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wannabespacesmuggler · 6 days

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D.D. | Shane's Girl

Part Six | Masterlist | Buy me a coffee

Summary: Daryl Dixon knows he shouldn’t be thinking about you when he’s alone at night in his tent. Hell, he shouldn’t even be looking at you throughout the day. You’re not his. You’re Shane’s girl. But Daryl doesn’t like the way Shane treats you. And he certainly doesn’t like how you’re forced to play ‘loving girlfriend’ to a man with eyes for another woman at the camp.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x female!Reader

Warnings: Shane Walsh sucks, unedited (I will get to it later, I promise)

Word Count: 1.2K

Author’s Note: Oof—alright, it's been a hot second, everybody. Apologies for going MIA for a while (life, y'know?). I haven't forgotten about this fic and I know that none of you have forgotten about it based on the amount of notes and messages I get (which I appreciate greatly). Thanks for sticking it out with me guys. Excited for you all to see what I have planned in the coming chapters. In the meantime, let me know what y'all think of this one & let me know if you want to be added or removed from the taglist.

“Fuck!”

The expletive escapes your lips before you can think twice about it. You nervously look around the camp, searching for Carl and Sophia. The last thing you need is for Lori and Carol to get on your case because you accidentally taught the children swear words. After realizing that neither of them is in earshot, you let out a sigh of relief.

You look down at the garment in your lap. Shane had thrown a pair of his cargo pants at you earlier this morning, grumbling about a hole in one of his pockets. You had woken up earlier than him, probably because he had returned to your shared tent far after everyone else in camp had retired for the evening. This was becoming somewhat of a routine for the two of you: Shane sneaking around in the middle of the night thinking you’re asleep; meanwhile, you spend the restless nights in your tent waiting to see if he actually comes back. You never ask him where he was in the morning—knowing that Shane would brush you off by saying he was on watch as if you don’t understand that the shifts rotate every night. Another sigh escapes your lips as you defeatedly throw the pants onto the table before you and turn your attention to your finger, which you had clumsily stabbed with a needle while attempting to fix the garment.

“You ‘lright?”

The sound of Daryl’s rough southern drawl makes you jump. You look up and see Daryl standing a few feet away with his raised hands. He takes a few careful steps toward you—his movements are slow and calculated. Your brow furrows at the sight—did he think you’re afraid of him?

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle ya.”

“It’s okay, Daryl. I was just a little distracted.”

Daryl nods at your words before taking a seat beside you at the table.

“What’d ya do to your hand?”

He leans toward you slightly to get a better look, his concerned eyes raking over your hands, looking for any sign of injury. A small smile spreads across your face as Daryl continues to worry about your well-being. You raise your hands to show him that you’re perfectly okay.

“It’s nothing. Just pricked my finger—Shane has a hole in his pocket, and I was never good with a needle and thread.”

You shrug your shoulders nonchalantly as you speak. Daryl chews on his bottom lip as he looks at the cargo pants on the table. It’s ripped along the seam, an easy fix—he’s done it numerous times for his own tattered jeans.

“Give it ‘er.”

You look at Daryl’s outstretched hand in disbelief for several seconds before handing him the needle and thread. Daryl snatches the pants off the table and gets to work. You watch him curiously—his brow furrows as he focuses on the task at hand. Daryl momentarily lets his attention drift to you; he awkwardly shifts in his seat, suddenly uncomfortable with how intently you’re watching him.

“Why are you lookin’ at me like that?”

His tone is defensive, but it doesn’t make you back down like everyone else.

“Just surprised, is all.”

“What, Shane doesn’t know how to sew?”

He meets your incredulous gaze and can’t help but laugh. The sound is still foreign to his ears, even though it’s becoming somewhat of an ordinary occurrence when he’s with you. He’s much more used to the sound of Merle yelling, music blaring, old motorcycles' roar, and the forest's peaceful ambiance.

“Well, you shouldn’t have to do everything for him.”

His genuine words should comfort you, but instead, they nag at you. You shouldn’t have to do everything for him. You shouldn’t have to turn a blind eye to your boyfriend’s nightly habit. You shouldn’t have to walk on eggshells around him. You shouldn’t have to make yourself smaller for his convenience. And yet, here you are.

“You have a cigarette?”

The question catches Daryl off guard. He’s only seen you smoke once—that night at the campfire, and he swore it was his fault. Your words from that night still rattle around in his head. You’re a bad influence, Dixon. He completes his final stitch, bringing the thread to his mouth so he can rip it off with his teeth. He places everything back on the table before pulling out his pack of Marlboro Reds from his pocket and offering it to you. You take one from the pack, twisting it in your fingers before placing the cigarette between your lips. Daryl notices your hesitation as he hands you his old lighter, so he waits until you’ve lit your cigarette before pulling out one of his own. The two of you sit in comfortable silence, but something about this doesn’t sit right with Daryl.

“What’s goin’ on?”

You furrow your brow at his question, feigning confusion, but Daryl doesn’t relent. He simply raises a brow at you as he takes another long drag of his cigarette. You let out a defeated sigh before answering his question.

“It’s just Shane…”

You trail off thinking that since it’s relationship drama, maybe Daryl wouldn’t be interested. But he doesn’t try to change the subject or brush you off, instead, he gives you his undivided attention. He watches you quickly look around camp, scooping the area and taking account of who is around. A frown pulls at the corners of Daryl’s lips as he realizes that you’re once again looking over your shoulder for Shane.

“He wasn’t always like this. I mean, he was always a hothead, but he wasn’t always so cruel.”

“Hey…”

The softness in his tone catches you off guard, and you look up at him. A part of you wants to cry at how attentive Daryl is at this moment. It’s been so long since someone has shown you this kind of care.

“You ain’t gotta defend him to me.”

Daryl watches as a single tear falls down your cheek at his words, and he begins to panic. Did he upset you? Was he out of line? Had he gotten the situation between you and Shane wrong? This isn’t his forte. He wishes he was a different man—a better man, a softer man. He wishes he was more like his mother and less like his father. That she could have lived long enough to teach him a few more life lessons—like how to comfort someone you care for.

Before he has the chance to spiral completely out of control, he feels your fingertips find his, and his heart damn near stops. He involuntarily pulls away from your touch, and it makes him wince. He sits in the shame of his response to your touch. A better man would have been able to return your affection. Finally, he meets your gaze, expecting to see the hurt he caused by his reaction. Instead, he’s met with a smile so warm and tender that he can practically feel the shame in his body melt away.

“Thank you, Daryl.”

A small, affectionate smile pulls at the corners of Daryl’s lips.

“It was nothin’.”

You shake your head at his words. What he did for you today was far from nothing, but you let it go, opting to turn your attention back to the cargo pants on the table before you. As you admire Daryl’s handiwork, you can’t help but hope that Daryl knows that Shane’s pocket isn’t the only thing he stitched back together today.

Taglist:

@minervadashwood

@hotgirlsshareaccounts

@dreamtofus

@youcantstandit

@ajlovesdilfs

@prettywhenibleed

@luvsvnlqt-things

@strnqer

@marina-isabella

@lissanovak

@elissanatok

@luv-4-aria

@moejoeflow-blog

@ceoofdisappointment

@jewellthebooknerd

@callsignwidow

@genderless-ghosty-boi

@all-will-be-well-love

@tabzthemightyyyy

@mychemicalimagines

@nosebleeds-247

@catradora333

@punicorn999

@tybsbnbn

@i-wear-wet-socks313

@sunny92sworld

@echothy

@ta3baee

@rottngzombi

@rhey-007

@all-will-be-well-love

#twd #The Walking Dead #walking dead #daryl dixon #twd daryl #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon x reader #daryl x reader #Rick Grimes #shane walsh #merle dixon #glenn rhee #lori grimes #the walking dead imagine #walking dead imagine #Norman Reedus #norman reedus imagine #norman reedus x reader

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wannabespacesmuggler · 3 months

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I binged this series tonight and it is EVERYTHING. I don't recommend fics often, but I recommend this fully if you're looking for a good joel miller fic.

'somewhere to run' masterlist

Pairing: sheriff!Joel x f!reader

Series Summary: You move to a small town in the middle of Texas to escape your past and start over. You don't expect to fall for the town's handsome sheriff.

Series Warnings: no outbreak AU, language, angst, slow burn, smut (18+ MDNI), domestic violence (mostly just talked about or implied, nothing too descriptive, i will put a big warning on those chapters), implied SA (nothing descriptive), jealousy/possessiveness, alcohol use, drug use (not by Joel or reader), technical infidelity - more warnings will be stated for each chapter but these are the biggies

Status: in progress

1: a fresh start

2: book club

3: the statement

4: the carnival

5: first date

6: the confession

7: break the chain

8: restrained

9: the lies

lovely dividers by @saradika-graphics

Asks/BTS/Inspo/Extras:

Joel's Morning Routine

Police Station Layout

Love Languages

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel the last of us #joel miller smut #joel miller series #joel miller angst #joel miller x reader

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wannabespacesmuggler · 3 months

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me trying to get to very specific scene I have in mind for Daryl's Girl

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wannabespacesmuggler · 3 months

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D.D. | Shane's Girl

Part Five | Masterlist | Buy me a coffee

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Warnings: Shane Walsh sucks

Word Count: 1.2K

Author’s Note: Thanks for the continued love on this lil fic. I love them. The connection they are creating with one another is so sweet and I cannot wait to continue writing for these two idiots. Shane of course continues to be a dick and will only get worse. We're getting closer to the start of the show. I won't be retelling the entire series in this fic. Just snippets of their life together -- the show will fill in the gaps in a way. Anyway, let me know what you guys think of this one, if you want to be added to the taglist, or just want to ask me a question.

Extras: Playlist

You don’t consider yourself a jealous girlfriend; however, as you watch Shane and Lori from across the camp, you cannot help the rage that begins to simmer in your chest. The feeling makes you nauseous. You adore Lori. She’s always been like an older sister to you -- the senior girl who took you under her wing during your freshman year of high school. So the problem isn’t Lori. No, it’s the way Shane is looking at Lori. His face practically lights up with affection and warmth as he listens to her -- a stark contrast to the Shane you’ve become accustomed to since the dead started walking.

“Hey, uhm. Is everything okay?”

Glenn’s soft voice cuts through your rising temper, startling you. You look up at him with wide eyes for a second, before attempting to pull yourself together. If anyone in camp knew the exact thoughts running through your head right now, you’d be humiliated. You take a deep breath before giving Glenn a polite smile.

“Of course. Why do you ask?”

Glenn shifts awkwardly on his feet. You haven’t really had a chance to get to know to know Glenn. You could probably count on one hand how many times the two of you have interacted since he joined the camp. For the first few weeks, you assumed he didn’t like you. However, Amy informed you that his avoidance is nothing personal -- it’s just that Shane terrifies him and you’re an extension of that fear. This seems to be a common problem for you around camp. People seem intimidated by you due to your proximity to the camp’s self-proclaimed leader. It’s infuriating and isolating.

“It’s just… those are my favorite pair of jeans.”

You look down at the wash basin in front of you. You’d been so distracted by your own thoughts, that you’d completely forgotten about the clothes you were washing. As your mind continued to race, your hands began moving on their own accord with just as much ferocity. Your face flushes as you stare at Glenn’s jeans that you damn near scrubbed a hole into.

“Sorry, Glenn. Just zoned out for a second.”

Glenn gives you a kind smile, seemingly content with your answer.

“Don’t worry about it. Happens to everyone.”

He shrugs nonchalantly before wandering off towards Dale. You let out a relieved sigh once he’s out of earshot. Deciding that Glenn’s clothing has been through enough torment today, you pull his garments out of the wash basin and move to pin them up on a clothesline. As you attach the last article of clothing, you hear footsteps approaching you from behind. Before you can turn around, you hear a familiar voice.

“I’m goin’ out to hunt, wanna come?”

You furrow your brow. Daryl has mentioned how much he enjoys hunting alone -- how relaxing it is. It makes sense. He’s a loner by nature, so the constant presence of people in camp must be overwhelming. You don’t want to intrude on his personal time. Before you can ask him if he’s sure, you notice his eyes shift from you over to Shane and Lori.

Oh.

You might have been able to fool Glenn, but you can’t fool Daryl. He knows exactly what has you so riled up. You’re embarrassed that the younger Dixon has seen through your ruse. The last thing that you want is Daryl thinking less of you because of your envy. You want to explain yourself -- let him know that you’re not just some jealous girlfriend -- but the words get stuck in your throat, so you nod wordlessly at his offer and allow him to lead you into the surrounding woods.

Daryl likes the quiet -- he usually finds comfort in it, but your unusual silence, while you both move through the forest, is unbearable. You’re the conversationalist. You’re the one who retells stories about your time in King County with Shane and the Grimes family, recites all the gossip you learned from Andrea and Amy throughout the day, and complains about whatever crappy meal the group was able to put together that evening. And he likes that about you. You ask him the occasional question about Merle or hunting, but you never pry. You’re the one that talks and he’s the one that listens -- simple as that.

But right now you don’t feel like talking and it’s making him anxious. He knows he should say something, but what? Sorry your boyfriend is such a jackass? He shakes his head at the thought. Real, smooth Dixon. This is uncharted territory for him. No one ever taught him how to comfort.

A rustling in the woods saves him from his attempts at starting a conversation. Daryl puts his arm out to stop you from walking in front of him, before aiming his crossbow toward the noise. He slowly moves forward and you follow his lead, knife in hand. Eventually, a walker comes into view from behind the trees. Daryl waits for a clear shot and pulls the trigger. You let out a sigh of relief as you watch the arrow sink into the walker’s skull.

“Nice shot.”

Your voice breaks through the silence for the first time and he’s glad to hear it. He wanders over to the walker and retrieves his crossbow bolt. He wipes the tip of it off on his jeans, before looking back at you.

“You ‘lright?”

You chew on the inside of your cheek as you think about his question -- you know he’s not asking about the walker.

“I’m just worried.”

Daryl furrows his brow at your response. He doesn’t ask why, instead, he silently shifts from one foot to the other, allowing you to continue if you so choose.

“I feel like you’re the only person in this camp who sees me as a person and not just Shane’s girl -- I just don’t want that to change.”

Daryl shakes his head at the thought. He’s seen you do more for this camp in one day, than Shane’s ever done. It’s stupid really, how everyone treats you. And he knows that you have more to give than cleaning laundry and preparing meals. You don’t have to prove yourself to him -- the two of you are far past that. You’ve already earned his respect -- something Shane has yet to accomplish.

“You ain’t gotta worry ‘bout that.”

You nod at his words, but Daryl can tell that they did little to reassure you.

“I feel the same way.”

Your brows knit together in confusion over Daryl’s words.

“You’re the only person who doesn’t see me as Merle.”

His tone is sincere -- you know he genuinely means what he is saying. You wonder how many people have met the Dixon brothers and simply wrote Daryl off due to the brashness of his older brother. You watch as he awkwardly shifts from one foot to the other, obviously uncomfortable with the vulnerability in his words.

“Yeah, you’re definitely not Merle.”

This causes Daryl to laugh -- actually laugh. The sound is surprising at first -- more boyish than the usual gruffness you're used to in his voice, but it’s nice. And it makes you smile brightly, knowing you’re the reason for his laughter.

“C’mon, we should head back.”

You allow him to take the lead again, navigating through the woods once more. He might not have caught any squirrel, but the two of you are not coming back to camp empty-handed. A newfound understanding washes over the both of you, bonding you to one another.

Taglist:

@minervadashwood

@hotgirlsshareaccounts

@dreamtofus

@youcantstandit

@ajlovesdilfs

@prettywhenibleed

@luvsvnlqt-things

@strnqer

@marina-isabella

@lissanovak

@elissanatok

@luv-4-aria

@moejoeflow-blog

@ceoofdisappointment

@jewellthebooknerd

@callsignwidow

@genderless-ghosty-boi

@all-will-be-well-love

@tabzthemightyyyy

@mychemicalimagines

@nosebleeds-247

@catradora333

@punicorn999

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wannabespacesmuggler · 3 months

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Next chapter is in the works!

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wannabespacesmuggler · 5 months

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D.D. | Shane's Girl

Part Four | Masterlist | Buy me a coffee

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Warnings: Shane Walsh sucks

Word Count: 1K

Author’s Note: Had a spurt of creative energy after work today and wrote this bad boy. I wanted to post it before I head off to bed. It isn't edited, might get around to that tomorrow. Anyway, let me know what you guys think of this one, if you want to be added to the taglist, or just want to ask me a question.

Extras: Playlist

A cigarette hangs from Daryl’s lips as he watches you attempt to start a fire. He sits at a table set up beside Dale’s RV, his legs kicked up on an extra folding chair. His fingers absentmindedly peel at the worn edge of his Marlboro Reds container. You mutter another string of expletives before chucking a piece of firewood into the surrounding woods. This causes Daryl to let out a short chuckle, which earns a glare from you.

The youngest Dixon has made a point of being more present around the camp since his almost altercation with Shane -- much to your boyfriend’s dismay. For the last several days, Daryl has made it his mission to keep a careful eye on you -- lingering wherever you happen to be and watching over you, like a loyal guard dog. Despite that, Daryl has also tried his best to not be overbearing. And if you ever told him to back off, he’d obey your wishes. You don’t mind though. Unlike Shane, Daryl’s presence isn't overwhelming and dominant. Daryl simply observes from the background -- he makes you feel safe.

“You’re welcome to help at any point, Dixon.”

Daryl puts out his cigarette on the heel of his boot before getting up from the table. He slings his crossbow around his torso and moves toward you. You sit back on your heels as Daryl approaches, wiping your hands off on your jeans. He drops down beside you and assesses your work.

“You almost got it. Jus’ need more tinder -- without it the kindling won’t light.”

You watch as Daryl grabs a handful of leaves from the ground and places it under the bunch of twigs you’d collected. He offers you a box of matches from his back pocket.

“Now give ‘er a try.”

You light a match and ignite the tinder. Unlike, your previous attempts, the kindling begins to light as well, creating a small fire. A smile spreads across your face and Daryl has to fight one off himself as he watches you giddily add more tinder to the growing fire. Before you can add any of the larger logs, Daryl leans down and gently blows on the fire. He gives you a nod when he’s content and you add a couple of larger logs. You both sit back against a fallen log, watching the flames. Daryl reaches into his pocket and pulls out his carton of Marlboros. He slips a cigarette between his lips before extending the carton out to you.

“You know those things will kill you, right?”

Daryl scoffs at your question as he lights his cigarette. He takes a drag and meets your gaze. You’re smiling at him, but your tone was surprisingly serious. He wonders if your concern for his well-being is sincere. You don’t know him. Not really. Then again, he doesn’t know you either, but here he is -- watching over you. He takes another drag of his cigarette before responding.

“Seems like everything’ll kill me these days.”

You chuckle softly, shrugging your shoulders at his comment.

“I can’t argue with that.”

You reach your hand out to Daryl, motioning toward the carton. He raises a brow but hands you a cigarette. Daryl watches you light it and take a drag. You tilt your head, glancing up at him with the cigarette hanging gracefully from your lips. He shouldn’t find it attractive. He shouldn’t be looking at you. As much as he dislikes it, you’re Shane’s girl.

But god damn.

He always knew the cowboy killers would take him out one day -- just not like this.

“You’re a bad influence, Dixon.”

Daryl awkwardly laughs and softly shakes his head, trying to remove the thoughts from his head. You don’t know how right you are.

Before he does something he regrets, he focuses his attention on the fire in front of him and the cigarette in his hand. You don’t attempt to start another conversation. The two of you sit beside the fire, finishing your smokes as the sun sets behind the trees. It’s peaceful. He usually prefers to spend his time alone; however, this isn't so bad.

Eventually, the peace is disrupted by Shane’s heavy footsteps. He doesn’t say a word as he passes by the fire, but you feel his eyes on you the entire time. You take a final drag of your cigarette, before turning to Daryl.

“I gotta…”

You trail off, pointing in the direction that Shane had just stomped off towards. Daryl gives you a nod, letting you leave without another word. You’re not going to lie, you’d rather sit here with Daryl than de-escalate your jealous boyfriend; however, you know talking to Shane is the right thing to do. Things have been tense since he saw you with Daryl several days ago and you’re doing everything possible to fix the situation.

As you open your tent and take in your surroundings. Shane is sitting on the edge of your shared cot, facing away from you. He glances back at you before pulling on a clean t-shirt. You kneel behind him on the cot and wrap your arms around his waist. Shane lets out a deep sigh at the contact.

“Hey, I haven’t seen you all day.”

“I’ve been busy.”

You nod hum into his shoulder and then stay quiet. You sit in silence for several moments, giving him an opportunity to talk about his day; however, he doesn’t say a word.

“Shane?”

“I told you I didn’t want you anywhere near him.”

You let go of his waist, sitting back further away from him on the cot.

“I know. It’s just…”

Before you can finish, Shane turns to face you. His eyes are ice cold. His jaw clenches as he looks at you. It makes you stop in your tracks. You’re starting to think that maybe you can’t fix this, but you’re still going to try.

“I’m sorry.”

Shane holds your gaze for a few more seconds before wordlessly laying down on the cot, with his back facing you. You let out a soft sigh and settle down next to him. And as you lay there, you begin to drift off wishing that you never got up from the fire.

Taglist: @darylsl0ver@minervadashwood@hotgirlsshareaccounts@taterbbbug@dreamtofus@youcantstandit@ajlovesdilfs@prettywhenibleed@luvsvnlqt-things@evie-beanie@strnqer@marina-isabella@lissanovak@elissanatok@1tsk1tty@moejoeflow@ceoofdisappointment@jewellthebooknerd@callsignwidow@genderless-ghosty-boi @all-will-be-well-love @tabzthemighty

#twd #walking dead #The Walking Dead #daryl dixon #twd daryl #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon x reader #daryl x reader #rick grimes #the walking dead imagine #shane walsh #merle dixon #glenn rhee #lori grimes #walking dead imagine #norman reedus x reader #norman reedus imagine #norman reedus

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wannabespacesmuggler · 5 months

Text

D.D. | Shane's Girl

Part Three | Masterlist | Buy me a coffee

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Warnings: Shane Walsh sucks

Word Count: 1.5K

Author’s Note: It has once again been a hot second. I love this idea so much and want to continue it. I'm really glad that all of you seem to enjoy this little fic as well. Did anyone else watch the new Daryl Dixon show? I liked it a lot more than Dead City; however, the final episode felt super lackluster, especially with all of the build-up. Maybe that's just me. Anyway, let me know what you guys think of this one, if you want to be added to the taglist, or just want to ask me a question.

Extras: Playlist

“Like this?”

Your voice pulls Daryl out of his quiet concentration. He’d been so busy at work, sharpening the tip of the crossbow bolt in his hands, that he’d almost forgotten that you were sitting with him. Daryl’s gotten used to being alone. Hell, most of the time, being alone is better than the alternative -- being in the company of Merle Dixon. However, you are certainly nothing like Merle Dixon.

Daryl coughs awkwardly -- trying to ground himself back in reality. It was early evening when you wandered into the Dixons’ makeshift camp. You’d finished all of your chores relatively early for the day and desperately wanted to do something instead of sitting down by the lake and gossiping with Andrea and Amy. You had attempted to find Shane, in the hope that maybe the two of you could take watch together. Since the world fell apart, you haven’t really had any time to actually talk with Shane. You can’t blame him though, his concern for Carl and Lori is admirable. And you know that if the situation were reversed, Rick would do the same and would make it his life’s mission to look out for you. You just wish your boyfriend could extend some of that comfort to you.

That’s how you find yourself across the fire from Daryl, sharpening the crossbow bolt you made together. Daryl’s eyes shift from your face to your hands, to assess your progress. His eyes widen slightly once he notices how you’re holding the knife in your hands. You stop moving once notice the change in Daryl’s features.

“Did I do something wrong?”

Daryl watches as you physically shut down-- as if you’re preparing for him to be angry over a simple crossbow bolt. His jaw clenches at your reaction. He is angry, but not at you. No, he’s angry because he understands. He resists the urge to ask you who it was that has managed to make you feel so small and, instead, moves to the other side of the fire so that he can sit beside you.

“Nah, you didn’t do anything wrong. Just hold the knife like this, ‘lright?”

Daryl physically shows you how to hold the knife away from your body while you’re sharpening the bolt. Your eyes follow his movements for several moments before replicating them. Daryl watches you intently, nodding whenever you look over for his approval.

“Yeah, jus’ like that.”

A small smile plays at the corners of your lips at the sudden softness in Daryl’s voice. You distract yourself by watching Daryl’s careful work with the crossbow bolt in front of him. It’s obvious how much the craft means to him -- it’s quite mesmerizing to watch.

“You’re really good at this. Did your dad teach you?”

Daryl stops for just a split second and draws in a breath. He rolls his shoulders back, trying to rid himself of the thoughts that come to mind at the mention of his father. His first instinct is to lash out and shut down -- and he probably would if it were anyone else; however, you have been nothing but kind to Daryl since he and Merle arrived at the makeshift camp. The idea of chastising you for your harmless curiosity makes his stomach turn.

Daryl clears his throat and finally releases the breath he was holding. He resumes carefully sharpening the bolt in his hands.

“I taught myself.”

You nod at his explanation, trying to ignore his change in demeanor. Just as sudden as the softness in Daryl’s features came, it is replaced by his usual indifference. It’s as if for just a split second you were able to see through the brick wall that Daryl has erected around himself. He lets his defenses down just long enough for you to see that there is warmth behind the cold front.

“Well, it’s really impressive. I don’t know anyone else who can use a crossbow or make their own arrows.”

Daryl nods and attempts to keep a straight face, fighting off a small smile.

“It’s really not that hard. My daddy had a load of hunting gear in our garage and with Merle always getting locked up, I had a lot of time to practice.”

You resist the urge to ask him more about his past. Based on his previous reaction, you can tell that it’s not a topic he’s comfortable with. Before you can change the subject, a rustling in the surrounding woods grabs both of your attention. You freeze in place, expecting the worst; however, Daryl springs into action. He grabs his crossbow and places his body in front of yours -- in this position, he’s managed to shield you from the source of the noise.

Daryl readies his aim and you brace yourself for a potential fight; however, before he can release the trigger, you grab his arm, stopping him in his tracks. Instead of a walker, Shane and Lori emerge from the woods. The smile on Shane’s face fades into a deep scowl as he takes in the scene before him.

“What the hell is going on here?”

His words are laced with venom as his eyes narrow at Daryl, who still hasn’t lowered the crossbow. You give Daryl’s arm a gentle squeeze, silently pleading with him to not escalate the situation. He shakes off your touch but lowers the crossbow. You move in front of Daryl, hoping to diffuse the situation.

“Relax Shane, Daryl was just showing me how to make some arrows.”

Shane ignores you completely. His eyes don’t even leave Daryl as you speak.

“I told you to stay the fuck away from her.”

His voice raises and Daryl notices how you shrink away from Shane as he takes an aggressive step forward. His eyes narrow at Shane, who continues to dismiss you. Now he knows who made you feel so small. A surge of anger rises within Daryl, along with the need to protect you -- which is quickly becoming a common feeling for him nowadays. Daryl mimics Shane’s actions, taking a step forward and sizing up the man in front of him.

You watch the scene play out before you and before either of them can throw the first blow, you place yourself in between the two seething men.

“I approached him. I couldn’t find you so I asked him for help, okay? Where did you go?”

Shane finally turns his attention away from Daryl and focuses on you. He places his hands on his hips as he looks down at you. Daryl’s brow furrows at the sight -- this isn’t the posture of a loving boyfriend. No, right now Shane looks like a parent scolding a child. He lets you take control of the situation; however, he anxiously observes your interaction with Shane, ready to jump in if Shane’s anger gets the better of him.

“I was helping Lori look for Carl.”

Anger is still evident in his voice, but he seems to have settled down to a simmering rage. Daryl raises a brow at his explanation. He doesn’t say anything, but he finds it very unlikely that there would be anything less than a full search party if any of the children in camp actually went missing. Daryl shifts his gaze to Lori who is still standing on the edge of the woods. Her face is flushed, her hair is disheveled, and her clothing seems to be thrown on haphazardly. It seemed like she and Shane had gotten into some trouble out there, but neither of them have any blood on them. They both, however, are covered in dirt -- hell, Shane looks like he just rolled around the forest floor.

Oh. Oh.

Daryl looks at you, hoping you just came to the same conclusion. You know Shane is lying. In your search to find him earlier today, you noticed that Carol was watching Carl and Sophia play down by the lake. And as much as you want to call out his deception, you also don’t want to start yet another fight.

You let out a sigh and give Shane a solemn nod. Lori uses this moment to excuse herself from the conversation -- muttering something about finishing the laundry. Shane shoots Daryl a final glare before grabbing your shoulder and pulling you away from the archer. Daryl watches you both walk away. Eventually, Shane releases his hold, leans his head down, and whispers something in your ear. You nod at whatever he says before casting your eyes toward the ground. Shane, on the other hand, stands up a bit taller at your reaction and walks off confidently.

Daryl clenches his fists as you look in his direction. Embarrassment washes over your features once you notice that he is still watching you. Daryl frowns as you drop your head and walk off in the direction of your tent. You shouldn’t be embarrassed -- Shane should. He may have promised Shane that he’d stay away from you, but Daryl decides, at this moment, that he doesn’t give a damn. Nobody gets to treat you like that.

Taglist: @darylsl0ver@minervadashwood@hotgirlsshareaccounts@taterbbbug@dreamtofus@youcantstandit @ajlovesdilfs @prettywhenibleed @luvsvnlqt-things @evie-beanie @strnqer@marina-isabella@lissanovak@elissanatok@1tsk1tty@moejoeflow@ceoofdisappointment@jewellthebooknerd @callsignwidow @genderless-ghosty-boi

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wannabespacesmuggler · 5 months

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Your honor, I love them.

I spend way too much of my time in BG3's character creator.

#bg3 #bg3 tav #bg3 monk #way of the open hand monk #monk #tieflng #Mephistopheles tiefling #bg3 character

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wannabespacesmuggler · 5 months

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Hey Google, play "My Type" by Saint Motel.

#bg3 #bg3 tav #bg3 spoilers #bg3 dark urge #bg3 durge #half elf #gloom stalker #ranger

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wannabespacesmuggler · 6 months

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also a little side note in reference to my hiatus ~

I do not know when I plan on writing again. Writer's block hit me like a truck for a long time and then lyme disease really came to kick me while I was down. I know many of you have been wondering where I've been. I'm still on Tumblr (more of a lurker now than I was before) , working when I can, and enjoying little things like Baldur's Gate 3 & the new season of Loki. Thank you to all of you who still read my work and find the time to comment and share it -- it truly means the world to me.

Once I'm over this slump I'd love to get back to writing things that bring me and all of you joy. In the meantime, I'm still here. Come say hi in the inbox.

lil peek into my newest obsession during my writing hiatus

#update #it's been a while

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wannabespacesmuggler · 6 months

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lil peek into my newest obsession during my writing hiatus

#bg3 #astarion #paladin #bg3 tav

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wannabespacesmuggler · 9 months

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D.D. | Shane's Girl Masterlist

Buy me a coffee

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x female!Reader

Warnings: Merle Dixon and Shane Walsh are the worst possible men in the world

Part One: Tempers Flare

Part Two: A Promise Broken, An Offer Made

Part Three: A Lesson Learned

Part Four: Cowboy Killer

Part Five: Jealousy, Jealousy

Part Six: A Better Man

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wannabespacesmuggler · 9 months

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D.D. | Shane's Girl

Part Two | Masterlist | Buy me a coffee

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Warnings: Merle Dixon being Merle Dixon, Shane Walsh isn’t great either tbh

Word Count: 1K

Author’s Note: So it's been a hot second (writer's block is a bitch), but I really love this idea and apparently a lot of you guys do too! Thanks for all the love on the first part, all the comments and reblogs have meant the world to me. I really cannot believe how well the first part of this fic was received lol. Let me know what you guys think of this one, if you want to be added to the taglist, or just want to ask me a question.

Extras: Playlist

Daryl is, if anything, a man of his word. He agreed that he’d stay the hell away from Shane’s girl, so that’s exactly what he did. It wasn’t difficult; he is almost always on a hunting trip to keep the ragtag group of survivors fed and when he isn’t, Daryl can be found in his tent taking care of his crossbow and bolts. And since Merle hasn’t spoken a word to you since the little incident in camp, your path just hasn’t crossed his.

That is until his crossbow bolts go missing one morning.

Daryl rips his tent apart in an attempt to find his missing arrows. A steady stream of expletives escape his mouth as he shuffles through Merle’s belongings, hoping that his older brother just so happened to take his bolts and stash them with his possessions -- it certainly wouldn’t be the first time that Merle took something of his and claimed it as his own.

After about thirty minutes, Daryl lets out a frustrated sigh. If his bolts aren’t in here, that means someone in camp took them and that could lead to some issues. After the incident with you and Merle, Daryl hasn’t just kept his distance from you -- Daryl has isolated himself further from everyone at the makeshift camp.

He’s not an idiot and he picked up on everyone’s apprehension in respect to the Dixon brothers since the first few days in camp. That seems to have only gotten worse after Merle’s decision to make a scene in the middle of camp. It doesn’t seem to bother the older Dixon brother; however, Daryl cannot stand how many eyes seem to focus on him whenever he makes an appearance in camp nowadays. Because of this, Daryl has made his trips to camp scarce -- only making his way there to drop off more provisions and supplies. He keeps his head down, he doesn’t speak to anyone, and he doesn’t cause problems.

However, Daryl does take the time to observe the camp and its occupants whenever he’s there. He takes mental notes of who casts him concerned looks. Lori and Carol will stop scrubbing laundry and round up their children every time they see him make his way to the RV. He notices Dale’s eyes narrow every time he enters the RV and how he races to check all of their supplies as soon as he’s stepped foot out of the vehicle. As opposed to popular belief, Daryl has never taken anything from the RV; however, he has left his fair share of scavenged nuts and berries and a handful of animal carcasses in order to keep the camp fed. He’s painfully aware of Shane glaring at him from atop Dale’s RV. He tries to ignore it, but he can’t help the way that it makes his skin crawl. And, against his better judgment, he finds himself keeping tabs on you. It wasn’t a conscious decision at first, but, as time has passed, he’s found his curiosity towards you shifting into what Daryl can only describe as protectiveness.

And that’s how Daryl finds himself awkwardly walking up to you as you scrub laundry against a washboard. You don’t seem to notice his presence as he approaches. He shifts on feet before clearing his throat, in an attempt to grab your attention. Your head shoots up and your eyes widen as they spot him standing in front of you. Daryl is prepared to turn heel and run in the other direction based on your reaction until a smile spreads across your face. You push your hair out of your eyes and drop the laundry in your hands into the basin in front of you before speaking.

“Hey, Daryl. What’s up?”

“Ya know if Shane’s around?”

You move your head to look left, then right. Your eyes scan the camp before they land back on Daryl. You shrug your shoulders.

“Don’t know. I’m not his keeper.”

Daryl releases a breath through his nose at your words. It’s the closest anyone in camp has come to making Daryl Dixon laugh as far as you know and it fills you with pride. You wipe your hands on your jeans and stand up from your position over the basin.

“I may not be Shane, but I might be able to help you.”

“Somebody took my crossbow bolts. Couldn’t find ‘em this mornin’.”

You immediately turn and start walking toward the RV. Shane had told you he was busy this morning with ‘inventory’ this morning. He already took your knife and pistol this morning, so you wouldn’t be surprised if you also found Daryl’s arrows. You explain this to Daryl as he walks behind you. If Merle was here, he’d be laughing at the younger Dixon brother.

‘I leave you alone and you’re already following ‘er around like a lost puppy dog, little brother?’

Daryl tries to shake off Merle’s voice echoing in his mind. He watches as you enter the RV and waits as he hears you rustling through the supplies. A few moments later you emerge with a handful of crossbow bolts.

“I take it these are yours?”

Daryl nods and mumbles a quick thank you as he takes the arrows from you. He quickly counts them, ensuring that he’s gotten all of his property back.

“Do you make them yourself?”

He nods his head again, eyes still focused on the bolts in his hands.

“Could you show me sometime?”

Daryl looks up at you, his head cocked to the side slightly. He’s a little dumbfounded. He wasn’t expecting you to take an interest in his craftsmanship. Hell, he wasn’t expecting you to continue speaking to him after you found his arrows. Thrown off by your actions, Daryl simply says that first thing that crosses his mind as you look at him with an expectant expression.

“Sure.”

Taglist: @darylsl0ver @minervadashwood @hotgirlsshareaccounts @taterbbbug @dreamtofus @youcantstandit @ajlovesdilfs @prettywhenibleed @luvsvnlqt-things @evie-beanie @strnqer @marina-isabella @lissanovak @elissanatok @1tsk1tty @moejoeflow @ceoofdisappointment @jewellthebooknerd

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wannabespacesmuggler · 9 months

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felt like it was about time for a little overhaul

#my two favorite boys #comic clint barton has my heart #and my dearest obi wan is my forever fave #i made the icons myself #let me know if you guys are interested in any

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wannabespacesmuggler · 9 months

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i think everyone needs to adopt "i didnt say it was good, i said i liked it" into their vocabulary right now. it did me wonders

#me Me ME #so many og my favorite movies and tv shows are not good #but i love them so much #the meg #sorcerer's apprentice #speed #the fast and furious franchise #boondock saints #i could go on and on and on about my favorite media #bottom line: let people like what they like #it doesn't have to be an oscar winner to be enjoyable

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wannabespacesmuggler · 9 months

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J.H. | The Duality of Jim Hopper

Masterlist | Buy me a coffee

Summary: Ever since Joyce introduced you to the local chief of police, Jim Hopper, you’ve thought maybe this town is a little too small. You’re certain that there is no truth behind the rumors until you take one hell of a beating and Hopper wants answers.

Pairing: Jim Hopper x Reader

Warnings: mentions of an injury, teenagers being punks, swearing, Hopper being Hopper

Word Count: 4.5k

“How are you settling in?”

The voice tears your attention away from one of the books piled up on the table in front of you. You glance toward the sound and see Marissa, the librarian, standing beside you. A part of you wants to groan at her question because you are acutely aware that you don’t share the same history as most of your friends in Hawkins.

You didn’t approach another child on the playground during your first day of kindergarten and establish a once in a lifetime kind of friendship -- like Mike and Will. You didn’t share cigarettes under the bleachers of your local high school while attempting to not get busted by administration -- like Joyce and Hopper. You didn’t attend new mother classes and bond over the newfound joy of motherhood -- like Karen and Marsha.

No. You haven’t lived in this small town your entire life. You moved to Hawkins after everyone your age had settled into their lives -- with jobs, and spouses, and children. Meanwhile, you came to Hawkins from Indianapolis in an attempt to have a quieter life. No children, no spouse, and no job -- that is until you had an interview with Donald Melvald.

And Melvald’s is where you met Joyce Byers, who quickly became your lifeline in Hawkins. You remember your first day at work, when she took all day just to train you. Little did you know, Joyce was just as excited as you were to have some company throughout the day. She easily took you under her wing and brought you up to date with the history of Hawkins. Eventually, she invited you into her life and home. Dinners at the Byers’ home became more frequent as you continued working together. The Byers slowly became your family in Hawkins.

“I’m doing well. Thank you for checking in.”

She gives you a polite smile. You were hoping she’d leave the conversation at that, but she asks you another question.

“Are you still working over at Melvald’s with Joyce?”

You give her a nod in response and turn your attention back to the stack of books that Will had recommended to you. It’s not that you don’t like Marissa. She’s fantastic at her job and you enjoyed the few conversations you have had with her, but you know she’s also a gossip -- or at least that’s what Joyce told you when you asked why the local librarian started asking you so many personal questions during your first visit.

“How’s she doing?”

“She’s good. So are the boys. I’m actually going over there for dinner tonight.”

You hope you’ve given her enough information to quench her thirst for details.

“Oh. With the Chief?”

Apparently not.

Your brow furrows at her question and you shake your head. Ever since Joyce introduced you to the local chief of police, Jim Hopper, you’ve thought maybe this town is a little too small.

The two of you became quick friends, but you weren’t aware of his reputation in town until after you had dinner with him. It wasn’t even supposed to be just the two of you at Benny’s; Joyce was actually the one who had planned the little outing, but Will ended up coming home from school early that day with a fever, so Joyce had to cancel last minute. Hopper ended up wandering into Melvald’s later that day after Joyce had called the two of you about her predicament.

“We can still go tonight. If you want?”

Hopper will never tell you that he wants to take you out to dinner. Instead, he leaves the decision to you; afraid of the rejection that could come if he were to just blatantly ask you out.

You shrug before giving him a verbal answer.

“I don’t have anything else going on tonight.”

Hopper smiles as he leans against the counter, watching as you continue restocking the shelves.

“Meet you at Benny’s? 7:00 o’clock?”

You stop restocking and glance up at him. If you didn’t know him, you’d think he was intimidating. He’s a large man and his presence practically demands your attention. Hell, his broad frame is taking up half the counter. But then his hands are anxiously fiddling with an unlit cigarette as he waits for your response. It almost makes you laugh -- the duality of Jim Hopper.

“Actually, can you pick me up? My car has been acting up.”

“I’ll be there at 7:00 and maybe I can take a look at your car?”

Jim watches you stand up. As you walk past him to get behind the counter, you gently place your hand on his bicep. It’s nothing you haven’t done before, but for some reason, every single fucking time you touch him, Hopper has to fight off the shiver that begs to journey down his spine. He doesn’t give it a second thought though. He can’t. He’s had his heart locked up tight for years. He isn’t sure if he could find the key even if he tried.

“You’re a lifesaver, Hop.”

You enjoyed dinner and Jim did end up fixing your car that night. You repaid him for the ride and a free tune-up with a case of beer, which the two of you powered through in the span of a few hours. At some point, you stole the keys to Hopper’s truck and convinced him the crash on your couch for the night. The next day, you two were the talk of the town after your neighbor told everyone she knew that the chief of police was leaving your house awfully early in the morning.

Since then, you’ve gotten quite a few questions about Hopper from the local citizens who didn’t know you too well -- assuming you were just another one of his many flings.

It takes everything in you to not roll your eyes at Marissa. Still, you offer her a polite response.

“Hopper’s working tonight.”

Marissa seems to be content in your answer and leaves you with your stack of books. You let out a sigh of relief and glance out the window. A small smile pulls at your lips as you spot Jonathan and Nancy talking to a group of boys in the parking lot, until you see one of the boys throw a punch a Jonathan.

You hastily push out your chair, turn on your heels, burst through the doors and sprint through the parking lot. You can hear Nancy begging for the boys to stop, but her protests fall on deaf ears as the boys continue to pummel Jonathan. Nancy turns toward you and relief washes over her features -- she doesn’t know you well, but Jonathan has always spoke highly of you and right now she’ll take any help offered.

“Get off of him!”

Your voice gets one of the boys’ attention for just a moment.

“This has nothing to do with you!”

You furrow your brow at the comment. Jonathan may not be your child; however, you care for him as if he was your own and you’re not going to let this teenager lay another hand on him. Quickly, you try to get inbetween the two boys. You think you have the upperhand until the boy on top of Jonathan throws his elbow back in an attempt to get you off of him. His elbow cracks you in the nose and immediately sends you crashing to the ground. The sound of your body hitting the gravel stops the boy’s assault on Jonathan. He turns to you and you can tell by the look in his eyes that he did not mean to hurt you; he had been blinded by anger and made a stupid decision.

However, those stupid decisions seem to continue as you watch red and blue lights reflect off of Jonathan’s car. You can vaguely hear the sound of a police siren and someone yelling your name, as you watch the boy who had been pummeling Jonathan into the pavement run in the other direction. You take a moment to take in details about the boy, knowing that you’ll end up at the station giving a description of the boy to Hopper.

As you try to get up, you’re met with the face of Officer Callahan.

“Woah, there. Seems like you took quite a beating.”

“No, no, no. Jonathan. You need to check on Jonathan.”

Officer Callahan puts a gentle, but firm hand on your shoulder to keep you in place as you frantically search for the boy.

“It’s okay. Powell’s with him right now. We’re going to get you both to the hospital. Chief is already on his way.”

You give Callahan a nod and lay back down on the rough gravel. As the adrenaline begins to leave your system, the pounding in your head starts to take precedence. In an attempt to ease the pain, you close your eyes. You only mean for it to be a minute, but as you hear Callahan’s voice begging for you to just hold on, you feel yourself slipping deeper and deeper into unconsciousness.

When you open your eyes again, the pounding in your head has dulled and your ears are met with the rhythmic sound of your heart beat on the monitor next to you. You’re about to call for a nurse to get some information when you hear a woman yell from down the hall.

“Sir, you can’t smoke in here!”

You hear a string of grumbled expletives before a familiar figure leans against the doorframe of your hospital room.

“Hey, Hop.”

He’s disheveled. His uniform shirt is fully unbuttoned and falling off one shoulder, leaving his henley to be on full display. It looks as though he threw on the shirt hastily as he pulled into the hospital parking lot. Somewhere in the chaos he’s lost his hat as well, allowing you a glimpse at his unusually tousled hair -- he’s been running his hands through it in frustration since he got the call from Callahan that you were on your way to the hospital.

His eyes rake over your body, checking for injuries, before they settle on your face. The hardened anger in his gaze quickly fades to a tender concern as he studies your broken nose and two black eyes.

Eventually, he moves from the doorframe and takes large strides toward you. He towers over your body as he stands beside your hospital bed. His jaw is clenched so hard that you begin to worry that the man might crack a tooth. The anger in the pit of his stomach begins boiling over once more as he gets a better look at your injuries -- they’re much worse upon closer inspection. Callahan was right -- you took one hell of a beating.

“Hop.”

Hopper lets out a solemn sigh as you slide your hand into his. Finally, he meets your gaze and his features soften. You swallow a string of emotions -- Hopper has never looked at you this tenderly before. It’s a lot to take in -- on one hand he’s got a warmth in his features that you’ve never witnessed before that only seemed to spark once he entered your hospital room and, on the otherhand, his body is so rigid that you fear he might snap if another goddamn thing happens today.

Keeping a tight grip on your hand, he takes a seat beside you on the small hospital bed. He reaches out and places his free hand on the side of your face. Your breath catches in your chest as his thumb gently traces over your wounds. His touch is careful, the softest whisper of contact. He’d stop if you asked him to, but you wouldn’t dare. You’d let him trace over the bridge of your nose over and over and over again, if it means that you’ll maintain Jim Hopper’s undivided attention. However, as he grazes over the area where the kid split your nose open, you flinch away from his touch. He pulls his hand back immediately and anger washes over his features once more. It was only for a second, but it was enough for you to recognize the festering rage stewing in the back of Hopper’s mind.

“Who did this to you?”

His voice is low and he ducks his head down to your level, maintaining eye contact with you as he speaks. You open your mouth but no words come out. You’re entirely enamored in the duality of Jim Hopper once again -- fierce and rageful, while simultaneously gentle and kind. A protector in every sense of the word. He moves cautiously, placing his hands on either side of your face. He’s cradling your face like a coveted prize jewel. He takes a moment and then asks you again.

“Sweetheart, who hurt you?”

You finally let out the breath that got caught in your throat. His voice is somehow sweet as honey while simultaneously laced with venom.

“It was just some punk kid that was giving Jonathan trouble.”

His brow furrows immediately at your response.

“What kid? I’ll make sure he never touches you again. And Jonathan.”

There’s a beat before he says the last two words. He rushes to add Jonathan into the equation in an attempt to make it seem like he’s sitting here with you because it’s his job, and not because his heart dropped into his stomach when he got the call from Callahan. He didn’t even both listening to the rest of Callahan’s message over the walkie. He knew someone hurt you and that you were being escorted by an ambulance -- that was more than enough to get him racing to his truck and speeding to the hospital. But now, in this moment, where it is just you and Hopper, he tries to cover up the fact that he’s here solely because he cares for you.

“He didn’t mean to hurt me.”

He looks at you with an incredulous expression. Where Jim is harsh, you are forgiving. He’s always appreciated the ways you’ve challenged him since you moved to Hawkins. But, right now, he wishes you were as angry as he was. But, instead, you’re sitting here with your infinite grace and it’s just pissing him off more. He retracts his hands from your face and stands up, before raking a hand through his hair in frustration.

“Oh, he didn’t mean to hurt you? Sorry, sweetheart, Callahan didn’t relay that to me that in his message -- you know the one where he let me know you were unconscious! I should go find him then, right? So I can check in on him?”

The honey is long gone from his voice, it is all venom. And the way he says ‘sweetheart’ this time is almost condescending. You’ve heard Hopper raise his voice before, his anger is no stranger to you; however, this is the first time he has risen his voice at you. It startles you for a moment. You let out a frustrated breath and furrow your brow.

“Hey, don’t take this out on me. That isn’t fair.”

“You scared the shit out of me!”

And then there is a painful silence between the two of you. Hopper is practically panting as he tries to regain his composure. Against his better judgment, he glances in your direction. Guilt immediately blooms where anger had previously resided. Deciding he’s done enough damage, he turns and begins to walk toward the door in an attempt to find Jonathan’s room.

“Hey, Hop. Wait.”

Hopper stops as he hears your voice. It sounds smaller than normal -- almost as if you were scared that he’d cast your plea aside and leave you in this room alone. Don’t you know by now he would do anything you asked of him? He lets out a sigh before turning back to you.

“Please don’t go.”

Hopper nods at your request before slowly making his way back over to you. This time, instead of sitting beside you on the small hospital bed, he pulls a chair up to your bedside and slumps into it. He no longer looks angry or concerned or soft. No, he just looks exhausted and the sight causes a sharp pain in your heart. The two of you sit in silence for a few moment before Hopper notices your hands wringing anxiously. He decides then to break the silence.

“How did you even get caught up in this mess?”

You let out a laugh before answering, catching Hopper off guard.

“I was actually at the library.”

Hopper raises an eyebrow at your confession and looks at you in disbelief.

“You’re joking.”

The two of you laugh together at your absolute dumb luck. You’re glad that the tension in the room has dissipated. Now, the silence is comfortable.

“You know Marissa?”

Hopper raises a brow at you once more.

“The librarian?”

“Yes, the librarian. I think she likes you.”

Hopper lets out a half-hearted laugh at your comment. A part of him wishes you were around when he was a younger man -- when he was less bitter. Before the war totured the boyish charmisa out of him. Yet another is glad that you weren’t there to witness his past. That unlike everyone else, you don’t assume that he’s already slept with the local librarian -- even if it’s true.

“Trust me. I know.”

You stare at him with a look of naive confusion. Eventually, you put the pieces together and your eyes light up. You roll your eyes and laugh before covering you face with your hands.

“This explains so much.”

Now it’s Hopper’s turn to be confused.

“What are you talking about?”

“She asks about you all the time.”

If Hopper were a few years younger, that comment would fuel his ego; however, those days are behind him.

“And that explains why she doesn’t like me.”

Hopper is taken aback by that comment. He can’t imagine why anyone wouldn’t like you.

“Why wouldn’t she like you?”

“Because she believes what everyone else does.”

Hopper looks at you as if you’re speaking a different language. You let out a laugh at his oblivious nature which only seems to confuse him more. It makes sense that the comments were directed toward you and not the intimidating chief of police; however, you can’t believe he hasn’t overheard anyone talking about it at this point.

“People talked after you crashed on my couch that night.”

“Oh.”

You don’t have to get into details about what they said. Hopper knows. He knows his reputation proceeds him. And he should have known that spending more time with you would raise a few eyebrows in town. Sometimes he hates this stupid small town and the fact that someone is always watching.

“Did you think about it?”

Hopper looks at you for a moment before he furrows his brow. God, this oblivious man is going to kill you. Deciding that it’s too late to back out now, you decide to double down.

“Did you think about me that night like you thought about Marissa?”

“How hard did that kid hit you?”

He attempts to lighten the mood and brush off the question, but you won’t have it. He’s avoiding your eye contact, deciding instead to fiddle with the pack of cigarettes that he pulled out from his pocket.

“Jim.”

It knocks the breath out of his lungs. You’ve only called him that one other time -- the same night you’re asking about. Hopper was already one too many beers in when you fell beside him, onto the couch. He let out a loud laugh while throwing an arm behind you, on the back of the couch. You laugh along with him and lean your head back into his arm. You turn your head to face him and you’re suddenly aware of how close you are to Hopper. He’s looking at you like you’re a goddamn dream. And you’re not sure what time it is but Hopper looks softer in the moonlight. And you know you’re not thinking straight; however, leaning into the sudden intimacy between you and Hopper doesn’t seem like a terrible idea.

And then you say his name. And it sounds like a goddamn prayer. His mind is fuzzy and he swears you’ve never looked as stunning as you do right now -- he takes a moment to capture this memory and file it away into the back of his subconscious.

He watches as you lean into him. You move slowly, allowing him room to back away if he wanted; however, he doesn’t pull back. Instead, he takes your lead and leans in as well. Before any drunken, heat of the moment decisions can be made, your phone rings, cutting through the thick silence. Hopper emits a low growl, but allows you to pull away and leave the room. You answer the phone and he can hear your voice from the other room. He sets his beer down on your coffee table, deciding that he’s definitely had enough to drink. By the time you return to your living room, Hopper is snoring and the moment has passed.

He may not be drunk now; however, he’s just as enamored as he was that night as you say his name.

“No.”

His answer hits you harder the elbow you took to the face. Your eyes fall to your hands and you nod. Hopper is immediately filled with regret. God, he’s an idiot. That’s not what he meant. Of course he’s thought about you. It’s just different and he’s not quite sure how to explain it to you, but he’s going to try because he cannot stand the sadness that has washed over your features.

“Sweetheart, you’re not Marissa. When I was with her, I wasn’t thinking about her; I was just thinking about me. Of course I thought about it that night -- you and I. It’s just you could never be just a fling to me.”

Hopper avoids eye contact with you as he speaks, but it doesn’t matter. His honest words make your heart flutter and repair the heartbreak that his previous answer caused. A small smile spread across your face at the sudden realization that Hopper likes you.

“I thought about it too, that night.”

Hopper’s head rises and he meets your gaze.

“You know -- you and I.”

You repeat Hopper’s words back to him with a small smile on your face. Hopper can’t help the laugh that escapes him. The two of you have entered uncharted waters; however, Hopper has never felt more comfortable than he does right nwo, wading into the deep end with you. He moves his chair closer to your bedside and takes your hand in his once again. When he meets your eyes, your breath is once again trapped in your lungs. It’s like you’ve transported right back to that night and you’re Jim Hopper’s answered prayer.

“You know, the kid hit you pretty fucking hard. Are you sure you’re thinking straight?”

You roll your eyes; however, Hopper still manages to get a good laugh out of you. Even when he’s flirting, he’s still a goddamn smartass.

“Just kiss me, Jim.”

You don’t need to tell him twice. In a moment, he’s out of his seat -- towering over you once again. If you were any other person in Hawkins, you would probably perceive Jim’s presence so close to you as formidable, but, right now, you just feel safe. And you can’t help but lost in the duality of Jim Hopper.

He moves his hands and gently cradles your face. Your eyes close as you lean into his touch. You allow yourself to just enjoy the feeling of Jim’s skin on your own, until he traces his thumb over your bottom lip. As you open your eyes, you’re met with Jim only a breath away from you. You lean into him and then his lips meet yours and it just feels right - like everything has finally fallen into place; Hawkins, Melvald’s, the Byer’s family, Jim.

Jim’s movements are gentle and slow, until you grab a fistful of his open sheriff’s uniform and pull him closer. The guttural growl that reverberates in Jim’s chest as he moves his hands down your body, sends a shiver down your spine. The sweet, lazy kiss has now turned into something more passionate and desperate. Seemingly lost in the moment, Jim nudges his nose against yours which makes you involuntarily let out a pained hiss. Jim pulls away instantly and his eyes fill with panic, until he realizes what he’s done. A soft chuckle escapes him as he leans his forehead against yours.

“Sorry. Got a little carried away.”

His voice is low and sultry. You’ve never heard anything so heavenly before. And then you're laughing with him. Today has been overwhelming, to say the least, and it’s comical to you. Jim leans back again and meets your eyes. There’s a new fierceness in his gaze that isn’t quite so rageful. He moves his hand to gently tuck a few strands of hair behind your ear.

He opens his mouth to say something, but is interrupted by footsteps stopping just outside your hospital room and a surprised gasp. Jim’s eyes close and he shakes his head. He should have known -- there is no such thing as privacy in this small town. He opens his eyes and you’re smiling at him. You’re fucking smiling at him and it takes everything in him to not kiss you again.

“It’s Joyce isn’t it?”

You peek over his shoulder and spot Joyce standing in the doorway with both of her hands over her mouth. The sight makes your smile grow and you nod your head to answer Jim’s question. He lets out an annoyed sigh and finally moves away from you. Jim doesn’t go too far though, he simply sits on the edge of your hospital bed and keeps a protective hand on your thigh.

“Joyce.”

Jim’s voice is stern. The dramatic change in tone almost gives you whiplash. Joyce seems to be at a loss for words as she just moves her gaze between you both. Jim finally throws both of his hands up in front of him, exasperatedly.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Jim rolls his eyes at her apology, but there’s a small smile plastered on his face. He might be impatient and uncordial with almost everyone in this small town; however, Jim Hopper has always had a soft spot for Joyce Byers. And right now, Jim feels like he’s back in high school. Joyce has never been nonchalant, so every time Jim included her in his extracurricular activities, it always seemed to bite him in the ass; however, no amount of detentions ever stopped him from inviting her into his life.

“It’s fine, Joyce. How’s Jonathan?”

Your nerves dissipate once Joyce lets you both know that Jonathan is perfectly fine -- a little bruised and battered, but ultimately okay. She attempts to make some awkward small talk with you both, before excusing herself from the conversation so that she can go check on Jonathan.

With that, Jim’s attention is once again focused solely on you. He moves to kiss you again, but stops once his forehead meets yours.

“I swear to God, if a nurse barges in next.”

“Shut up and kiss me, Hopper.”

A content smile spreads across his face at your words. He could get used to hearing those words -- he could get used to all of this.

“Yes, ma’am.”

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