe of his boot was dragging, his leg both numb and throbbing in a way he couldn’t seem to understand was even possible. Sasha was yelling, but he couldn’t understand what she was saying. He was too busy trying to look over his shoulder at the steady crimson trail that followed them. Would walkers follow it right to the gates? “Jesus, okay. I’m going to get help to carry you to the infirmary.”

“Fuck Pete. Gimme Y/N or just take me home.” Daryl slurred, his head falling back against the metal just inside the gates. He was fading, tired and smothered by a dark cloud that was creeping into the edges of his vision and mind. He knew he wouldn’t die from this, but damn, did it still suck.

“Dorl! Mama, Dorl boo-boo!”

Tiny, warm hands were on his face. He was cold, didn’t even realize it. Big blue eyes were hovering right in front of his face, a little mouth between chubby cheeks speaking with an urgency that made him want to scoop her up and soothe the worry. “Dia.” He breathed, his mind finally catching up, though he wasn’t sure for how long.

“Nada kiss boo-boo.”

Daryl chuckled breathlessly but pulled the little girl against his chest. “Nah, baby girl, don’t kiss that boo-boo. S’gross.” Big crocodile tears were forming and falling, and his heart ached. His little girl was never supposed to cry, never supposed to even be sad. “M’okay. Your mama’s gonna make it all better, you’ll see.”

“Mama, Dorl got big boo-boo.”

“I see that, baby. Can you move so mommy can take a look?” You were there, your voice a balm to the pain that was slowly fading.

“She’s alright.” Daryl shifted Nadia to his side, letting her hold on with her head on his filthy chest. You’d have to give her a bath later and somehow, he had the energy to feel bad about that.

“Jesus, Daryl, what did you do?” You were cutting the lower part of his pant leg, right there on the street, but he didn’t have it in him to see who might be watching. He muttered bear trap but didn’t really recall it being his voice. Was it even him?

The child holding to him made a noise when the wound was revealed, jagged punctures that still steadily bled and she shouldn’t be seeing that. Why wasn’t someone taking her away? “Ssh. S’okay, Dia. Just look at me—can ya hum that song ya always do when we take ya home?” A tiny sniffle but then a little tune in his ear.

“What happened? He okay?” Rick.

“Daryl!” Ah, Carol. Good.

“Hey, take her, would ya? Don’t need to be here.” He was gentle if not weak when he tried to hand off Nadia, kissing one of her little hands when he finally peeled them away from his neck. “M’a be okay, Dia.” She cried. Even as Carol promised her cookies and brownies, she cried and his heart ached more than his leg. He barely caught the word disinfect before the hellfire in his leg struck him like a hammer to the head and he knew no more.

“S’not that big’a deal. I can take care’a myself at home.” Daryl grimaced and watched you moving things around in your living room. You disappeared and returned several moments later with pillows and blankets.

“I know you can, but I also know you’re stubborn as a mule and you’ll try to go out of those gates behind Aaron within a day.” He barely opened his mouth before you held up an authoritative finger. “Don’t lie to me, Daryl Dixon. And don’t pretend I don’t know at least a little by now.”

“Dorl!”

Before he could process her voice, the archer had a lapful of toddler. It was hazy but he could remember how he felt at the gate, the protective instinct, the absolute knowledge that Nadia was his no matter how untrue it was. He couldn’t seem to shake it.

“Hey, Dia.”

“Be careful of his boo-boo, sweetie.” You admonished in the most gentle tone while propping Daryl’s leg up on a pillow. “He’s going to stay with us for a few days so I can keep an eye on him.”

“Why?” Came the innocent reply.

“Because Daryl is naughty and doesn’t like to listen when he’s told he can’t do something. Like you with Miss Carol’s cookies.”

Nadia gasped dramatically and turned those big blues to Daryl. “Dorl takes cookies.”

Glancing at you, expression bland, he nodded. “Yeah, I take the cookies.”

“So he has to stay right here on this couch unless mommy is helping him, okay? Can you be my junior nurse and make sure he stays put?”

“That ain’t fair.” Daryl objected with an indignant pout.

“Why? Because you know it’ll work?”

Daryl grunted and crossed his arms. He was in for a long few days.

A week later, the stitches were out but there was residual swelling that was hindering healing. Nothing to worry about, you had told him.

“Why ain’t Ken wearin’ no clothes?” Daryl was concerned to be ‘playing Barbies’ when Barbie wore a bathing suit and Ken was naked as the day he was—assembled? So far he’d been able to avoid dialogue and just bounce the doll around with facial expressions that kept the toddler occupied. “Seems a lil’ fucked up.”

“You try finding doll clothes nowadays.” There was laughter in your voice and tenderness in your touch while you cleaned the wound and changed the dressings. Only a couple more days of that.

“Maybe I will.” The archer mused, standing the doll on top of Nadia’s head, keeping it there with his finger on the top. Her little arms could only reach the legs, facing reddening and scrunching with giggles.

“Time to pick up your toys. Daryl needs to rest and you, missy, need to get to bed.”

“Noooooo.”

“Don’t sass your mama.” Daryl dropped the doll in favor of patting the kid on the head. “G’on now.” The archer dropped an arm outward, fully expecting the hug that was incoming. “Night, kid.”

“Nigh’ night’, dada.”

It was at that moment Daryl Dixon completely forgot how to breathe. His eyes were already on yours before the kid decided to drop that bomb and skip away to brush her teeth like she hadn’t just turned his world upside down.

“M’sorry. M’so sorry. I don’t—she didn’t—”

“I’m just—” you interrupted, backing toward the doorway, “I need to put her to bed.” You stumbled out of the room as if he were chasing you.

He wasn’t sure he could move if he tried. His heart was in his nose, his stomach in his ass, and his lungs were plaited around his spine. Why would the kid call him dada? It made no sense. A couple of months wasn’t long enough for anything like that. Right? Fuck, he needed to talk to Carol. His brain was malfunctioning. He couldn’t process this.

Throwing off the blankets, Daryl sat up, levering to his feet. He still had a limp but it was easier now. Shuffling to the exit, he stopped, staring at the handle of the closed door. You’d been doing that now, hadn’t you? He said something once and you had listened.

“So you’re just gonna run away after that, is that it?”

The archer spun so fast that he lost his balance, righting himself with a hand on the wall. “It ain’t—I was—just needed to talk to Carol.” He admitted. His shirt was damp and he was certain he would vomit.

“She didn’t mean anything by it, Daryl. I’ll talk to her.” You were wringing your hands, your chin wobbling.

Don’t cry. Please don’t cry. He had the sudden desire to hug you but didn’t dare move. Aside from casual touches, bumping shoulders in jest, and of course the occasional wound treatment, the two of you had never physically interacted. Not that he hadn’t thought about it. Wow, had he thought about it. “I know she didn’t mean nothin’.” Ouch. Somehow that revelation was worse.

“She loves you, Daryl. I’ll talk to her, I promise. Please don’t walk out on her. On—on me.”

He likely looked like an idiot hobbling half the distance to where you stood. “Ain’t goin’ nowhere.” When you nodded and dropped your head, he dared another unsteady step. “M’a stay as long as ya want me here. You an’ Dia.” With one hand, he touched your shoulder and left the decision up to you. You needed no further prompting to step into his arms. For a moment, nothing else mattered. But then you were stepping back.

“Okay.” You nodded, turning your head to wipe away a tear you thought he didn’t already notice. “I like having you here.” He returned the nod silently.

Nothing else was said. Daryl went back to the couch, you went to get ready for bed. The night went on with both you and Daryl feeling more alone than ever.

“She really called you dada?” Carol asked in an excited whisper, the wide grin on her face in direct contrast to Daryl’s frown. “That’s a good thing, right?”

“No!” He shot back immediately, looking over his shoulder at the little girl playing on the living room floor. They had somehow even managed to get her to sit next to Judith’s playpen, so long as Daryl didn’t touch Lil’ Asskicker, peace remained. “I mean, yeah. Fuck, I dunno what I mean, Carol.”

“Daryl.” The seriousness in her tone brought his gaze to hers, flinching when he found her leaning on her elbows much closer than she had been just a moment ago. “I’m gonna ask you a question and I want you to answer me honestly.”

“Ain’t never lied to ya.”

“Okay.” Her eyes, just as blue as his own, narrowed. “Do you love that little girl?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.” It was true. It was so different from how he loved Judith but yet completely the same. He would give anything for her to have been his, to have been there while you carried her. He wanted to spit on the man that tried to force you to end it. He couldn’t imagine a world without you and little Nadia anymore. It was as if the two of you were the missing pieces that could give him a chance to be whole.

“And Y/N?”

“What?”

“Do you love Y/N?” Carol leaned back a little, her gaze no less intense.

“S’a lil’ more—I, uh—”

“I said STOP!”

Daryl was on his feet instantly at the sound of your voice, running outside. His limp was less profound and didn’t hinder him from descending the steps to see you across the street with your arm in Spencer’s grasp. You were likely on your way to collect Nadia.

“Come on, Y/N. You’re beautiful, and I’ve seen the way you look at me.” Spencer pulled you toward him.

“You’re delusional!”

“Stop being such a prude. You’ve got a kid. You think you got any other options out there?”

“Yeah! She does!” Daryl’s fist had already connected before the other man had even realized he was approaching. The archer stepped in front of you and stayed there, coiled to attack but holding steady until he was given a reason.

“You?” Spencer spat, literally, a glob of blood and saliva landing next to Daryl’s boot. “The dirty redneck everyone’s afraid of? That’s laughable.”

Daryl started to move until he felt the smallest tug on his jeans. Nadia was looking up at him, equal parts curious and afraid.

“Dada mad?”

Your arms encircled his stomach with whispers of he’s not worth it repeated over his shoulder. “Get the fuck outta here an’ don’t come near my girls again.” The archer waited, arching a brow when Spencer hesitated.

“You heard him.” Rick stepped up to Daryl’s left, Michonne and Carol on this right. “Best be going now.” Spitting again, the man curled his lip and scrambled to his feet, stomping off toward his mother’s home. “Well, that’s gonna be a problem.”

“I’ll go talk to Deanna.” Maggie offered, nodding at Rick but stopping to squeeze Daryl’s arm on her way by. What the fuck? Had everyone noticed?

“We should make ourselves scarce.” Michonne suggested with a knowing grin.

Once they were all out of sight, Daryl deflated, one hand falling to the top of Nadia’s head. “Ain’t angry, Dia.” She sniffled and seemed to only hug his leg tighter. When it was clear he couldn’t turn with the added weight to his injured leg, you stepped around in front of him.

“Your girls?” You asked, expression so terrifyingly unreadable.

“I just—he needed to leave an’ I didn’t want him to think he could come back ‘round.” His bottom lip was instantly being gnawed between his teeth. “Needed to make sure ya were okay.”

“So, we’re not your girls?” There was definitely disappointment there. You were wringing your hands again before reaching toward Nadia.

“I mean, if ya—yeah.” Daryl swallowed hard. “Yeah, you’re my girls. Have been for a while. M’just a idiot an’ I was—I’m scared. Don’t wanna be like my old man.”

You hummed, stepping into him to brush back the fringe across his eyes. “You haven’t told me anything about your parents, but I’m willing to listen. I wanna know everything about you.”

“Me too—’bout you, I mean. ‘Bout Dia.” He was reaching for your face, leaning in just as you did. His lips barely brushed yours before there came another tug at his jeans again.

“Home, dada.”

You laughed while Daryl just looked stricken and confused. “You heard her, Daryl. Let’s go home and figure this out.”

One Year Later

“Daddy! Lookit picture!!”

Daryl looked up from the mess of rabbits he was skinning on the porch, blowing upward to move some of the hair from his eyes. The almost four year old was sprinting down the street from the Grimes’ house, a piece of paper waving in her grip above her head. He waved to Michonne who had been watching Nadia make it back safely. “Whatcha got there, Dia?” She was grinning from ear to ear when she presented it to him, holding it out in front of her because ew no when he reached for it with bloody fingers.

There were three stick figures. One was obviously him if the crazy hair and scribbled attempt at a crossbow were anything to go by. A small figure was at his side, dark hair and a big smile: Nadia. And then there was you. Daryl snorted. You were a stick figure with a circle drawn around the middle.

“Your mama’s gonna ‘preciate that, kid.”

“Appreciate what?” You stepped out with two glasses of water, placing them on the table and resting your hand on your swollen belly. Nadia proudly displayed the drawing and received a big smile and mhm, so pretty from you while Daryl snickered into his shoulder. “Go put it on the fridge, baby, and wash your hands. Supper’s nearly ready.”

“Okay, mama!” And off she went in a blur.

“Not funny, Dixon.” You dug your bare toes into his lower back until he yelped.

“S’a little funny.” He wiped his knife across his jeans.

“About as funny as you cleaning these rabbits on my front porch.” He ducked his head sheepishly when he turned to watch you lower into your chair.

“I’ll clean it up, Sunshine. Don’t get all uppity ‘bout it.” Rising from his perch, he gathered the meat onto a parchment you had given him and wrapped it, leaving the bones and fur to handle later. “Dia! C’mere!” Moving at inhuman speed, she was looking up at him from the doorway the next second. Daryl jerked his chin toward a bag on the table beside his water glass. “Broughtcha somethin’ back.”

You leaned forward with curiosity and watched your daughter pull out the contents of the bag, barely catching a glimpse of the different colors before Nadia hugged Daryl’s leg and disappeared back inside with squeals of delight echoing in her wake.

“What did you bring her?”

Daryl smirked. “Told ya I’d find clothes for them dolls.”

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #the walking dead #daryl dixon x you

888 notes · View notes

gvthic-gvrl · 2 months

Text

It's gonna be such a funny mess when Donald Trump dies of a stroke on April 1st, 2024.

Naturally everybody will think it's fake because of the date only to lose their minds (both positively and negatively based on their opinion of trump) when realizing it's real

There will be massive celebrations in the streets and on social media and lots of predictable "don't speak ill of the dead" discourse about those celebrations

Weird evangelicals will pull some weird number trick talking about how Jesus was conceived on April 1st and that makes Trump a sort of messiah and people will make fun of that

The Republicans (after they're done with the faux-sadness and faux-outrage) will stomp over each other to be his successor but none of them will succeed. They'll tear each other apart and have no single nominee for the November elections.

There will be discourse about if Biden and the living former presidents should go to his funeral (they won't, he was a traitor insurrectionist)

The Ukraine-Russia War immediately goes in favor of Ukraine as morale in the Kremlin is reduced. China similarly backs off from its threats on Taiwan.

Ten thousand new memes are made, some sticking around for years to come.

Not a month later a bunch of unofficial biographies of Trump hit the bookshelves, many with new details about just how awful he was.

158K notes · View notes

gvthic-gvrl · 2 months

Text

fuck yes

34. Dallas Winston - Please Don’t Be In Love With Someone Else

* Warning: smut! *

To everyone’s surprise, Tim Shepard was incredible with children especially when they were hysterically crying after hurting themselves. If it hadn’t been for your little brother, who at the ripe age of three enjoyed jumping off of high surfaces when he was alone for no more than a second, then no one would have seen this softer side of Tim. While everyone else was teasing the man as he placed a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle bandage on the child’s skinned knee while whispering he’d be alright, you couldn’t help the way your heart throbbed at the scene. And that’s when it started, down at the very bottom of your beating organ the tiniest, insignificant feeling of a crush was starting to blossom. It was a silly feeling, nothing that mattered at all because there were so many things about Tim Shepard you couldn’t stand. In fact, it was so funny to you, you decided to mention it to everyone, and like you’d hoped they would, they laughed about it. Even Tim Shepard, who knew there was nothing to the little crush you harbored.

“Well at least she gave you a way to get chicks!” Sodapop laughed.

And it was all fun and games amongst everyone. Tim even walked over to you, nudging your arm lightly.

“I can take you on a date,” he snickered, “get it out of your system.”

That caused another wave of rowdy laughter throughout the house. Everyone was having such a good time poking fun at your little crush towards Tim that no one, not even you, noticed the brooding Dallas Winston huffing in the corner with a cigarette between his lips. He didn’t find your crush on Tim Shephard all that amusing, probably because he was head over heels in love with you. But no one knew, not even Johnny, who Dally was incredibly close to. You weren’t like the other broads he’d ever met, Soc or Greaser; there was something warm about the way you laughed, something gentle and caring by the way you made sure everyone ate, you were friendly even when people didn’t deserve it, and no matter how many times you cried yourself into a mess, you put other people’s emotions before your own. He found you enduring, beautiful, selfless, and absolutely amazing but he’d never admit it to anyone. Which was why he was in this situation now; having to listen to all of his friends and you talk about your crush on Tim Shepard.

Honestly, he didn’t see the appeal. So damn what if Tim was great with kids, he could do that too. At least that’s what he kept telling himself. However, as the week went by, he found himself being scolded by parents of children he made cry. It wasn’t his fault they found him scary looking or that he wasn’t nice and soothing like typical people were when it came to children. He didn’t even like kids; they cried too much, there was always drool dripping from their mouths or snot bubbling at their nose, they asked for too much, and they were annoying.

A frustrated sigh left Dally’s lips as he plopped down on the Curtis’s couch. It was a Saturday, so everyone, with the exception of you, were sitting around Darry’s house enjoying their weekend and watching terrible tv. All of them turned their attention to their pouting friend.

“What’s the matter with you?” Darry questioned.

“Nothin’,” Dally huffed, not wanting to get into his failed attempt to get along with children for your sake.

“I saw you earlier,” Ponyboy stated while spooning some eggs into his mouth, “you made some kid cry and got yelled at by their mom.”

Dally scoffed, glaring angrily at Ponyboy for even mentioning his failure.

“Why’d you make a kid cry?” Two-Bit snickered.

“It’s not like I did it on purpose!” Dally snapped, “I was trying to impress someone,”

It all came out before Dally could even stop himself. Now they were all curiously sitting on the edge of their seats eyeing him suspiciously.

“We didn’t know you were into someone,” Steve stated, “who’s the lucky gal?”

“You aren’t that stupid, are ya?” Two-Bit laughed, “I remember a certain someone admitting they had a crush on Tim Shepard simply because he was great with kids.”

And while the scowl on Dally’s face seemed to deepen, the gears in everyone’s heads started to turn and click at the realization that Dallas Winston was desperately in love with you. So desperate that he was willing to be around sticky, stinky kids just to make you feel something, even a little bit, for him. The few times he tried were just practice runs, he didn’t want to embarrass himself in front of you when he decided to do it for real.

“If you like her,” Johnny said, his voice almost too quiet to hear over the rumbling sound of old tv, “just tell her how you feel.”

“Yeah,” Darry stated, “she’s not actually in love with Shepard. She even said so.”

“Maybe he wasn’t listenin’,” Sodapop giggled.

He was listening, he just didn’t want you to love anyone else, no matter how much it was. He swore the next time he saw Tim Shephard he was going to kick his ass but that was no more than a silent threat considering it wasn’t his fault you felt the way you did. All he knew was he didn’t want them talking about it anymore, at any second, you would walk through that door and how unsettling would it be for you to find out Dally’s feelings while his friends are trying to give him advice. Dally always saw himself as prideful, so that would be an awful situation.

As if right on cue, you came trudging through the door in your diner outfit letting your bag drop to the floor beside the front door. Your face was contorted into exhaustion and a few of your hair were misplaced but you didn’t bother with it. Everyone stopped talking about Dally’s crush on you immediately.

“Hey guys,” you greeted, voice hoarse from all the orders you had to call out and customers you had to speak to, “How’s it going?”

“Great,” Two-Bit said, smiling brightly with no indication that they were discussing Dally’s love life, “How was work?”

“I almost quit today. I swore to myself if one more person smacked my ass, I was leaving,” you stated, rolling your eyes in the process as you plopped down beside Dally, “but Tim made it all better when he brought me some coffee during my break.”

There were two things to be mad at according to Dally: some prick smacked you on the ass without your consent and Tim made you feel better today instead of him. This was getting worse and worse.

Dally gripped the side of the couch, and he wished he had a pack of cigarettes on him because it would keep him from aggressively chewing on the inside of his cheek. While the boys seemed to notice, you didn’t and Dally was starting to think that you were irritably clueless of the situation in the room. And he couldn’t take it anymore, so he pushed himself off the couch and stormed out the house, slamming the screen door shut behind him. Your eyes widened at Dally’s sudden action. You had noticed that he had started acting weird all week; barely looking you in the eyes, not really saying anything to you, leaving when you showed up. It was like Dally wanted nothing to do with you anymore, which was painful really because you and Dally were close. Not as close as he was to Johnny but close enough.

“What’s wrong with him?” You questioned, turning to the boys who had grown eerily quiet.

“Well…” Steve started but was cut off by Ponyboy.

“He’s just havin’ a hard time tellin’ some girl he like her,” he stated.

“That’s why he’s been so upset this whole week? Because of a girl? Why doesn’t he ask her out or something? I’ve never seen him this messed up about one girl before.”

“These are all new emotions for Dally,” Darry stated, the big brother voice coming out, “we’ll just all need to be supportive however we can.”

And that left a question rumbling through your tired head: How were you supposed to be supportive and help if Dally wouldn’t even look at you?

You spent a little more time with your friends before you went to pick up your little brother, running a little later than you’d have liked. When you did arrive at your brother’s daycare to pick him up, Dally was standing beside the fence smoking a cigarette, looking much calmer than he previously was. Without hesitation, you approached him.

“Dally,” you called, voice sweet and welcoming as it was with any of your friends, “what are you doing here?”

“Figured you’d be late,” he hummed, throwing the butt of the cigarette to the ground, “so I came up here to watch your brother until you got here.”

A large grin spreaded against your lips, the sparkle in your eyes blinding in the sunlight that was starting to set. You didn’t even need to say thank you, though you said it anyway, because Dally could see it in your eyes that you were grateful that he was looking out for your brother when you made small mistakes like being late. You ran over to the teacher, the ends of your diner skirt bouncing with each movement you made, and apologized for your tardiness before collecting your brother.

“It was no trouble at all,” she chirped, “he’s a perfect child. Have you considered adopting him yet?”

It was a topic that was frequently discussed during pickups. With both y’alls parents being deceased, that left you as the sole provider for your brother even if you were barely an adult, but you’d rather die first before letting anyone other than yourself get custody of him.

“I have,” you admitted, “that’s why I’m working so much now. I need the money to start.”

“Well we’ll help however we can,” she said, then patted your shoulder and let you be on your way.

You carried your brother back over to Dally who was still waiting for you at the fence, a new cigarette sitting between his lips. He offered to walk the two of y’all home since the sun was starting to go down and it was dangerous for the two of you to be walking home alone. And by the time the three of y’all made it to your house, your brother was crying for something to eat. You invited Dally inside and he took up your offer, watching as you began to make your brother something to eat. His menu consisted of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich cut into triangles, they were his favorite shape and he wouldn’t eat it any other way, some carrot stick with a bit of ranch, not too much because ranch wasn’t too good for you, and pieces of strawberries cut into pieces so he wouldn’t eat the strawberry butts because he would if given the chance.

As you made your brother’s food, Dally sat across from you watching every move you made. He didn’t like kids, but he loved watching you take care of your brother. You seemed so relaxed and in the zone, that nothing else could take your focus away from taking care of the only part of your family you had left.

When you were finished making his dinner, you let him watch reruns of Scooby Doo as he ate. That left you alone with Dally until it was bedtime. Luckily you had tomorrow off so you didn’t have to worry about bath time tonight because honestly, your legs were barely staying up as it was.

“Are you hungry?” You asked Dally, quirking your head to the side.

“Nah,” he muttered, “I ate a little bit ago.”

You nodded your head.

“That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t eat,” he continued, his eyes looking up to meet yours, and you could see something desperate in them that was hard to pinpoint.

“I’m not hungry,” you said, “Just tired.”

“I can leave?”

“It’s okay for now. I still have to get him ready for bed and everything.”

The muscles in his shoulders seemed to relax as he settled back into his seat comfortably. You wanted to bring up what the guys had told you earlier, about Dally being in love with someone, but you weren’t sure how. It was odd to know that there was a girl out there making Dally feel this way, he was known for casually hooking up and dumping girls left and right. The idea amused you, so you went for it.

“So the guys said something about you being head over heels for some girl,” you started off, Dally’s eyes flickering up to you, “I was wondering if you wanted to talk about it?”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” he muttered, averting his eyes.

You weren’t even sure if you should continue pressing the matter, you didn’t want to make him angry. You could handle his outburst but your brother would get scared and it wasn’t something you wanted to deal with tonight. So instead, you changed the conversation.

“Well I also wanted to let you know,” you changed the topic, “we’re all going to the park on Saturday. I’ll be making lunch for everyone if you wanna join. Everyone will be there, even Tim.”

A scowl appeared on Dally’s face as he scoffed, rolling his eyes as he looked away.

“I’m so damn tired of hearin’ that guys name,” he grumbled, keeping his voice down.

“He’s your friend,” you giggled, “What did he do to you?”

“He didn’t do anythin’ to me. I’m just tired of everyone kissin’ the ground he walks on.”

And now you were really confused because everyone was merely treating Tim Shephard like any ordinary friend.

“No one’s kissing the ground he walks on, Dally,” you argued, “he’s our friend. He’s welcome to join in on our activity if he wants to like anyone else we know. Why are you so mad at him?”

“Why are you defendin’ him?” Dally snapped, “You sleep with him? We all heard how you’re in love with him! How was he?”

By this time, your brother was looking at the two of you, inching himself behind the wall further but keeping an eye on y’all. But besides that, there were fresh tears in your eyes from the accusation being thrown at you. You couldn’t cry though, not in front of your little brother and sure as hell not in front of Dallas Winston. Instead, you gripped your hands into a fist at your side and glared at him, feeling a single tear fall from your face. For the first time ever, there was remorse and regret splashed on Dally’s face.

“Get the hell out of my house, Winston!” You snapped, “Now!”

You stormed past him and pulled the front door open; he came over to you.

“Wait,” he said, “let’s talk about this.”

“No.”

You grabbed the sleeve of his jacket and pushed him out of your house before slamming the door shut. You could hear the sound of his footsteps walking down the steps. Your brother, fortunately, wasn't crying, but was still scared. Smiling, shoving your tears away, you approached him and picked him up, carrying him to his bedroom to put him to bed. He kept asking you if you were okay and you promised him that you were, even though you weren’t. After reading him a bedtime story, he was knocked out, so you retired to your room and bawled your eyes out.

A week went by and you barely left the house. Instead of dropping your brother off at daycare, you took him to the diner with you. You didn’t even go to the park with everyone like you had originally planned, and when they knocked on your door that day, you ignored them because you felt ashamed. The only one you did speak to because they had seen you walking home was Darry. He was nice enough to give you and your brother a ride home. While your brother slept, Darry asked if everything was okay and because you saw him as the parental figure you desperately missed, you told him about the argument you and Dally had at your place. Rightfully so, he was pissed off at Dally.

And when Darry saw Dally again, he let him have it.

“Are you outta your mind?!” He snapped, “If you can’t get a hold of your damn emotions, fine! But you aren’t goin’ to take it out of her. She’s too damn kind and too damn carin’.”

“I didn’t mean for it to come out,” Dally argued, “but by the time I realized what I said, it was too late, she didn’t want to talk.”

“I don’t blame her. But you’re gonna make it right. You hear me, or you won’t be welcome back to my home until you sort yourself out.”

Everyone knew that Darry was serious because he never threatened to keep anyone from his house, so Dally refused to say anything that would cause a bigger hole in his relationship with Darry or anybody.

That night, Dally went to your house, hoping that you were still awake and that you would be willing to talk to him. He knocked three times on your front door before you opened up. Seeing your face for the first time in a week almost knocked the wind out of him. Even with tears, fresh and dry, streaking your tired face, you were beautiful. He wanted more than anything to grab you and kiss you, make everything alright.

“What are you doing here?” You questioned, voice no longer filled with joy but with sadness.

“Can we talk please?” He asked, the word “please” rolling off his tongue foreignly.

You hesitated, not wanting to let him in at all, especially not while your brother was asleep. But you knew he wouldn’t stop, coming back everyday to talk to you, hell, he’d even show up at your job. You couldn’t have that. So you nodded and pulled the door open, gesturing for him to come inside. Dally walked through your door and you shut it again, locking it so that no one could get in.

“What do you want to talk about?” You muttered, your eyes never meeting him.

“About that night a week ago,” he replied, “I want to apologize for what I said and my actions.”

“Because you’re actually sorry or because Darry made you come over here?”

The answer was both but it didn’t seem right to tell you that. But it didn’t seem right to lie either.

“Both,” Dally admitted, “but it doesn’t change the fact that I’m still sorry, even if Darry told me to come over. I’ve only been keepin’ my distance because I knew you didn’t want to see me.”

“And I still don’t,” you snapped out, “so you tell me why I shouldn’t kick you out.”

“Because we’re friends and because I’m sorry.”

“No. That’s not good enough. Friends don’t say the shit you said to each other. So if you want me to believe your half ass apology, I’m gonna need more. For example, what the hell has been your problem lately?”

Another thing that Dally loved about you was that you could be incredibly feisty when you wanted.

You stood there with your arms crossed over your chest waiting for an answer. Dally sighed, running his hands through his hair, frustration clear.

“Fine,” he huffed, “you wanna know? I had to listen to all of you joke about your crush with Shepard while I’m sittin’ over here dyin’ to tell you that I love you. Dyin’ to tell you how much you mean to me and how I want nothin’ more than to hold you when you cry. I can’t get your laugh out of my head, I can’t sleep at night because you wander my dreams, and hell, I pray that the next time I see you, I’ll get to see your smile or hear your voice.”

Your eyes widened at his confession. You didn’t think that this girl he had been in love with could have been you. You never thought of yourself as special like that to anyone, that and your life was filled with work, taking care of your brother, and adopting him. Yeah you spent time with your friends but you never thought you’d be someone they loved.

“Y-you love me?” You questioned, your voice not louder than a mouse.

“Of course I love you,” he admitted again, “that’s why I’ve been so upset lately. And it’s no excuse for the things I said to you the other night. I shouldn’t have been so…”

“No, you shouldn’t have. But I forgive you, Dally.”

A smile appeared on his face and he hugged you. Your head was buried into his chest and you couldn’t help smiling at the familiar smell of cigarettes and cheap cologne.

“And just so you know,” you continued, “a crush is a crush, Dally. Nothing more. Real love is more than some silly feeling of fascination.”

You looked up at him, your eyes twinkling up at his bright, brown eyes. He seemed to hesitate for a moment before he dipped his head down and kissed you. The taste of cigarette smoke touched your taste buds when he slipped his tongue into your mouth. It was familiar and welcoming. You ran your fingers up his chest and then wrapped around his neck. He gripped your waist tight, holding you in place as the kiss heated up. Pretty soon, he was shrugging his leather jacket off of his shoulder before pushing you backwards towards your bedroom which luckily the door was open. Inside your room, Dally grabbed the hem of your shirt and pulled it over your head revealing your flesh. Your breasts were almost popping out of your bra and Dally was practically drooling at the sight of it. He pushed you onto the bed gently, the covers crinkling underneath your weight. You watched as he removed his own shirt, undid his belt, before climbing back on top of you. His lips attached themselves to your neck instead of your lips. His tongue swirled around the subtle flesh of your neck causing a gentle moan to leave your lips.

“Dally,” you whimpered, your eyes rolling back.

“Shh,” he whispered, grinning against you, “you’ll wake your brother up. We don’t want that.”

He pushed himself between your thighs and caused a small amount of friction against your clothed cunt. It felt like he was doing all this on purpose, to tease you, knowing that you couldn’t be loud. You bite your bottom lip hard causing a small tear in the skin. The metallic taste of blood coating her tongue. Dally unbuttoned your jeans and pulled them off of your body, revealing the pretty panties you had decided to wear. Not on purpose, you were just behind on laundry and these were what you had. That didn’t stop him from grinning at the sight of them cupping the flesh of your lower half. He bent his head down and kissed the inside of your thigh, a moan leaving his throat at the scent alone.

“Dally, please,” you muttered, cheeks burning as you felt yourself grow wetter behind the fabric of your panties.

“Needy little thing,” he said, standing back up and removing his own pants and underwear.

There was no time to be wasted, both of you were craving each other so much that y’all’s skin was burning hot to the touch. Dally pressed another kiss to your lips, his fingers barely gripping your chin as he removed your panties with one hand. He threw the set to the side and moved on to your bra, unclipping it expertly. He swore he never saw anything more beautiful than you laid out before him. He laid you down, admiring every inch of you.

“So pretty,” he hummed, his head tilting as he watched you.

Your cute, little cunt was glistening with wetness and it only made him harder. He licked the drool off of his lips. He bent your legs as he positioned himself between you. Almost immediately your legs wrapped around Dally’s muscular torso; he positioned himself against your hole and rubbed his tip against your folds.The two of you moaned in each other's mouths, your eyes squeezing shut as Dally pushed into you. He was larger than you expected, wide too. With each inch of him going inside of you, your spongy walls could feel every vein that decorated him. There was a mix of pleasure and pain and you couldn’t help but bite down on his shoulder. He hissed at the erupting pain from your bite.

When he was finally inside you completely, he stopped, letting you adjust to him. You nodded your head, giving him permission and he moved. The two of you looked into each other’s eyes, lips inches apart as he picked up his pace. The bed creaked from the sudden movement and the headboard tapped rhythmically against the wall, luckily, not loud enough to wake your brother. Your head tilted back, giving Dally full access to your neck. He latches his lips against your flesh and leaves sloppy, open mouth kisses there; deep growls left rumbled through his throat sending a vibration up your neck. It tickled, and you couldn’t stop yourself from smiling at the sensation. Dally moved one hand to your thigh and squeezed the soft flesh.

“Fuck,” he hissed, “you feel better than I ever imagined, sweetheart.”

“Please,” you moaned, “faster, Dally.”

“Whatever my sweetheart wants.”

His pace quickened, and alongside that his thrust became harder. You could feel the tip of his cock poking your cervix. He took his hand off your thigh and placed it down on your throat, tightening his grip only enough to make you feel dazed but not enough to cut off your oxygen supply completely. With his hand on your throat, he forced you to look at him, wanting to see the dazed, fucked out expression on your face as he continued to abuse your tight pussy. Fresh tears spilled from your doe like eyes as you watched him furrow his brow, the pleasure he felt increasing with each snap of his hips.

“Only I can have you this way,” he grumbled, sweat dripping from his forehead, his hair clinging to his tanned skin, “Shepard could never make you feel like this, understand me? No one could ever make you feel like this. Got that? You belong to me.”

Normally something like that would piss you off but the way he had you pressed into the mattress with his cock practically claiming every inch of your insides made you feel intoxicated. You couldn’t even answer him when he said it, just nodding your head as drool slipped from your partly open lips.

“Look at you,” he chuckled, “can’t even speak, that’s how good I’m making you feel right now. Fuck…you’re so fuckin’ tight. Squeezin’ me so well, doll.”

By this point, neither one of you could keep your moans down. All of your senses were dulled from pleasure and lust that you felt too drunk to care even if the neighbors heard. You were just glad your door was shut, and hopefully locked.

Dally pulled himself off of you, his hand unclamping from your neck. He picked your legs up and threw them over his broad shoulders. The sight in front of him felt almost illegal: your breasts in full, plain sight, your hands sitting tiredly beside your head tangled in the strands of your unkempt hair, the glistening sheen of sweat the coated every inch of your perfect body, and he got a full view of his cock digging deep into your cunt. His eyes rolled backwards as he rolled his hips roughly, hearty growls and moans puncturing the air as they left him. He dug his nails into your skin and you arched your back at the sensation of pain mixing with the adulterated pleasure.

“Fuck,” you cried out, fresh tears spilling over, “Dally, I’m gonna-”

You couldn’t even finish your sentence because he wouldn’t let you. All he wanted was to feel you cum all over him. He snuck his hand down and rubbed your aching clit in quick, circular motions as his thrust became more erratic. His eyes darkened at the sight of your body starting to shake uncontrollably, your orgasm was approaching fast and he couldn’t wait. He was greedy. He wanted the confirmation that you’d only ever cum on his cock ever, that some silly crush couldn’t compare to having him. You’d be begging for more after this was all over and that’s what he was hoping for.

“D-Dally,” you cried out, “I can’t.”

“Let go, doll,” he moaned out, “cum for me.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, you were shaking as your orgasm hit hard; your body arched, your pupils as they rolled backwards, your cries and moans became silent, and your hands gripped the bedding tightly. Dally’s face screwed into pleasure, too much pleasure. The sigh of you, the feeling of you tightening and soaking him, it was all too much.

“Sh-shit,” he hissed, his movements becoming sloppier with each stroke.

Your legs fell off his shoulders and he fell on top of you as the pleasure rippled through him like unsteady waves in the ocean. He buried his head into your neck, your tired arms wrapped around him as he pumped himself in and out of you.

“Sh-shit,” he cussed again, “I-I’m cumming, fuck.”

Quickly, he pulled out of you and pumped his load right onto your stomach; breathy gasp made both of you aware of the intensity of his own orgasm. He couldn’t even hold himself up anymore when he was finished. He laid down right on top of you, the smell of sweat, sex, and anything else covering y’all’s senses as exhaustion lolled y’all to sleep.

Dally was first to fall asleep, and you couldn’t stop yourself from smiling into his hair before dozing off yourself.

#the outsiders #the outsiders imagine #the outsiders x reader #dallas winston #dally winston #dallas winston x reader #dally x reader

2K notes · View notes

gvthic-gvrl · 2 months

Text

GOOOOOOOOOD DAMNNNNNNNNNNNNNN

An Emissary of the (Goblin) King

Your quiet life as a teacher falls apart when a student wishes you away. Eventually, Jareth has to decide what to do with you.

Jareth x fem!reader (no use of 'y/n')

*This was written for a request in which the reader was supposed to be plus-sized. As such, there are a few scattered references to weight and body shape.

**Not related to my other Labyrinth works.

Rating: Explicit. Minors DNI.

Word Count: 6,800

Warnings: themes of being forgotten, slight loss of identity, bar flirting, slight harassment, oral sex (fem receiving), unprotected sex, creampie.

Masterlist

---

When you had gotten wished away in your thirties, you were… perturbed.

After all, you had been long past the days of fairy tales and make-believe. Magic was a lovely story element for children, a way to encourage their imaginations and allow them to dream of the impossible. But it wasn’t real.

At least, that had been your theory between the ages of ten and thirty-something. Then, one of your second-grade students in the after-school tutoring session had gotten upset with you. You had told him that he couldn’t have a second helping of snacks unless he agreed to work on his math problems with you. He had been struggling with subtraction in particular, but was so energetic that it was difficult for him to focus.

You hadn’t really been able to blame him - it was after school hours and the sun was beginning to set, throwing beams of blazing orange light from beneath a carpet of dark purple clouds. It was the perfect counterpoint to the playfully spooky Halloween decorations you had put up around the room.

Anyway, when you had insisted that your student sit down and focus on his math sheet before you let him have another handful of gummy worms, he had pouted his tiny face. With an impressive amount of venom for a six-year-old, he said, “Well, I wish the goblins would take you away right now.”

You were still wearing an indulgent smile when you appeared in the straw-strewn throne room with an anticlimactic pop!

The Goblin King was lounging on his uncomfortable-looking throne, watching you with his own indulgent smile. “Wished away by a child, were you? Pity. He likely meant nothing by it, but… well, what’s said is said. I doubt he will opt to run the labyrinth, but let us see if he calls.”

Operating under the idea that you had fallen and given yourself a rather nasty concussion, you simply nodded and took a seat on the cleanest section of the stone floor you could find. It was quiet in the throne room, though you could hear the unmistakable sounds of distant chaos.

It had started small - brushing a piece of straw from the stone slab next to you. It fell into the pit and that made you feel a little better. Then you pushed the straw from the next stone, and the next until the section around you was clear. Then you started using your feet to push the straw down the stairs until it was gathered in a neat pile at the bottom.

“Would you like a broom?” the man with the wild hair asked. You were cautious when you faced him, but he simply looked amused.

“And a dustpan, if you don’t mind.”

He shook his head. “Unnecessary.”

You hadn’t bothered asking what that meant. Instead, you applied yourself to neatening the throne room, working from the edges and sweeping all the debris toward the pit in the center of the room. Even the brown dots - ones you hoped were mud but suspected were some kind of dried fecal matter - lifted easily enough under the stiff bristles of the broom.

At last, the room was clean and you swiped your forearm across your perspiring face. You didn’t know how the pit was going to get clean, but you were going to be miffed if the answer was ‘you’.

When you caught movement from the corner of your eye, you jumped. You hadn’t forgotten the room’s other occupant - how could you? - but he moved with such impossible silence that you couldn’t track him with hearing alone.

The man came to stand beside you and you took the chance to study him subtly. He looked… strange.

You shook yourself, reflexively berating yourself for the unkind thought, but you hadn’t been wrong. His face was narrow, flaring out at the cheekbones. His eyes were mismatched, but not in a heterochromatic way. No, one of his eyes was bluish-green while the other was simply black, as if it were entirely pupil.

His hair was long and straight, though cut at various lengths that left it tapering from his head down. Like a shag haircut on steroids. You were a little jealous and had vaguely started wondering whether you would be able to pull off the style when he turned. You realized just how tall he was.

His mismatched stare was heavy and intense, and you redirected your attention as soon as possible. You opted to look at the pit instead, to take in the pile of straw and droppings, but it was gone.

“What happened to the straw?” you asked, bewildered by the empty pit in front of you.

He smirked, lips twisting with an amusement that didn’t reach his eyes. “I discarded it, of course.”

“No, you didn’t,” you contradicted. “I’ve been standing there the whole time.”

“I used magic,” he clarified.

“Magic isn’t real.”

The man’s eyes widened, then narrowed at you. “Have you not yet realized that you’re in a different place than you were when you were wished away?”

“You said that earlier,” you remembered. “‘Wished away’. What do you mean?”

“At last, the typical questions,” he sighed. “Admittedly, far later than they are usually asked. Allow me to explain.”

The explanation that followed had been interesting, if mildly ludicrous: the man was actually a fae named Jareth. He collected lost and wished away items, though the only ones of them people cared enough to chase down were living things. He guarded the Labyrinth, collected the living things that appeared in the Underground - mostly children and pets, as he had explained - and allowed the wishers to run the Labyrinth if they wanted their disappeared item back.

It could have been a far shorter explanation if you hadn’t been far more convinced by your concussion theory.

In the end, Jareth had gotten tired of listening to your counterarguments and had sent you to ask Hoggle the rest of your questions. Hoggle had answered your questions… eventually. With a lot of complaining and work between giving those answers. You didn’t mind - work was something to keep you from running in circles in your own thoughts, and you learned a lot about the Labyrinth and the Underground simply by following Hoggle around.

Jareth didn’t call you back to the throne room for nearly a week.

“It seems as though your wisher is not going to run for you,” he said, taking on an expression he may have thought looked pitying. “He is at home with his mother, playing and eating and sleeping quite well without another thought of you. Quite the heroic youth."

“He’s six!” you reminded, mildly outraged at Jareth’s censure. “Even if he had offered, I wouldn’t want him running your labyrinth. It’s a death trap.”

Jareth’s expression had flattened at your insult, his mismatched eyes glittering with irritation. “Whether he would have run or not is irrelevant in the end. The real question is: what is to be done with you?”

“I…” You disliked asking questions you already knew the answers to, but there was nothing to be gained by playing things cool. “Could I go back home?”

“No.”

The blunt answer, though exactly what you had expected, still made you wilt.

Jareth, for all that he made you nervous, didn’t look cruel about it. In a voice that was kinder than you had hoped, he said, “Even if I would agree to send you home, it would be impossible. You have been here too long. You have eaten and drank from the Underground. A single bite, a single sip… those could be reasoned with. Enough to influence a dream, forge a connection. But anything more? You are of this place now, more one of us than one of them.”

You wanted to argue, but something in your chest agreed, some nameless tangle of a thing recognizing that everyone and everything you had known were ‘them’. And you were not.

Not anymore.

You had expected to be eaten by the Firies or thrown into the Bog or at least turned into a goblin, but Jareth had given you a different job: you were to be his hands and eyes in the human world.

“After all, no one will wish their belongings to me if they are ignorant of my existence,” he had told you. “You will spread information. Books and legends, stories told by firelight and in dark rooms as their occupants drift to sleep.”

And that was your task, had been for an eternity before you thought to check what year it was at all. People didn’t recognize you when you went to the human world, not even if you happened upon someone you had once known. That was fortunately rare, and became more so as the years faded. You didn’t seem to age, not the way you had. Perhaps there was an extra strand of silver in your hair or an aching joint where there never had been before, but it was uncommon.

Oh, you looked the same as you always had. You could verify that any time you were on the surface. Just then, for instance, you were standing outside of a bar and could see yourself in the shine of the old-fashioned, gilt-edged windows. You were generously curved as you had been before, your face the same shape.

If you stared too long, though, you could catch something strange in your face, in the way you walked. Nothing overt, of course, but something that made you look… sharp. Wild. It drew some attention when someone watched you for too long. The mask of your humanity - what remained of it, anyway - fell away with exposure. From there, it could go either way. Sometimes, humans fled like prey before a predator. Other times, they hit on you.

Had humanity always been like this? So willing to run into danger? You didn’t think so, but it was getting difficult to remember.

Either way, you had barely sat down at the bar and ordered a glass of wine before someone slid onto the barstool beside you. To be fair, you couldn’t be too upset about it. You had been searching for company.

“I’ll pay for that,” the man announced to the bartender. The bartender didn’t look like she could have cared less, but she managed a nod. “So, what’s your name?”

“I’m much more interested in learning yours,” you deflected.

The stranger beamed at that and you smiled back. If you had your way, he wouldn’t learn your name. Even if he did, he would forget it before the day ended and you would never see him again. You would feel guilty about that, but you needed him for temporary relief from your body’s needs, nothing more.

He could never be anything more.

You pushed all of that from your mind and focused on your partner for the evening. He was handsome, the type of person you dated before you were wished away. It was getting harder to remember those days.

The man’s personality was a little intense, but that tended to ease back a bit after someone realized that you weren’t going to disappear from them… yet.

Two drinks in, you had offered a smile that was almost genuine and were getting ready to suggest a change in location when your chest vibrated.

That wasn’t quite the right way to phrase it, but it was a difficult sensation to describe. It felt as though your ribcage and all of the organs it protected shook in tandem. The closest you had ever come to pinpointing the sensation was to compare it to the ringing of a gong, though thankfully, without the noise of the actual strike.

The sensation was a warning that the Goblin King wanted you back in the Underground. It would happen more often the longer you ignored the summons, and would eventually grow painful.

You rarely let it continue that long.

“I have to go,” you told your potential partner, standing abruptly from the stool and handing your credit card to the bartender. “Drinks are on me.”

At least, you assumed it was a credit card. It had no numbers or identification on it and you certainly didn’t have any money, but you had never had trouble paying for anything with it. Jareth had given it to you with minimal explanation.

“Hang on-” the man protested, catching at your arm. You looked at his hand, then at him. Some of your strangeness must have shown through, since he slowly withdrew. He wasn’t wary enough, since he continued to speak. “What happened? I thought this was going somewhere.”

“It was,” you agreed simply, accepting your card from the bartender and scrawling a series of loops on the receipt she slid toward you. “Now it’s not.”

Fortunately for your almost-partner for the evening, he thought better of trying to physically stop you again and you left the bar unaccosted.

Transportation to the Underground was rarely as dramatic as it had been that first time. Instead of a sudden, jarring switch in location, it happened as a slow fade. In this instance, you were walking and your surroundings seemed to blur slightly. When you could see clearly once more, you were in the Goblin King's throne room.

Your forward motion hadn’t stopped, but it was far more risky to keep walking with the goblins thronging around your feet. You looked down at the group currently blocking your way and said, “Excuse me.”

The goblins - who had apparently been occupied in some kind of chicken-based game, shrieked and tumbled to either side. You continued toward the throne.

For his part, Jareth was pretending he hadn’t noticed you yet. Instead, he was sprawled across his throne and studying the riding crop he had resting across his knees. Most observers would believe he was pensive, utterly lost in thought, but you knew better. Jareth loved to be watched, and if he could convince you that you had chosen to look without any prompting from him, so much the better.

“You summoned me, sir?” you asked, reaching the base of the throne and offering a small incline of your head.

Jareth glanced over, managing to look surprised, curious, and haughty. “Yes, I want a report on your progress.”

“Do you mind if I dismiss your subjects?”

“As if you do not number among them?” Jareth tested, a corner of his mouth quirking upward knowingly. When you simply maintained eye contact, he gave a slight nod. “Very well, if it would please you.”

With effort, you managed not to shake your head at him. You were well able to focus even with the din of goblins around you, but Jareth took any respite he could get from them.

“Can you all go downstairs for a while?” you asked, directing the question to the room at large. “I need to speak with the king.”

“You’s is speaking to him now,” one squeaky goblin pointed out, sounding sullen.

Before the others could agree, you quickly cut in and diverted them. “You’re right, I am. But we need to talk about some very boring stuff and we need the room to be quiet. If you want to stay, you can’t make any noise. In fact, you could even help clean the throne room…”

You didn’t have a chance to say anything else, the goblins rushed out of the room in a panicked tide. You smirked at the receding wave of excitable, temperamental creatures. It seemed like a lifetime had passed since you had taught six and seven year-olds, but the goblins weren’t so different from human children.

When you turned around, Jareth was sitting on the throne like it was a chair rather than a fainting couch. One of his eyebrows was raised and he looked impressed despite himself. “Someday, you must help me gain such mastery over my subjects.”

“Impossible,” you told him flatly. “They’re too focused on impressing you.”

“That has always been my burden to bear,” the Goblin King drawled, preening slightly as you tried not to roll your eyes.

Jareth was the king. If you were to be technical about it, he was your king. He had left you alive when he didn’t need to. Even more than that, the nature of the job he had given you meant you had certain powers. The Goblin King did not bestow those lightly. You felt like you owed him at least basic respect, if not anything more subservient.

Besides, Jareth had enough people - well, goblins - trying to respond to his every need. You liked to think that he enjoyed the bits of personality you were willing to share with him.

Rather than voice any of that aloud, you gave a shallow nod. "But you summoned me for a purpose. What do you need?"

With the amusement still dancing across his fine features, Jareth tilted his head at you. "The work I gave you has never taken so long. I wanted an update on your progress."

"My…" For the first time since you had found yourself in this strange land, you were thrown off by Jareth. He had never given any deadlines for your work, never ordered you to be done by a specific time. In fact, the opposite had been true. On the rare occasions that you worried about how long something took, Jareth was the first to remind you that he - and, by extension, you - had all the time that would ever exist.

You managed to scrape together a semblance of competence. "An update. Yes. I can- That is, the work you gave me is complete. I distributed the books, set up special showings of the film, and orchestrated the release of some photographs."

"All of that has been done?" Jareth checked. When you nodded, he gave you a stern look. "Then why did you not return to me immediately?"

As if on cue, something low in your stomach gave a heaving, disgruntled throb. You had never been overly desire-driven when you were fully human, and you blamed that for your current awkwardness - sex had never been common enough for you to grow blunt about your need for it. But you still had that need, and your body’s complaints were almost enough to drown out the weight of Jareth’s stare. Almost.

“I was in the middle of a different task,” you replied, trying to make it sound as bland as possible. Jareth’s attention span was stronger than that of his subjects, but he still made a concerted effort to avoid boring subjects. “Nothing of importance.”

Jareth studied his hands. “No, I imagine there is not much of importance in a dirty tavern.”

You froze. Not that you had been moving very much before, but every muscle locked down in response to the pointed revelation that Jareth could and did know where you went when you were Aboveground. “I-”

“You?” Jareth repeated mockingly. “Yes, you. You allowed a human to ply you with alcohol, then to paw at you. Though I suspect, given the tone of your conversation, that is far more innocent than what you would have done if I had not summoned you back here.”

“But how-”

Your question cut off abruptly when Jareth made a noise of impatience, tapping his cheekbone twice, just below his human eye.

“You watch me?” you demanded, surprise turning swiftly to anger and embarrassment. “Why?”

Jareth treated the question as literal rather than rhetorical, musing for a moment before he answered. “At first, to see if you intended to flee. It would not have worked, but it is always amusing to see humans try. Then, to be certain that you were performing your tasks to my standards. And finally…” The smile on Jareth’s face was indolent, with more than a hint of mischief. “Simply because I can.”

Glaring at an omnipotent fae king was probably not the wisest thing you could do, but your fury made you bold. “And have you watched me during my personal time before?”

Jareth let his head loll toward you for the best view of his self-satisfaction. “Yes.”

With a barely stifled noise of outrage, you spun with every intention of storming out of the room. Unfortunately for you, the powers Jareth had allotted you were nothing compared to his own. Without a sound or a motion from him, Jareth ordered the heavy doors to swing closed and there was nothing you could do to force them open once more.

“I do not see why you are so offended,” Jareth told you, conversational tone coming from nearer than his throne. “I am well aware that humans have needs.”

“Then why interrupt me…” Your hissed demand had caught in your throat when you turned to find Jareth much closer than anticipated. The Goblin King twisted his head slightly to one side, matching the smirk that twisted his lips. You cleared your throat. “Why interrupt me when you know I’m occupied? Like you said, I have needs. It doesn’t help anyone if I’m too busy to meet them.”

“You are missing the most obvious solution,” Jareth informed you, spreading his hands to either side. “I can help meet those needs.”

“You?” you repeated skeptically.

Jareth’s arms dropped and he looked almost offended. “And why not me?”

It may have been a rhetorical question, but you gave it as much thought as he had to your earlier question about his reasoning. “Well, you don’t seem like you would be interested. You don’t usually do things unless you have something to gain.”

“Have I not struck you as altruistic?” he asked. You shook your head, opting for honesty above tact. “Good. You are right, I don’t perform favors out of something as naïve as kindness. I have much to gain from this offer.”

“Like what?” you asked. The suspicion in your voice was so thick as to be almost comical, but Jareth didn’t seem offended.

“Pleasure,” he answered simply. “Do you want to meet your needs now? Or will you wait until the next time you have a spare moment to be disappointed by some human in a bar?”

You thought about waiting, you really did. Jareth was cocky enough without giving him access to something as personal as your pleasure. But you were growing close to desperation. That could make you more likely to be careless in Aboveground, something you weren’t willing to risk.

“You’re right,” you said. “It is the most obvious solution.”

The only thing that saved you from the self-congratulatory smile that slid across Jareth’s face was the fact that you erased it with your lips a moment later.

The Goblin King’s teeth were sharp. It had been one of the first things you noticed when you met him so long ago, but you were still a little shocked to be confronted by that sharpness when you slipped your tongue between his lips.

Jareth’s surprise rivaled your own, though for different reasons. For half a moment, he seemed taken aback by your ardor, but he recovered and took control of the kiss before you could get used to the taste of him. He was like the sweetest wine, and you were instantly addicted.

A hand latched around your jaw kept your head positioned just where Jareth wanted it, and he swept through you like a hurricane. It was all you could do to keep up with him, but you were the first one to succumb to wandering hands.

His clothes were always so decadent, and you had been waiting a long time to see if they felt as lovely as they looked. You were delighted to say that they did - textures sliding and dancing beneath your fingertips - but you were more focused on what you felt under those clothes.

The heat of Jareth’s skin was immense even through his clothing, enough to pull an answering sensation of heat from you. Every item of clothing you removed from him ratcheted the temperature further up until you felt like there was fire under your skin.

Halfway through removing Jareth’s ostentatious cape, you pulled away to deposit it safely on his throne. It wouldn’t do to have it trampled by goblins or, worse, land in chicken excrement.

Jareth muttered complaints for every moment you were away from him, pulling you impatiently closer the moment you were in arm’s reach. “I don’t know why you did that. I intend for that throne to be our next destination.”

You cast an assessing glance toward the door. It looked heavily barred, and you hadn’t been able to budge it, but there was a distinct possibility… “Fine with me, as long as you’re sure we won’t be interrupted. I don’t want to toss any of your subjects from the window of your throne room.”

“The door is locked,” he assured you, ducking his head to press wet kisses down your neck before blowing gently across his handiwork.

With a shiver at the abrupt shift in temperature, you nodded. “And no goblin has ever managed to circumvent a locked door before.”

Jareth paused, clearly intent on undoing your shirt, but gave a marvelously exasperated groan. “Fine.”

Your triumph was cut off by an abrupt shriek as Jareth pulled you into his arms so strongly that your feet left the floor. “Jareth! What are you doing?”

“You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for this, pet,” he replied, pouting. “I’m not wasting any more time.”

And then he was striding toward a section of the throne room that looked distinctly… soft around the edges, and you recognized it as a portal. All of that was secondary, of course, to the ever-present awareness of being held in Jareth’s arms.

As someone with a proud set of curves, you could count on one hand the number of times you’d been lifted by a lover. That was a shame, since being carried was something of a weakness for you, especially when you weren’t worried about being dropped. And nothing in Jareth’s expression or posture warned that he was about to run out of strength.

You were still basking in the sensation as Jareth stepped through the portal and into a room that was nearly as large as the throne room. The major differences were that there was no pit and that the place of the throne was occupied by the largest bed you had ever seen.

A smile stretched across your face as Jareth set you down on that large bed, and he frowned at you. “What is amusing you?”

“This bed is enormous,” you explained. “Yet I’ve never seen you with anyone.”

“I’ve had a partner here on numerous occasions,” he told you haughtily. “Perhaps you have not seen them because you are so busy finding partners among the humans.”

“Perhaps,” you agreed readily enough. “Or perhaps it has been such a long time that your last partner and I missed each other.”

“That…” Jareth’s lips pursed, “...is possible.”

You didn’t necessarily remember closing your eyes while you laughed at that, but you must have. When you opened them once more, Jareth was looming over you. “Pleased as I am to provide amusement, there are other noises I would rather pull from you.”

Your breath caught at the rough admission. Jareth’s face descended before you could scrape up a response, and then you were too concerned with meeting the intoxicating rhythm of his mouth against yours.

The next thing you knew, you were resting more securely on the bed with Jareth holding himself above you. Both of you were fully naked and you had no idea how you had gotten that way. Most likely, he had used his magic to remove your clothing, but it was possible that you had been too thoroughly distracted by his kisses to worry about something as minor as what his hands were doing.

In any case, you were reveling in the way your hands could roam over him without encountering any barriers. Jareth’s body was pale, muscles dancing subtly under his skin. That paleness was marked with occasional scars - silvery marks that spoke of injuries from long ago. You couldn’t see much of him below the mid-torso since he was pressed so tightly to you, but you could feel the delicious length of him, hot and hard against your thigh.

When Jareth finally pulled away, he only went far enough to make eye contact without either of you crossing your eyes. “I want to taste you. Is that acceptable to you?”

“You’re the king,” you reminded him with a sardonic smile.

Jareth’s jaw flexed and his mismatched eyes narrowed. “Precisely. Which is why I expect an honest answer when I ask a question. Do you want this?”

“Yes.” The confirmation was a little breathless, but Jareth’s reply had been unexpected for someone who placed such an emphasis on retaining control. “Yes, I do.”

“Good,” he told you with a nod.

His patronizing tone might have set your teeth on edge, but Jareth accompanied it with a praising stroke down the length of your body. His fingertips trailed fire from your collarbone, over one breast, across the swell of your stomach, and down to the part of you that was aching for him. At the same time, he slid down until his face was even with your hips and you could hardly keep still with the anticipation filling you.

With your knees already parted around him, Jareth had only to wedge his shoulders between your thighs to gain full access to your core. The sudden exposure to the air of the room sent a chill through the parts of you that were burning the hottest, but the coolness only heightened the sensations.

Jareth didn’t give you any warning, any time to brace. Instead, he ducked his head suddenly, swiping the flat of his tongue from the bottom of your slit to the very top. He paused for a moment while you made a sound of startled pleasure, his lips quirking.

“Delicious,” he told you. “I wonder if you’re even sweeter inside?”

Before you could offer any reply, Jareth apparently decided to see for himself. One of your legs was tossed over his shoulder while he pinned the other to the bed. That was the only thing that kept you from trying to strangle him with your thighs when he began to torment you in earnest.

Those plush lips and wicked tongue explored every part of you, wringing pleasure from you like it was something precious he could save for later.

An elegant finger pushed into your core, pressing into the heat and slickness of you without a bit of difficulty. Your muscles spasmed so dramatically that it forced you to sit up - or, more accurate, to try. Jareth’s arm across your hips kept you pinned to the bed, leaving you to writhe, squeeze your legs around him, and cry out your pleasure loud enough for the entire castle to hear. The hand pressing you into the softness of the mattress strummed fingers across your hip.

With an expression that felt wild with pleasure, you stared down between your own thighs and clenched even harder around that finger. Your eyes had met Jareth’s mismatched gaze where it peeked over the roundness of your tummy. Mischief glimmered on what you could see of his face, and there was a clear sense of enjoyment in his bearing.

That eye contact sent an electric thrill through you, and you were gone. Your head kicked back against the pillow and you seemed to leave your body for an eternity, shattering into infinite pieces under the onslaught of pleasure Jareth was using to assault you.You may have made a noise - probably had, if you were judging from your experience so far - but you couldn’t hear it over the way your ears rang with the sound of your mind shattering.

When you finally settled back into your body again, it felt too small to possibly contain everything you had felt. Jareth was applying long, luxurious licks to your core, sweeping over the entirety of your slit and it was all you could do to push him away.

Jareth gave you a moment to collect your breath, but soon enough, he was peering down at you with no small amount of pride on his strange face. “Will you recover?”

You were a bit embarrassed by the strength of your reaction to him, but you managed a smile and a nod. “Guess I needed that more than I thought. It’s been a while.”

The fae tilted his head to the side, a hint of a smile showing the white points of his teeth. “My dear, do you honestly believe I have lived so long without learning to draw pleasure from someone? Your state of arousal has little to do with it.”

The post-orgasmic glow kept you from mustering the scoff that deserved. After delivering a sad little huff, you told him, “Humble as ever, Goblin King.”

“I would so hate to leave you with an inaccurate idea of my skill,” Jareth drawled. “I would be happy to provide further proof at your earliest convenience.”

Your breath caught in your throat, leading to an embarrassing cough. On the positive side, that cough gave you a moment to internally puzzle through that. Was Jareth volunteering to do this again sometime? He was technically your boss and your king, and thus a romantic connection you had never experienced before, but you couldn’t honestly say you wouldn’t be with him again. Even ignoring the pleasure - difficult as that was - you… really wouldn’t mind repeating this experience.

“Uh, okay,” you said elegantly.

Jareth simply smiled at you, but something about his intent gaze warned that he understood your thoughts as clearly as he did his own. Still, all he said aloud was, “Did that satisfy you, pet? Or would you perhaps like to continue?”

Before you could fight it, your gaze dropped to the apex of his thighs. He was visibly hard and ready for you, his body betraying an eagerness that was totally hidden in his expression. Despite his state of arousal, Jareth was still giving you the option to be done with him. As he was known for his lack of tact, you recognized and appreciated the effort Jareth was putting into making you comfortable.

And what better way was there to show your appreciation than to offer some relief?

“I think I might need a little more,” you told him, playing coy. You even added a demure drop of your gaze, though you could see him through your lashes.

That was how you watched when Jareth’s expression sharpened, though his voice stayed careless. “I don’t believe in offering partial respite. I shall see this task through until it is complete.”

The smile that fought to spread across your face was only stifled by the way Jareth caught at your ankle and pulled you further down the bed. He surged upward at the same time until you were firmly beneath him. The fae dotted your face, jaw, and neck with kisses as he settled heavily on top of you. Your legs parted automatically to wrap around his waist and draw him closer, but you were taken aback when the length of him pressed against your still-sensitive core.

You were still surfing the wave of heightened sensation when you felt the tip of Jareth’s length notch into your opening.

Jareth’s fingers trailed from your forehead down to your jaw, turning your head until he could peer into your face. “Are you ready for me, pet?”

“Yes,” you agreed eagerly. “Please…”

“Don’t beg, sweet thing,” he instructed. “You never need to beg for me.”

And then he was driving into you - robbing you of any ability to process that.

Jareth had seemed to have an average build below the waist, as you had expected from his elegant physique and slender limbs. Still, he felt earth-shattering as he eased inside of you, enough to take your breath away even considering how wet you were with the remains of your earlier orgasm.

You were utterly still as he pressed in, locked in place by the amount of concentration you had fixed on the feeling of him. But the first time he withdrew from the depths of you, every part of you writhed beneath him. Your hands grasped, your toes curled, your head tilted in an attempt to ease the groan that fought for release from your throat.

Jareth swallowed that groan, dipping down easily to sweep through your mouth just as thoroughly as he had the first time. He plundered you greedily, feeding on the sounds you made for him as his hips danced closer and away, closer and away.

Infuriatingly, he kept you - and himself - poised on the edge of orgasm for an eternity, slowing whenever either of you came too close to the precipice. Jareth chased pleasure eagerly, though, tormenting you with fingers and lips to push you higher without allowing you the relief of release.

“Jareth, please,” you begged as his hips slowed once more.

He arched a brow at you. “Yes, pet? What do you need?”

“I-” You gave a hoarse gasp as a deliberate twist of his hips left the length of him brushing against your g-spot. It was followed by a noise of frustration when his pace slowed to a fraction of what it had been. “Please, I need to come.”

His smile was so sudden that it looked almost fierce. “My dear, why did you not tell me earlier?”

A retort sprang to your lips, but it died there as he shifted infinitesimally inside of you. That minor change had devastating effects on the angle of his thrusts inside of you, which picked up speed until it was all you could do not to drown in him.

Your body tightened around his as it had done so many times before, but he didn’t slow this time. Instead, his lips caught yours as his thumb strummed your clit.

That kiss was only broken when your orgasm hit you like a train, kicking your head back and dropping your mouth open so you could cry out from the incredible intensity of the pleasure that filled you. Your limbs curled around Jareth, constricting to keep him pressed against you as tightly as possible.

On his side of things, Jareth didn’t seem inclined to fight his imprisonment. His hips pistoned between your trembling thighs, burying himself in you over and over until - finally - his rhythm faltered.

Those sharp teeth were bared in a snarl as he pushed himself as deeply as he could get. The warmth of his release flooded you.

When the frantic pulses of his hips slowed, Jareth let himself drop on top of you. His weight was on you for a fraction of a second before he twisted to pull you on top of him instead. Since he was still buried in your core, the motion left you in the grip of an aftershock, but you recovered enough to move off of him.

Jareth’s eyes were closed, but his hands lashed out to keep you from moving as soon as you started to. “I don’t know where you think you’re going, pet, but you are mistaken.”

“I’m just rolling off of you, Jareth,” you told him, exasperated. “If I crush you, it’ll be regicide and I can’t imagine a goblin trial is pleasant.”

“It isn’t,” he agreed, eyes still closed. “But mostly because they show an inability to focus on a single issue for more than seconds at a time. And as for being crushed by you… Not only is it an impossibility, but it sounds rather pleasant.”

“Jareth…” you sighed.

That made him open his mismatched eyes and you were startled to see the changes in them. The blue-green of his human eye was expanding both toward the pupil and over the white sclera. The pupil-less darkness of his fae eye was doing the same, slowly working out until the entire orb of his eye was dark.

When Jareth finally spoke, it was with a smile that showed his sharp teeth. “Did you know there is a difference in the way you say my name now?”

You paused, scanning over his face for a moment before you asked, “And what does that mean?”

Jareth didn’t immediately answer you, but his smile didn’t fade during the stretch of quiet. At long last, he said, “It means that things have changed between us. It means that I encourage you to seek to satisfy your needs in my bed. And it means that I chose the perfect person to serve as my emissary in the human world.”

That was significantly less worrisome than what you thought he would say. In fact, it was even… sweet. “I certainly never thought I would end up here, but I can’t say that I regret it.”

“Faint praise,” Jareth said dryly. “But praise nonetheless. We shall see whether we can further improve your outlook on your place in my kingdom.”

“I look forward to that,” you admitted, relaxing slightly into him.

Jareth’s arms tightened around you, drawing you even closer. “As do I.”

---

Author's Note - Thanks for reading! I'm not officially accepting requests, but someone sent this one in and it caught my interest enough to help me break through some writer's block.

Happy Halloween!

I don't offer a taglist for spicy fics, but you can find other works on my masterlist.

#labyrinth #labyrinth 1986 #jareth #jareth the goblin king #jareth x reader

346 notes · View notes

gvthic-gvrl · 3 months

Text

transposition

summary: a spell goes wrong and ends up with you and sam switching bodies. neither of you tell dean, which ends up being the greatest decision you ever made

pairing: dean winchester x witch!reader; best friend!sam winchester x witch!reader (platonic, obvs)

word count: 6.3k+

warnings: swearing, mentions of magic use, misunderstandings, miscommunication, angst, secrets, accidental love confessions, awkward idiots, mutual pining, friends to lovers, fluff, cliches, minor use of [y/n], (female pronouns/descriptors used)

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Sam grunted under his breath, continuing to powder the contents of your mortar with more force than necessary. “If Dean finds out about this-”

“Dean asked me to do this,” you defended, eyes skimming over the page in front of you before looking up at him. “Okay, maybe not verbatim, but he asked!” you added upon seeing the look on Sam’s face.

“Oh, yeah. Yeah, I’m sure he did,” he replied sarcastically, slamming the pestle down with enough force to make you flinch.

“Would you be fucking careful!” you hissed, glaring at him. “That thing isn’t indestructible and it’s important to me, it was a gift-”

“From Dean,” he finished for you. “I know. Sorry,” he added, and even though his tone was sincere, you just knew he rolled his eyes anyway; and you chucked the closest thing you could grab at his back in retaliation.

“Dick,” you muttered, going back to reading the passage before you.

It wasn’t often that you used your powers - more so when it came down to a last resort option - and when Dean first discovered that you had magic, it wasn’t intentional. The two of you were on a hunt together, and it was - of course - not going to plan. You were on the brink of consciousness, having no choice but to watch defenselessly as Dean became outnumbered by Vamps. The spell came out of nowhere, nothing more than a primal instinct to protect him, and before anyone knew what was happening, the two of you were left alone with nothing but piles of ash where the monsters once stood. Dean first thought that Rowena had somehow stumbled upon them to save the day once more, though once he realized the spell came from you, he damn near lost his mind. You would have rather he yelled at you, smashed things around, anything compared to what he did. Once he made sure you were okay and had you checked out, he simply acted as if you didn’t exist; you were completely frozen out of his life. He never needed to say anything, you could see it in his eyes every time he glanced at you: How could you be a witch? He hated witches, and you knew that- it’s half the reason you never told him in the first place. He only started coming around with Sam’s convincing- and even then, it took an incredibly long time for him to trust you again. Then, one day, he came to realize that no matter what happened, he could never hate you. So, he came to you with an open mind and a peace offering- the exact mortar and pestle you had once told Sam that you wanted, because it reminded you of your mother’s- and the two of you worked on putting the pieces of your friendship back together.

“Ass,” Sam retorted, turning and walking over to you with the freshly crushed ingredients.

“You know,” you started, taking it from his hands. “You can’t really be against this all that much, otherwise you wouldn’t be here helping.”

“I’m only here so you don’t get yourself killed.”

“Oh, come on,” you urged with a chuckle. “You love doing this, and you know it.”

He gave you a sarcastic smile before taking the book from you. “Let’s just get this over with.”

“Fine,” you huffed, snatching the book right back.

With one final glare at each other, you started the spell. Everything was going well… until it wasn’t.

You aren’t exactly sure where it went wrong. You don’t know if it was the ingredients, the way you said the spell, or just a mixture of everything, but before you even knew what was happening the bowl before you exploded in a cloud of yellow and sent both you and Sam flying.

“Oh, god,” you groaned, holding a hand to your head as your ears rang. “What the fuck?” you wondered aloud, feeling strange beyond comprehension.

“What the hell happened?” Sam croaked out.

“I don’t know,” you admitted quietly. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he said through a fit of coughs. “You?”

“I don’t know. Something feels wrong,” you declared, sitting up. It was at that exact moment you realized why you felt so different. “Sam?” you asked meekly.

“Yeah?” he questioned, sitting up. “Wait-”

“I’m-” you began, unable to finish as you stared at your hands; were they even your hands?

“You’re….” Sam tried, staring at you then down at his body; your body?

“You’re me!” you exclaimed, gesturing between the two of you.

“You’re me!” he echoed, scrambling to stand.

You followed suit, using the wall behind you to help you stand. “God, how do you live like this?”

“Me? What about you? I won’t even be able to reach the upper cabinets in the kitchen!” he countered, flailing his arms around.

“At least you’ll be able to fit on your bed! My feet are gonna dangle!” you huffed, folding your arms over yourself.

“You need to fix this,” Sam declared, stepping towards you. You couldn’t help but take a few steps away- this was way too weird. You’ve seen shifters take your image before, but this was actually you. Only it wasn’t you. You felt like your head was about to explode.

“Gee, you think, Sam?” you snapped, narrowing your eyes at him. “I thought we’d just stay like this forever!”

He opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by the door swinging open. You both flinched, turning to see Dean peering into the room.

“What the fuck’s with all the yelling?” he asked, glancing around. “The hell is going on?”

“I- uh-” you tried to answer, but nothing came to mind.

“Just, uh…. experimenting,” Sam supplied, and you sent him a glare.

“Experimenting?” Dean repeated, raising his eyebrows at you- or rather, at whom he thought was you.

“Yeah,” Sam said with a shrug, not sure what else to say. The two of you shared a look, silently agreeing not to breathe a word of what was really going on.

Dean’s face softened, and he sighed. “Don’t tell me you’re actually doing that spell. Sweetheart, we can get by without it.”

“We don’t-” you started to argue, before Sam interrupted you with a clearing of his throat.

Right. Dean wasn’t exactly talking to you right now.

“Thought it was a good opportunity to practice,” Sam replied, sounding more like he was asking than telling.

“Right,” Dean said, eyeing your body wearily.

Oh, god. He was gonna pick up on something being wrong, it was only a matter of time.

“You can leave any time now,” you spoke up, more irritated than you meant to sound, but you were severely on edge.

Dean turned to you with a look of surprise. “‘Scuse me?”

“I just- you know, we’re in the middle of something,” you continued, doing your best to stand your ground.

“Yeah, I can see that,” he quipped, taking a step towards you. “What the hell were you thinking? Why are you letting her mess around with this stuff? Better yet, why are you helping her mess around with this stuff?”

“It’s just a simple spell,” you argued, your head swirling with the fact that you were looking down on him, instead of being dwarfed by his frame like you normally would be.

“A simple spell?” he repeated, fury and irritation dancing in his eyes. “Do you even hear yourself right now?”

“Last I checked we could make our own decisions, Dean!” you exclaimed, glaring at him.

“Sure,” he placated with a nod. “So long as they’re not stupid ass decisions!”

“Can we go ten minutes in this place without a fight happening?” Sam pitched in, already exasperated with the situation.

“Yeah, sure,” Dean grumbled, glaring at you. “Food’s ready.”

“We’ll be there in a few minutes,” Sam announced, earning a glare from you in return.

“Don’t you think we should finish-” you tried to ask, but were quickly cut off by Dean.

“No, you guys are done in here,” he declared, shaking his head. “Let’s go.”

“Dean-” you tried once more, only to be cut off again.

“Sam,” Dean warned. “I’m not kidding. Whatever you two were doing, it’s done.”

“Fine. We’ll be out in a few minutes,” you relented, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. “We need to clean up!” you added upon seeing the look on Dean’s face.

“Five minutes,” Dean agreed pointedly. “Or I swear, I’ll drag both your asses out of this room.”

“Yeah, five minutes, got it,” you huffed, watching him as he hesitantly left the room.

You waited a few moments before hastily making your way over and all but slamming the door, turning to look at Sam with wide eyes.

“We are so screwed,” he declared, matching your expression.

“What are we supposed to do? He’s gonna figure out something’s wrong!” you exclaimed, slumping against the door behind you.

“We just…. I don’t know, pretend?” Sam suggested with a shrug.

“Pretend?” you repeated incredulously. “Sam, this is insane! We can’t just pretend to be each other!”

“It’s not like I meant permanently!” he defended, holding out his hands in surrender. “But until we can find a way to fix this, we have to at least play the part in front of Dean.”

“Fine,” you agreed with a huff. “But I am not going on your crack of dawn jogs.”

“Oh, come on-” he started to argue, though quickly stopped when met with your glare. “Yeah, okay, that- that’s fine.”

“Great. Now let’s go before Dean gets even more pissy,” you declared, opening the door with a flourish.

With a quick nod, he followed you down the hall, the two of you lowly bickering about the situation all the way to the kitchen.

“I feel like a baby giraffe with this fucking body.”

“You look like a baby giraffe, do you not know how to walk?”

“Yeah, I know how to walk! I know how to walk with normal legs!”

“Normal? You’re short enough to get in anywhere with a child’s pass!”

“Keep up with the attitude, Sam. Maybe I’ll go have a really nice salon visit and cut all this hair!”

“Fine, then maybe I’ll call up that guy from your ‘worst date ever’ and ask to catch up!”

“Fine by me. You’ll be the one he’ll be groping and hitting on the whole time.”

“Yeah- well-... look, just don’t cut my hair!”

“What are you two all hush hush about?” Dean asked curiously, eyeing you both as you entered the kitchen.

“Nothing,” you both quickly replied, taking a seat at the table.

Dean stared at you both for a moment before nodding curtly. “If you say so.”

Choosing not to reply, you both quietly watched as he joined the table, taking his regular seat next to you. Which, of course, meant he was currently next to Sam, and you watched in amusement as he shifted nervously while Dean got too close for his comfort.

Attempting to stifle a laugh, you took a bite of the burger that was placed in front of you, only to grimace in response. “What is this?” you asked through a mouthful, meeting Dean’s confused gaze.

“It’s… the same veggie burger you force me to make you every time I make burgers?” he replied, looking at you as though you lost your head.

Fucking Sam, you thought bitterly. “Oh, right. Right, it just- it tastes different, I don’t know,” you stammered, sparing a quick glance across at Sam as you hurriedly took another bite.

“You two are weirder than usual tonight,” Dean muttered to himself before eating his own food.

The three of you ate in stifling silence, you and Sam both internally trying to find a way out of this mess, before Dean spoke up again and pulled you from your revere.

“[Y/N], do you want just the usual from the store? I was gonna make a run before our movie night,” he said, turning to look beside him with a soft grin.

You felt your stomach drop as Sam cleared his throat, looking between you and Dean for a moment. “Movie night?”

“Yeah,” Dean said, his eyebrows furrowing in even more confusion. “Like we have every Friday?”

“Oh, right!” Sam exclaimed, chuckling nervously. “I didn’t realize what day it is, I, uh- I’m actually not… feeling too hot, do you mind if we skip it tonight?”

“You wanna skip it?” Dean asked quietly, making your heart shatter as you watched the hurt and disappointment flash across his face.

After the two of you made up from your falling out, you started a tradition of spending extra quality time together at least once a week. This resulted in having a movie night every Friday, no matter what. Whether that meant catching a random movie on a motel tv or settling into the Dean Cave, you both always found a way to make it. Knowing you had no choice but to skip out this time almost made you want to tell him what happened right then and there; but you didn’t.

“Yeah, I just… I think it’s best if I just head to bed, you know? I’d hate for it to get worse,” Sam said sheepishly, playing with the glass in front of him as he met Dean’s gaze halfheartedly.

You were glad that if you had to mistakenly swap bodies with someone, it was Sam. Given that he became your best friend from just about the moment you met, he had your behaviour down pat; you just hoped you could do the same and make this all a little easier.

“Well what do you mean, what’s wrong?” Dean asked worriedly.

“I’m just feeling run down is all,” Sam said, shrugging lightly as he stood up, taking his dishes to the sink. “Maybe we can watch something tomorrow,” he added, turning back to Dean with a shy smile.

“Yeah. Yeah, sure,” Dean agreed softly, averting his gaze to the beer in his hands. “Don’t worry about it, just get some rest.”

“Sure. Uh, goodnight, guys,” Sam replied awkwardly, shooting you a pointed look before leaving.

You stayed in uncomfortable silence for a moment, studying Dean as he pouted at his bottle.

“You alright?” you asked tentatively.

“Yeah, just… first time she’s bailed on me,” he replied indifferently, downing the rest of his beer before heading to get another one.

“She didn’t bail on you,” you argued firmly. “It’s not like she chose to go bar hopping or something, she’s sick.”

“Didn’t seem so sick when she was huddled up with you,” Dean said curtly, leaning against the counter as he sent you a cold stare.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you asked confusedly, shifting in your seat to look at him better.

He remained silent, lips pursed as he studied you for what felt like hours, before he finally shrugged. “Doesn’t mean anything.”

“Then why say it?” you asked in irritation.

He remained silent once more, simply raising the beer bottle to his lips and taking a long sip before standing upright. “Night, Sammy.”

“Dean-” you tried to press, but he only ignored you as he continued across the floor, leaving the kitchen without saying another word.

You sighed in exasperation, quickly cleaning everything up before heading to your room, catching almost no sleep as you dove deep into researching for a reversal to your mistake.

“You need to shave,” Sam said, staring at you from across the table.

“What?” you asked, caught off guard by the declaration.

“Your beard - my beard. You need to shave it,” he clarified. “It’s been over a week.”

“And?” you asked, arching an eyebrow at him. “I doubt you’re taking care of all my housekeeping.”

“That’s because I’m doing everything possible to not look at you! Like you asked!” he hissed in return.

You rolled your eyes in response, returning your attention to the book in front of you. “I have more important things on my mind than shaving your stupid facial hair - which looks fine, by the way.”

Sam huffed, shifting in his seat. “Yeah, well you can at least take five minutes for me!”

“I don’t even know how to shave a beard, Sam!” you argued, closing the book in exasperation.

“Then just let me shave it for you!” he begged, leaning over the table. “I’m serious, [Y/N], you can’t just leave me all unkempt.”

You met his gaze and sighed softly. “Damn, you can even pull off the puppy dog eyes with my face. That’s a talent, Sammy.”

He couldn’t help but laugh, for what felt like the first time since this whole thing happened. “You can do it better than I can,” he chuckled. “At least when it comes to Dean,” he added with a smirk.

“What does that mean?” you asked curiously.

“Nothing,” he said, shrugging dismissively. “C’mon, let’s get you- me- whatever, all taken care of before Dean gets back with dinner.”

“Fine,” you begrudgingly agreed, getting up to follow him.

Before you knew it, you were standing in front of him as he sat on the bathroom counter, because: “How else are we supposed to do this? These arms aren’t gonna reach that face comfortably without some help.”

You fell into a comfortable silence as he did what he needed to do, the only words spoken being his occasional nagging for you to quit moving, as you were both lost in your own thoughts about the last few days.

“I’m really sorry, Sammy,” you said suddenly. You weren’t sure whether your voice was so quiet due to the shame you felt, or for the fear of breaking the silence that surrounded you.

“It’s not your fault,” he said simply, reflexively.

You sighed, gently shaking your head; which earned another scolding glare from him as he steadied you. “It’s entirely my fault. I fucked up big time, and we both know it.”

“Look, it was an accident,” he urged, wiping away the remnants of the shave one last time. “Assigning blame isn’t going to change anything.”

“Why aren’t you mad at me? You should be furious! I practically ruined your life,” you pressed on frantically.

“Okay, that’s being dramatic,” he chided. “Yeah, this isn't an ideal situation. Though weirdly, it’s also not the weirdest situation I’ve been in. And you know what? It’s not even the first time I’ve been in this situation! Remember when that kid switched bodies with me? Trust me, you’re a much better person to be switched with.”

“Yeah, I remember,” you said, chuckling softly. “Still, I’m really sorry.”

“I know you are,” he said softly. “I also know you’ll find a way to fix this.”

“You really believe that?” you asked hesitantly.

“Yeah,” he said with a nod. “‘Cause it’s you, and I’ll always have faith in you. You didn’t mean for this to happen, [Y/N]. It’s okay.”

“No, it-” you started to argue, but he cut you off.

“Stop,” he urged softly. “I’m not mad at you, okay? Maybe I was at first, but I’m not anymore.”

“Promise?” you asked meekly.

“I promise,” he said firmly.

“Okay,” you relented, not fully believing him but not wanting to push the topic any further.

“Okay,” he repeated, gently wiping away one of your stray tears.

“Maybe we should just tell Dean,” you suggested hesitantly.

“Tell me what?” Dean’s voice suddenly cut through the room.

The two of you jumped, and you moved away from the counter as calmly as you could, knowing how the predicament you were in must look to him.

You turned to the doorway and came face to face with Dean staring intently at the two of you, his mind working into an overdrive as he tried to make sense of the scene he just walked in on.

“Dean, I- when did you get back?” you asked nervously.

“Tell me what?” he asked again, ignoring your question.

You and Sam were both at a loss. You spent so much time trying to figure this whole thing out, yet neither of you thought to come up with some kind of story should you be cornered like this.

“[Y/N]?” Dean asked softly, looking over to where he thought you sat on the counter.

The look of hurt and confusion that flashed over his face and the waver in his voice all but sent a fresh wave of tears washing over you.

Dean waited impatiently a few moments before shaking his head with a scoff. “Whatever, food’s in the kitchen.”

Before anyone could say anything else, he turned on his heel and left, leaving you and Sam stunned in his wake.

The dynamic between the three of you began shifting even more ever since that night, and you could feel Dean slipping further and further away from you with each passing day.

You noticed it every time Dean would catch you and Sam huddled up and whispering low; when he would stand and stare before leaving with a quiet grumble of forgetting why he was there.

You noticed it when he started spending more time in his room or tinkering with Baby in the garage; finding any and every excuse possible to spend time outside of the bunker and away from you and Sam.

You and Sam tried to ignore it, promised yourselves that you’d explain everything once you managed to set things right - or, if you discovered you were over your heads and couldn’t fix everything.

The thing you hated most about this whole thing was that it was becoming easier and easier to lie to Dean; and the worst part about that was not knowing whether you and Sam really became more convincing, or if Dean just didn’t care enough to question you anymore.

Which is exactly why you found yourself sitting in the war room, waiting for Dean to make his way through to the kitchen, in order to try and talk things out.

You weren’t expecting him to appear with one duffle bag over his shoulder and another by his side - and he wasn’t expecting to see you, either.

“Didn’t think you’d be up,” he declared after a moment of hesitation, continuing on his path to the stairs.

“Where the hell are you going?” you asked hotly, standing from your seat.

Dean sighed, throwing his head back in frustration as he considered his response. “Donna’s cabin.”

“What? Why?” you asked, eyebrows drawing together with confusion.

“I can’t do it anymore,” he said tiredly. “I just can’t, okay?”

“Do what?” you asked wearily, taking a tentative step towards him. “What are you talking about, Dean?” you pressed, feeling your chest tighten with the rising nerves and fear.

“Don’t do that,” he demanded, shaking his head. “Don’t play coy. You think I don’t know what’s been going on around here?”

“What-... what’s been going on?” you asked curiously. “The hell are you talking about?”

You weren’t sure if or when he figured out what happened, and you also weren’t sure why it would make him feel the need to leave.

“I’m talking about you and [Y/N]!” he shouted, throwing his bags down and stepping towards you.

“Me and [Y/N]?” you wondered, taking a nervous step backwards.

“I’m not an idiot, okay?” he spat, his jaw ticking. “You think I haven’t noticed? Think I couldn’t figure it out?”

“Okay, look,” you began, holding out your hands defensively. “I can explain.”

Dean let out a humourless laugh, running a hand over his mouth before glaring at you once more. “Explain,” he echoed with a chuckle of disbelief. “Don’t waste your breath.”

“Why are you so pissed off about this?” you asked in bewilderment. “I mean, I know we kept it from you, but we figure it’d be easier for you.”

“Easier for me?” he repeated, voice raising. “What about this entire situation makes you think it’d be easy for me?”

“Well because it-... I mean it doesn’t really affect you, Dean,” you replied, unsure of your own words.

“It doesn’t affect me?” he repeated with perplexion. “Of course it affects me! You know how I feel about her!” he exclaimed, taking yet another step forward.

“What?” you questioned, thrown off by his response.

“Don’t “what” me,” he snapped. “I want to be happy for you, Sammy. I really do, but I just-... I don’t think I ever can be.”

“Okay, I-... I am so lost,” you admitted.

“You stole my girl, Sam!” Dean all but screamed. “You know that I love her. You know I was gonna tell her, and you know how much I want to spend whatever’s left of my god forsaken life with her! You swore you didn’t feel that way about her. You- I mean how to hell could you do this to me, Sammy? I can’t even stand to look at you anymore.”

You remained silent, staring at him in shock and confusion for what felt like hours. Your mouth opened and closed a few times as you tried to formulate a response, but all that came out was a broken whisper of his name.

“Don’t sweat it, Sammy. Not like I can blame you for falling for her, right? I mean hey, I sure did,” he sassed, smiling sarcastically. “Not surprised she chose you, either. She deserves someone better than me. But I’m not sticking around anymore to see it first hand.”

You watched in stunned silence as he turned to gather his bags, trying and failing to think of anything to say. What the hell were you supposed to do? The man of your dreams just admitted he felt the exact same way, and you were trapped in his brother's body. Even if you told him the truth right now, would he even believe you?

“Do me one favour, though,” Dean said from the foot of the stairs, effectively pulling you from your thoughts. “Don’t tell [Y/N]. Don’t tell her anything. I’ll think of something to tell her during the drive and call her tomorrow.”

“Dean-” you finally began to protest, only to go unheard by him as he started up the steps.

“Later, Sammy,” he announced with finality, disappearing out of the bunker.

“You have got to be kidding me. I mean honestly woman, how stupid can you be?” Rowena’s voice rang through the war room as she made her arrival known to you and Sam.

“Did you not get in enough insults over the phone?” you asked in exasperation, not bothering to move from your spot in the library as you watched her approach.

“I don’t think there are enough insults for this situation, dear,” she said sweetly, smiling innocently.

“Either be helpful or leave, Rowena,” you replied solemnly.

It had been three days since Dean left, and over two weeks since the whole debacle happened. You had never been more determined to find a solution, nor had you ever felt more defeated.

“Alright, fine. No need to be cranky,” Rowena tsked, taking a seat across from you. “Go on, then. Walk me through everything.”

“Fine,” you sighed, steadying yourself before recounting the situation.

“Let me get this straight,” Rowena declared, holding a hand up. “You actually let him leave? After what he said?”

“Is that seriously your only take away from this?” you asked angrily, glaring at her.

“It’s not my only take away, but it’s certainly a big one,” she said calmly, accompanied by a half shrug. “This is the spell you used?” she asked, looking over the book you gave her during your explanation.

“Yeah, that’s the one,” you confirmed sheepishly.

“Well, don’t you worry. We’ll have you and Samuel right as rain in no time, dear,” she comforted, eyes never leaving the pages in front of her.

It took another four days, but ‘No time’ finally came. You were practically itching to get this all over and done with as the three of you finished setting everything up. You didn’t even care about being in your own skin again, all you cared about at this point was getting Dean back in your life. He did everything possible to avoid talking to you or Sam each time either of you tried contacting him, and you were missing him more and more with each passing hour.

“That should do it,” Rowena declared, snapping you back to attention. “You know what you need to do?”

“Yes,” you said quickly, urging her out of the room; the last thing you needed was for her to be around and have the spell go wrong again, resulting in all three of you being scrambled around.

“Don’t rush it!” she cautioned. “I know you want him back, but you need to take this slowly. You can’t afford another screw up!”

Her statement made you pause, and you knew she was right. “Go slow, I got it,” you confirmed, shutting her out of the room.

“Ready?” Sam asked, looking at you eagerly; albeit nervous beyond belief.

“More than ever,” you declared, taking your place at the altar.

You began the spell, doing everything slowly and precisely so there was no room for error. Once you had finished, however, nothing had happened. You were just about ready to scream with all the emotions boiling inside of you when suddenly the bowl before you exploded in a cloud of yellow, sending both you and Sam flying.

“Oh, god,” you groaned, holding a hand to your head as your ears rang. “This again?” you wondered aloud.

“Did it even work?” Sam croaked out.

“I don’t know,” you admitted quietly. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he said through a fit of coughs. “You?”

“I think so,” you declared, sitting up. It was at that exact moment you realized what happened. “Sam?” you asked breathlessly.

“Yeah?” he questioned, sitting up himself. “Wait-”

“I’m-” you began, unable to finish as you stared at your hands; your own hands.

“You’re….” Sam tried, staring at you then down at his body; his very own body.

“You’re you!” you exclaimed in glee, pointing at him.

“You’re you!” he echoed, scrambling to stand.

You followed suit, taking a moment to steady yourself on your own feet. “I need to go,” you announced, not giving him time to reply before you ran out of the room.

“You’re welcome!” Rowena called after you, watching you run by.

“Thank you!” you called back absently, hurrying out to your car.

The drive took longer than ever before; at least, it felt like it did. You spent the whole time trying to think of what to say, of how to explain, but nothing seemed right. Nothing seemed like enough. All you could hope for was that everything would magically come to you once you stood before him.

If he ever decided to open the goddamn door.

“Dammit, Dean! Open the fucking door before I break it down!” you yelled, banging your hand against the wood for the upteenth time.

You opened your mouth to yell once more, but before you could even make a sound a voice boomed out from behind you. “What are you doing here?”

You turned with a start, coming face to face with Dean as he stood at the bottom of the steps. “I came to talk to you,” you said simply, taking a few steps forward.

He quickly averted his gaze, focusing on wiping the grease from his hands with the rag he held. “Coulda just called,” he countered gruffly.

“Why?” you asked, laughing dryly. “You’d just ignore my calls.”

He stilled his ministrations for a moment before shrugging, glancing back up at you. “Maybe ‘cause we got nothing to talk about.”

“Dean-” you tried to argue, though you stopped short when he rolled his eyes and turned away from you.

“Look, I know all about you and Sam, okay?” he huffed, storming across the drive and to where Baby was parked, hood still open for Dean to continue working on her.

“Oh, for god’s sake, Dean. There is no me and Sam!” you exclaimed with a groan, quickly following behind him.

“Whatever you say, sweetheart,” he placated, picking up his previously abandoned ratchet.

“Just listen to me,” you pleaded, watching his face scrunch with a mix of frustration and concentration as he dove back into his work.

“You don’t need to explain,” he said distractedly. “I get it. He’s good for you. I just-... you didn’t need to hide it, [Y/N/N]. I thought we were closer than that.”

“We are! That’s not what we were hiding, just let me explain!” you said desperately, stepping closer to him.

“You can quit the act, okay?” he snapped, stopping what he was doing as he stood up, finally turning to look at you. “I have eyes, I saw what-”

“Sam and I fucking switched bodies!” you yelled over him, effectively rendering him speechless. “Alright? When you walked in on us doing that spell the other week… it went wrong, Dean. Sam and I, we just-... we switched!”

“You… switched bodies?” he asked slowly, scepticism starting to present itself on his face as he processed what you said.

“Yes,” you confirmed softly. ”I was Sam, Sam was me.”

He nodded, shifting uncomfortably as he anxiously tapped his fingers on Baby’s exterior. “Well, isn’t that just a great story,” he muttered, leaning under the hood once more.

“It’s not a story,” you argued desperately. “It’s what happened.”

“Then why not tell me?” he challenged, not missing a beat.

“Because,” you began lamely. “You always have so much on your plate, Dean. We didn’t want to shove this stupid thing on you and add to your worries.”

“So you lied to me for my own good?” he asked harshly, gaze not straying from his hands as he worked.

“We didn’t lie, we just-”

“Avoided the truth,” he finished for you. “Same thing, if you ask me.”

“We thought it was for the best,” you admitted quietly.

“Oh, yeah,” he agreed sarcastically, throwing his tools down. “Sneaking around, icing me out. Definitely for my best interest, huh?”

“Dean, please,” you pleaded. “I didn’t come here to fight with you.”

“Then why did you come, [Y/N]?” he shouted, shutting Baby’s hood. “What did you think was gonna happen here?”

“Well, I thought-... I just-... I wanted to clear the air,” you stammered. “I wanted to explain.”

“Well, you explained,” he muttered, busying himself with tidying his mess.

You watched him silently for a few moments, trying to think of your next move. You decided to ask the question that’s been on your mind since he left: “Were you really planning on actually telling me one day?”

He let out an irritated sigh, picking up his belongings and moving around to the trunk. “What are you talking about?”

“Were you really gonna tell me?” you repeated, quickly taking a few steps to meet him at the trunk.

“Tell you what?” he huffed, irritation oozing off of him as he slammed the toolbox down.

“How you feel!” you blurted out, taking yet another step towards him.

“The hell are you talking about?” he questioned, feigning cluelessness. Though the way his body stiffened as he idly messed with the stuff in the trunk betrayed him; he knew what you meant.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” you replied softly. “Were you?”

“I don’t know!” he huffed, shutting the trunk. “Maybe,” he added, walking away from you once more.

“You said-”

“I know what I said!” he interrupted, clearly irritated. “Can we not relive it? I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Well I do!” you argued, exasperated. “Why the fuck else do you think I’m here, Dean?”

“To clear the air,” he sneered, repeating your earlier words as he made his way back to the cabin.

“To tell you I love you!” you shouted after him, stopping him in his tracks. “I didn’t choose Sam. How can I choose him when I’ve loved you for years? How can I choose him when my entire world stopped spinning the day you shut me out of your life all those years ago? How can I choose him when I didn’t feel like I could breathe until you finally spoke to me again? How can I choose him, when having to watch you walk away the other day was the most terrifying thing I had to do, because I didn’t know if I’d ever get you back this time? You can put us in any timeline, in any universe, or in any realm, and I will always choose you. I love you.”

You were met with silence for entirely too long, and you watched the unsteady rise and fall of his shoulders as he kept his back to you, standing tense as ever with his head down low.

“Will you just look at me, please?” you pleaded shakily.

As soon as the words left your mouth he spun on his heel and marched towards you, closing the distance between you two in seconds. He grabbed your face in his hands, letting a moment of hesitation pass by before crashing his lips against yours. It was harsh yet delicate, slow but needy. It was gentle and all consuming. His hands strayed from your face, one sweeping to the back of your head to hold you steady while the other slipped to your waist and pulled you close. Your hands found themselves gliding up his arms, resting on the base of his neck for a moment before settling on his cheeks.

When the two of you finally pulled away to catch your breath, it seemed like neither of you wanted to go too far; foreheads pressed together and noses brushing as you both giggled quietly, shy smiles on your swollen lips.

You stood like that for a few minutes, basking in each other's presence in ways you never could before, until your gentle whisper cut through the silence: “Please come home, Dean.”

“My sweet girl,” he said quietly, planting a delicate kiss to your forehead before completely wrapping you up in his arms, holding you closer than ever. “I am home.”

tagging: @winharry

dividers by @firefly-graphics and @saradika

#supernatural #spn #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #sam winchester

2K notes · View notes

gvthic-gvrl · 3 months

Text

chefs kiss 🤌🏻

a helping hand - John Murphy x reader

Summary: „Why are you helping me? I’m the bad guy, in case you forgot.“ Set during 1 x 10 (I am become Death), based on this teaser.

warnings: mentions of blood + injuries, angst, Murphy being Murphy (yes, he does have a soft side in this, but that doesn’t mean that he’s not still a dick); please lmk if I forgot something!

AN: I’m not quite sure whether anyone will still care for Murphy x reader in 2023, but I love my trash son so much, I just had to write something about him. Please let me know if you liked it!

You dip the bloodied cloth into the bucket filled with water, watching as the water slowly turns red. Your hands are bloody as well and there’s dried blood crested under your fingernails, but with all the sick teens around you needing medical attendance, you don’t have time to try to thoroughly wash your hands, so you just dip them into the water, grabbing a bar of soap, watching as the water turns an even deeper red.

Blood.

There’s just so much of it.

You sigh, standing up again. There’s no time for dwelling on your thoughts, not when the whole first floor of the Dropship is full of sick, coughing teenagers that need your help.

You go to Fox and Connor next, checking up on them. But apart from trying to clean them up - they’ve started coughing up blood as well - and getting them to drink some water, there isn’t much you can do to actually help them. You have no medicine, no painkillers - apart from Monty’s moonshine and considering that a painkiller really is a stretch in your opinion -, nothing. Only a few spare blankets you and Clarke gave out earlier, in order to help keep everyone warm.

A sudden wave of anger and irritation at your helplessness when faced with this unknown, dangerous virus overcomes you and you clench your fists in frustration. You allow yourself a moment to try and bury that emotion deep inside - because being this emotionally overwhelmed, you won’t be any help to the others -, closing your eyes and breathing deeply.

When you open your eyes again, they land on Murphy - who’s looking right back at you with his good eye, the other one is still swollen shut.

You gulp, trying to swallow down the nervousness that is suddenly clawing its way up your throat. Murphy’s the one who brought the disease into the Camp.

After being tortured by the grounders for days, you try to remind yourself. After being unceremoniously tossed out of Camp for a murder he didn’t commit. And while he’s definitely a rude asshole that can be a bit unpredictable at times - though you think more often than not he’s just lashing out when provoked, attacked, or in case of the whole Charlotte incident, wrongfully accused - you don’t think that he’s as bad as everyone makes him out to be.

But maybe that’s just you being naive, always wanting to see the good in people. He did try to go after Charlotte, after all. Though, you think, that probably had more to do with him seeking justice - a twisted, self-righteous kind of justice, but still justice - than vengeance.

You sigh, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Whatever the deal with Murphy is - and whatever the reason for you to suddenly spend so much of your thoughts on him is - right now, it doesn’t matter.

Right now the only thing that matters is that he’s sick and hurt and he needs someone to help him clean up his wounds and that’s exactly what you’re here for.

So, you take a deep breath and square your shoulders, before walking over to him and dropping down in front of him. His blue-green eyes - the good one at least- meet yours for just a split second, but then he’s looking away again. You dip the cloth into the bucket of water - after helping Fox and Connor you’d gone out to get some fresh water - and reach out for him, but just when you’re about to touch him, he twists away from you.

„What’re you doing?“, he says, his voice low, distrust and irritation evident in his expression.

„Helping you“, you answer, gesturing to the wet cloth in your hands. „Someone needs to clean up your wounds, Murphy.“

He scoffs. „Yeah, right.“

You frown. „Look Murphy, just let me help you, please.“

He doesn’t say anything to that, doesn’t acknowledge your words with anything other than a raise of his eyebrows, but you decide to just take his lack of a verbal response as a good sign - or at least as a sign that he hopefully won’t refuse your help any further.

You wet the cloth cloth again, before carefully reaching your hand out to him again. This time, he doesn’t twist away from you, so you gingerly touch his bloodied and scarred cheek with your fingertips, before carefully applying pressure with the cloth.

All the while, Murphy looks at you, an undecipherable emotion in his blue-green eyes. The intensity of his gaze is distracting, and you swallow, trying to concentrate on cleaning up his wounds, trying to ignore the burning heat of his gaze. Though it’s impossible to really ignore it, with you two being so close that you can feel his warm breath ghosting over your skin, causing you to shiver.

Something shifts in Murphy’s expression then - if you weren’t paying so much attention, you might’ve missed it, but as it is, you can see the bitter smirk that crosses his lips for an instant, before he bites down hard on his lips.

Your eyes meet then. You swallow - you feel caught in his stare, unable to look at anything but him.

„Why are you helping me?“, he asks you, his voice low and raspy and laced with something that almost sounds like desperation. „I’m the bad guy, in case you forgot.“

„Because you need help“, you say, underlining your words by lightly trailing your fingertips over the deep cut on his left cheek. „And because I want to understand you.“ It’s true - you do want to understand him. You want to know how he came to be who he is today, why on earth he set fire to a room on the Ark.

And fuck. This - this is dangerous.

That bitter smirk crosses his face again. „Oh, so you want to know why I’m such a jerk, why I told the Camp’s location to the grounders, is that it?“

„You were tortured“, you say softly, but Murphy only scoffs.

„Yeah, I’m afraid that doesn’t count as an excuse“, he says, voice full of bitterness.

„Wha-“, you start to say, but then you remember that you saw Bellamy talking to Murphy earlier. And yes, that would certainly explain Murphy’s comments about his being tortured not being an excuse for giving up your location.

You sigh frustratedly. Of course you know that Bellamy only wants to protect everyone at Camp, but you also know him well enough to imagine him making some kind of petty remark how he wouldn’t have caved under torture, wouldn’t have given up the Camp’s location.

Which - fuck that. Anyone would eventually cave under torture, even someone as strong-willed and fierce as Bellamy.

Murphy’s hiss of pain when you accidentally linger too long on one of his cuts with your fingertips draws you out of your thoughts. „Sorry“ you say, biting your lip.

Murphy just shrugs and suddenly you’re hit with the desperate urge to help him, even though you’re not quite sure if there even is anything you can do that could make his situation better - apart from cleaning up his wounds, which you already are doing.

„I’m sorry for what happened to you“, you say then, looking at him. „That’s not - I can only imagine what you went through and I really am sorry that that happened to you.“

Murphy looks at you, confusion and irritation evident in his expression.

„And I know that won’t change anything-“

„No it won’t“, Murphy interrupts you, but this time, there’s no venom in his voice - just pain and resignation. „But it’s nothing I haven’t experienced before.“

Now it’s your turn to be confused. As you continue cleaning up his wounds, you mull over his words in your mind, trying to understand what he’s implying with his words. Does he mean that he was tortured on the Ark? But that can’t be right, can it? Yes, the Ark’s council is strict and unforgiving, but you haven’t heard about them torturing somebody.

„Can you even see anything like that?“, Murphy says, interrupting your thought process, and suddenly he’s reaching out with one hand, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

You swallow, trying desperately not to show how much that one little touch affected you. But your heart is thundering so loudly in your chest that you’re convinced that he’s able to hear it.

Especially once you can no longer pretend to re-inspect the cuts on his face yet again - you really need to take a look at the wounds on his chest.

You clear your throat, trying to sound more confident than you feel. „I - uh - I need to take a look at the wounds on your chest, judging by all that blood I’ll probably need to do some stitches … uhm could you - uh - maybe take off your shirt?“

Kill me, you think, wanting to die from embarrassment. Of course, the first time you’ll see a boy without his shirt on - apart from some of the boys that walk around Camp shirtless in the morning and you don’t think that they actually count - has to be in this weird situation.

As if reading your thoughts, Murphy just smirks, before taking off his shirt. But just when’s almost free of his shirt, he hisses, his face screwing up in pain.

„Let me“, you say, helping him.

For a moment, you just stare at each other breathlessly.

Then, so quietly that you’re not quite sure whether you’ve imagined it, he says: „Thank you.“

You nod, clearing your throat. Not knowing what else to say, you start inspecting his chest, lightly trailing your fingertips over the various scratches and other wounds - trying not to be distracted by his muscles you can feel under your fingertips and his burning gaze.

Murphy hisses again when your fingers brush over a particularly deep wound. „Sorry“, you murmur, leaning in even closer to get a better look at his wound. „This wound needs some stitches, I’m, uh, going to get a needle and some thread.“

You get up and walk over to where all the medical supplies are stored, thankful for this short moment away from Murphy, his intense stare and your confusing thoughts about him.

„Here“, you say, after sitting down in front of Murphy again and hand him the bottle of moonshine you’ve grabbed as well, „you might want to drink this before I get started on those stitches.“

Murphy just nods, taking the bottle of moonshine from you and taking a long, big sip. „Do your worst“, he says, prompting you to roll your eyes.

„Thanks for the vote of confidence“, you murmur, though you can understand why he’d be apprehensive about this. If it were you being in his situation, you’d rather be stitched up by a trained doctor as well, but since you teens are all on your own and Clarke, the only one of you with actual medical training is currently getting some well-deserved sleep, you’re his only option. Unlike Clarke, you haven’t received any actual medical training but you do know how to give stitches - in theory at least - so you hopefully won’t screw this up.

Here goes nothing, you think, getting started on the stitches.

Murphy bites down hard on his lips, though a slight hiss still escapes him.

You cringe, shooting him an apologetic smile before concentrating on his wound again. „Sorry.“

Murphy doesn’t say anything in response, just nods.

You’re both quiet as you continue with the stitches. Then, when you’re almost done, Murphy suddenly says: „I got real sick when I was thirteen … only made it because my dad stole some medicine for me ... course, he got floated for it …“

You swallow, meeting his gaze. You don’t know why he’s suddenly telling you this - you just know that the story he’s about to tell you most likely won’t have a happy ending.

Murphy looks away from you then, laughing bitterly. „My mother … she was never the same after his death … She started drinking. Blamed me for his death. Told me everyday that I’m a worthless good-for-nothing that’s responsible for his father’s death. She died three years after him … and I just-“

He stops talking then, shaking his head.

„Murphy, I-“, you start to say, though you stop as well, not quite knowing what it is that you actually want to say. Murphy suddenly opening up to you is so confusing and his story so heartbreaking, you’re not quite sure what the appropriate words for this situation are, let alone if there even are any.

„Anyway“, Murphy now says, voice tinged with bitterness, „I just - I had all this pai- anger in me and I didn’t know how to handle it, how to let it out. So I set fire to those rooms, got arrested.“

„Murphy …“, you say, your voice hollow, your heart breaking for the broken, angry boy in front of.

He laughs dryly, though the sound has a wheezing quality to it that instantly worries you. „You wanted to know, didn’t you? Wanted to understand why I became such a jerk. Well, there you have it.“

„I do“, you say, putting away the needle and thread and looking at Murphy, meeting his gaze. „I do understand you, Murphy. I still think you’re an opportunistic jerk, but I understand, I really do. I - I know that it’s not worth much, but I am sorry that this happened to you, it’s awful.“

Murphy just shrugs, not saying anything.

But he’s still looking at you and now that you know what to look for, now that you finally understand him better, you see the pain in his expression.

Not just due to the torture. There’s so much more, pain that’s probably been building in him for years and that he turned into sharp, pointed hate and anger, because he didn’t know how to deal with all of his pain.

You want to help him, though you don’t really know how and why. Yes, he is a rude jerk and at Camp he was also somewhat of a bully, but you think that that’s most likely due to him not knowing how to communicate in something that’s not just anger and aggression. But you also believe that there’s more to him - that he’s not just this lonely, broken, rude jerk that that’s probably just a facade he’s hiding behind.

„I understand, Murphy“, you say again, still looking at the storm of emotions in his green-blue eyes. Something shifts in Murphy’s expression then - he’s listening to you and something in his gaze tells you that he believes your words, believes you. „I truly do. But there’s more to life than just pain, anger and aggression.“

With that, you reach out a hand, softly grasping one of his hands with yours. You’re not quite sure why you’re doing it, you just know that you want to be there for Murphy, that you want to help him - and that you want him to understand that you truly mean your words.

Murphy’s arm jerks, as if he wants to rip his hand out of your grasp, but then he grasps your hand, squeezing it lightly. He reaches up with his other hand, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

Just like before, your breath hitches. But this - this is different than before. This time, there’s no venom in Murphy’s gaze, no quiet challenge, no pent-up anger. Just curiosity and something softer that you can’t quite describe.

„I still don’t really get why you’re helping me“, Murphy says, leaning even closer to you. You’re so close that you could count the lashes on his good eye. You feel his breath ghosting over your skin and you shiver in anticipation.

„But I’m glad that I let you.“ With that, he leans in even closer, searching your eyes and whatever he sees in them, must convince him. He presses his lips to yours and you’re so overwhelmed that you don’t know how to react. But just when you feel Murphy starting to pull away, you kiss him back, bringing your free hand up to his neck.

You feel him smirk into the kiss and if you weren’t currently kissing him, you’d definitely roll your eyes at him. As it is, you continue kissing him, though you give his hand a squeeze that’s probably a bit too harsh.

Murphy just smirks again, deepening the kiss and tangling his hand in your hair. You can feel your heart start to beat faster and there’s a curious sensation in your stomach that feels like those butterflies that you’ve read about in books.

You lose yourself in the kiss, in the feeling of Murphy.

Kissing Murphy feels good, though his lips are chapped and dry and he hisses in pain when you overeagerly lean a little too much against him. But still - kissing Murphy feels good.

And even though you’re still confused and you know that one conversation won’t suddenly make him sunshine personified - you like his dry sarcasm way too much for that - you also know that you want more. You want to get to know Murphy, really get to know him, you want to be there for him. And if there are more occasions to kiss him along the way of getting to know him and helping him, then you certainly won’t complain about that.

Murphy gives you one last, bruising kiss, before breaking the kiss, breathlessly leaning his forehead against yours.

„I - Murphy - what …“, you stammer, still too wound up from the kiss.

Murphy smirks. „That was thank you.“

You can’t help but roll your eyes. „I see“, you say dryly.

„For stitching me up … and for not giving up on me“, Murphy adds, his voice serious again.

You smile softly, reaching up to brush a strand of hair out of his eye. „I’ll be sure to stick around then.“

Murphy grins, though there’s a vulnerability to it now that wasn’t there before. „Doesn’t sound too bad …“

„Yeah, it doesn’t“, you agree, before leaning up to kiss him again.

You feel him smiling into the kiss, causing you to smile as well.

Yes, the road ahead is not going to be easy - this is John Murphy, resident sarcastic, rude asshole, after all - but you’re not afraid to walk it with Murphy.

#john murphy x reader #john murphy imagine #john murphy #the 100 #richard harmon

547 notes · View notes

gvthic-gvrl · 3 months

Text

eat

read fanfic

cry

sleep

rinse & repeat

4K notes · View notes

gvthic-gvrl · 3 months

Note

Not kissing steve because Mike made a comment about how too much pda is gross and the poor guy is so confused and lost and desperate to kiss you and he asks you sadly whats wrong and tries to fix it. (With lots of make up kisses and steve not caring what Mike says)

AN | No, but I love this idea, especially Mike being a lil shit 🥺

Warnings | Language

Pairing | Steve x Fem!Reader

Word Count | 2.7k

Masterlist | Steve, Main

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Steve Harrington was an affectionate person. He always and more than likely always would be. It was one of the many things that you loved about him; he wasn’t afraid to be outwardly touchy and feely and never missed an opportunity to kiss or hug you, to hold your hand, or just be near you. And you would never, ever, turn down anything from him, even if it was just a simple in passing.

You never thought much about it, letting it just happen. You were sure that his affections were nothing out of hand but that all changed one afternoon, thanks to Mike Wheeler. The lot of you were at the fair, currently standing in line for some random fried food stand. Steve was standing behind you, an arm wrapped around your waist and chin resting on your shoulder. You loved the feeling of him being all over you especially as he pressed lazy kisses to your warm, sunkissed skin.

It wasn’t until you were next in line that Steve let go of you, turning to order for both of you. Mike scoffed and shook his head. You looked at him, raising an eyebrow, “what’s wrong, Mike?”

“You guys are so gross,” he groaned, rolling his eyes dramatically, “you’re always all over each other, just calm down. We get it. You’re madly in love with each other, great, fantastic.”

“Mike,” Dustin smacked his friend, as Max and Lucas were completely oblivious, “maybe you should calm down. Don’t be so jealous. Get over it.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Mike flipped him off, “I forgot - if Suzy was here, the two of you would be equally disgusting.”

“Maybe you should stop being such a jerk-”

“Boys,” you crossed your arms over your chest and shook your head at the kids, “maybe we can all stop being so…over dramatic? It’s all good, okay? We’ll try and tone it down and Mike, you can get the stick out of your ass.”

Mike scowled deeply and Dustin brought into a fit of giggles. He might have called you out, but you had to get him back.

But - it was a promise that you intended to keep, but it still managed to bring a small pout to your lips as you looked over at Steve. Ugh. He was so ridiculously handsome, but so easy and effortless and it made your heart swoon. He turned back to you, arms filled with fried goodness and a big smile on his face. You walked over to him, taking a few things in order to free up his hands.

“Looks disgustingly delicious,” you grinned, “good choices, love.”

Steve nodded happily before leaning over to try and press a kiss to your cheek. You turned your head and quickly dodged the kiss, not saying anything but leaving him with a confused little look on his face, “angel-”

“Come on,” you looped your arm through his and started to lead him to one of the nearby picnic tables. You decided not to mention anything of what Mike had said to Steve, figuring that it would work itself out. Maybe if you toned it down for a few weeks he would eventually take the hint and stop being so outwardly PDA-friendly.

Steve, meanwhile, was trying not to read into anything, more so trying not to freak out at the fact that you had rebuked his kiss. It was the first time you had ever turned down a kiss. But he was sure that it was not something that would keep happening. Right? Right. You were his girl, his honey, his baby, his angel, and you’d never stop loving him. Or so he hoped. Maybe you - no. He was not going to panic or worry too much - it was just one kiss. It would all be fine.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

But…it turned out to be more than just one little time.

You’d started to pull more and more out of being physically affectionate with him. At least in public - behind closed doors things were the same as ever. If anything, you were almost more touchy and lovely when it was just the two of you. It just confused Steve. He was used to being so open with you all the time.

“Hey honey,” Steve’s face lit up as soon as he spotted you walking into his backyard. You looked more gorgeous than anyone should have been allowed to, and caused some sinful thoughts to run through his head. He had to take a moment to compose himself, trying hard not to…well, get hard. You were wearing a cute little pink polka dot two piece, and he couldn’t wait to be alone and rip it off you. The little bow holding it together in the front of your cleavage was practically taunting him; you were like a present waiting to be unwrapped, “you look gorgeous.”

“Hi Stevie,” you smiled softly at your boyfriend, admiring him in his trunks, so much of his warm, golden skin on display. You loved all of his freckles and couldn’t wait to map them all out later with your mouth, “you look good too, handsome.”

He practically melted under your praise as you reached over and took it hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. You were fashionably late - you could thank your coworkers for that - and the last one there. But you were happy to see your friends. You knew that Steve was looking at you expectantly, waiting for you to kiss him, or letting yourself be kissed by him. If he hadn’t been so attuned to you, or paid as close attention as he did, he would have missed the way you looked around nervously.

“Everything alright?” there was a note of concern in his voice as you looked back at him and shook your head, “you seem…”

Off. Different. Not wanting to touch me.

“‘m alright,” you promised and for the briefest of seconds, you reached up and touched his cheek, “do you need a hand with the food or anything?”

“No,” he shook his head lightly, disappointed but also not pushing the fact that you didn’t kiss him, “I’ve got it. Just relax and enjoy yourself, angel. Y-you’re still planning on staying tonight, right?”

“Of course,” you insisted happily, “wouldn’t miss a night with you, my love.”

“Good,” he nodded, almost more to himself than anything. He swallowed the nervous lump in his throat, “I’m glad. I love it when you’re here. I love spending any time with you.”

“Me too,” you smiled sweetly. You grinned when you saw Robin and Nancy excitedly waving you over. You gave Steve a small shrug as if to say what can you do before heading over to him. He’d half expected a kiss but there was no such luck.

A deep, pretty little pout settled on his features as he watched you go. It was not lost on Eddie, who definitely teased him about him for the rest of the afternoon. All he wanted was a little kiss. Was that too much to ask for?!

-─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

And so it continued on, and it almost became normal that you weren’t going to let him be any sort of physically affectionate with you. It was slowly starting to wear on him; he loved you, adored you behind words, but he really just wanted to touch you. It wasn’t even anything inherently sexual, it was the sheer intimacy of being close to you and getting to feel the gentle delicateness of your soft skin on his, or to be blessed with the grace of your lips.

But now, as the gang hung out at Phyllis’ diner, taking up two booths between you guys and the younger kids. You were next to Steve, as per usual….but you were sitting next to him as one would sit next to a friend, not a lover. You were normally tucked up into his side, thigh pressed against his, hands entwined or your head on his shoulder as you stole sweet, syrupy kisses from each other.

This evening, however, you simply sat next to him, keeping a little bit of distance between your bodies. He didn’t even try to argue or even mention it, instead taking it for what it was. You were spending the night at his place, as you did weekends, and he decided that he was going to ask you about what - or hadn’t - been going on lately. He was your boyfriend, your partner, you should have been able to tell him anything. And clearly right now, there was something going on. Steve was determined to get to the root of it…if nothing else, he wanted to make sure that you were okay.

-─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Stevie,” you sighed his name softly as you flopped onto his warm, comfy bed. There was a big smile on your face as you stretched out and burrowed your face into his pillow, “this might be my favorite spot in the entire world.”

“You look like you belong there,” he agreed softly as he sat down on the edge of the bed, reaching over and gently tugging on the hem of your dress. You often wore sweet little dresses, and they always managed to drive him crazy. It was something so simple but so innocently sinful, “you do belong there.”

“That’s because I belong to you,” you reached for his hand and gently tugged him towards you. He obliged your silent request, not wasting a moment before crawling next to you, laying down, his head just across the pillow from yours. You couldn’t help but reach over, touching his freckles with the tips of your fingers, “I love you, Steve Harrington.”

His entire being softened, big brown eyes gentle as he watched you. He swallowed thickly before taking your hand and pressing a kiss to your palm. He listened to the way you softly inhaled at the feeling of his lips on your skin. A quiet fell over the two of you, as he ghosted his fingers along your features.

“Can I ask you something?”

“You can ask me anything,” you giggled lightly, “you’re the only one that gets to ask me anything, my love. What can I do for you?”

“Are we…are we okay?” he whispered so softly that you almost didn’t hear him. A frown tugged down the corners of your mouth as you tried to figure out where he could have gotten the slightest inkling that things weren’t okay.

“Of course we are,” you insisted, nodding your head fervently, “where did you get the idea that we weren’t?”

“I just…things have been different,” he pointed out and Steve could tell by the way your face fell that you knew exactly what he was talking about. You swallowed thickly but shook your head, “you can tell me anything. You know that - anything.”

“Nothing is…” you stopped yourself, unable to lie to him. You shifted so you were sitting up and Steve mirrored your gesture and sat there facing you. You sighed before hanging your head, “it….it was Mike.”

“Mike?” he repeated in shock as you simply nodded at him, “what the hell did he do?”

“Nothing bad,” you put your hand on his arm and shook your head, trying to dispel any negative thoughts, “back at the fair, he made a few comments about PDA and basically…us. Us being too touchy and feely and open in public. He thought it was gross and I…I dunno it just kind of stuck with me.”

“That’s what…” he couldn’t help the small laugh that bubbled up as he shook his head, somewhere between amusement and annoyance, “you’ve avoided kissing me or letting me touch you in public because of the kid?!”

“When you say it like that…” you met his eye and couldn’t help but laugh too. It hadn’t seemed so irrational and weird at the time. Now it really seemed silly, “it didn’t seem bad at the time!”

“Baby, you’ve been practically killing me,” your boyfriend groaned playfully as you just shrugged sheepishly, “you wouldn’t even let me hold your hand! You denied me my kisses! I thought I might die.”

“Stevie,” you were both laughing now. His large hands found purchase on your waist as he pulled you into his lap. You made a small sound that went straight to his heart as you wrapped your arms around his neck, “you’re so dramatic!”

“Baby, baby, baby,” he pressed his forehead against yours, “tell me it wasn’t hard to keep your hands off me.”

You couldn’t even lie or argue, instead giving in by softly pressing your lips against his. He practically sighed into your touch as he melted, kissing you just as softly and reverently. You pulled back, gently carding a hand through his hair, lightly scratching at his scalp, “it was hard for me too.”

“Then let’s stop,” he suggested coquettishly, “and never not touch each other again. Whaddaya say, angel?”

“Yes,” you laid back against his pillow and pulled him on top of you, “and now, my love, please, please, please touch me. All over, as much as you want, but don’t ever stop.”

“I can do that,” he was practically melting as you stole some soft kisses from him, “I love you so much.”

“I love you, Steve,” you grinned, “now please touch me!”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You were the last to arrive at the game at the Wheelers’ house, having no one to blame but yourself. You’d taken too long getting ready, and lost track of time. But you looked very pretty, thank you very much, so it was all worth it. You let yourself into the Wheeler home, hearing the excited chatter and laughter from your friends.

“Hello!” you greeted excitedly as you walked inside, met with happy waves…and then almost tackled by your overly enthusiastic boyfriend. He wrapped you up in a tight hug, twirling you around before kissing you softly. You beamed at the boy, wondering why on earth you’d ever willingly rejected this display of affection before.

“My angel,” he whispered against your lips, so soft and gentle, “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too,” you promised, “and it’s only been like…twelve hours.”

“Doesn’t matter,” his hand found the side of your neck, his thumb gently brushing along your soft skin, “I’d miss you even if it was only an hour.”

“Ugh, stop being so perfect,” you playfully groaned. But you meant it - Steve really was a wonderful man, golden hearted and loving and you couldn’t imagine life without him, “if I loved you anymore, I’d probably explode from love and happiness and sweetness.”

“It’s just because I love you,” he pecked your lips before you both heard a loud throat clear from the living room. You pulled apart and turned to find Mike Wheeler standing there and looking between the two of you. He shook his head, but you could see that a small smile was playing on his features.

“If you lovebirds are done, we’re about to start monopoly!” he motioned with his head for the two of you to join the rest of them. He paused for a moment, “it’s still disgusting! But it’s kind of cute how in love the two of you are.”

And with that, the boy turned around to join the others as you laughed quietly. Steve’s cheeks were a pretty pastel pink as he cleared his throat, “you’re in love with me, huh?”

“Duh, Stevie,” you grinned, “are you in love with me?”

“Duh,” he teased softly as he took your hand in his and you were practically glowing, “more than you’ll ever know, angel.”

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #joe keery #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington one shot

3K notes · View notes