#jareth x reader

[be-xkyy]

I really have a type 👀

(Handsome men with long white/blonde hair🧝🏻‍♂️😏)

Part 1

[slasherscream]

Crazy ass husbands gang where reader is already married to someone else but the current husband is really shitty (the ways and degree of which you can decide) so the crazy husbands kill him? That'd be very fun and sexy I think<3

CRAZY ASS HUSBANDS GANG + KILLING YOUR CURRENT HUSBAND

WARNINGS: some of the husbands featured in this drabble are abusive (they get murdered crazy style over this). extreme yandere behavior - YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

JOEL MILLER:

"That man is going to get you killed"—the first thought Joel ever had about your husband.

His opinion hasn’t improved any in the months you’ve spent traveling together. If anything, it’s worsened. The man is an idiot. Careless. Bumbling. Whenever danger rears its head near your ragtag group of survivors, Joel has to resist his first instinct, which is to turn on his heel and put a bullet in your husband’s skull because the man has the uncanny ability to turn a bad situation into a disastrous one.

In a kinder world, the one you’d no doubt thought you were going to grow old in together, he would have been an adequate husband. Nothing special. But nothing egregious. A man passive enough to leave you in charge of most things, and so most trouble would have been avoided—in that kind, normal world—by the solid weight of the sensible head on your shoulders.

When Joel isn’t letting his mind get all grimed up with rage and disbelief, he can understand the choice you’d made then, even though it makes his stomach twist on itself now.

“He’s so sweet.” You would have said at your wedding, glowing and simpering as you clung to your new husband’s arm. “He’s always making me laugh.”

That’s the way you pick a husband when the horrors of the world are nebulous, foreign concepts, flickering at the edges of your reality like distant stars. But the horrors of the world are at your doorstep now, knocking politely, waiting to be let in. And the idiot you’re shackled to is always opening the door, greeting them like an old friend.

Joel watches your husband over the campfire. He’s sitting closer to its warmth than you are. You’ve wedged your hands between your thighs to keep them warmer. The idiot doesn’t notice. Because it isn’t in his nature to notice much of anything. The pinnacle of human evolution. The end point of an entire species that only ever survived on a planet full of things that wanted to kill and devour its kind by being observant, and your husband doesn’t notice you rubbing your palms together to generate heat.

An echo of the way he didn’t notice he was stepping into a raider trap when your group had drifted into the outskirts of a city during a scavenging trip. He’d screamed for your help like a pig realizing the axe in the farmer’s hand was for an impending slaughter and not for chopping wood. You’d gone running to rescue him without a second thought. Even as his screaming was already attracting a horde of the Infected to the store he'd gotten himself trapped in. You fought bravely, and clever, if not for the fact that the truly clever thing to do would have been to cut your losses.

But you were loyal. You’d be loyal to the bitter end of it all.

If Joel hadn’t been there—a little stronger than you, a little faster, a little more sure with the aiming of his gun—you both would have been dead. The world could do with one less idiot like your husband, as long as he didn’t get himself turned when he finally got himself killed. The world would be a darker, more miserable place without you in it. Joel’s world would be a darker place without you in it.

You deserve a long life. A happy one. You’ll be lucky if you make it another two months lugging around the dead weight that gets to lie beside you in your tent each night.

Joel takes your husband on a supply run. He comes back alone.

He hated to waste the bullet, but you would have cried yourself hysterical if you’d thought your husband suffered at the end. Joel’s conscience is clean when he holds you close and tells you it was over before he even realized.

HANNIBAL LECTER:

You are a gift, and your husband has deluded himself into thinking he is not only worthy of you—but your superior. It’s a baffling notion, one so deeply estranged from the reality of your marriage that it borders on psychosis.

Jack was entirely mistaken when he sent your husband Hannibal’s way with a personal request to mentor the man. Guide him. Hone his skills. “He’s a prodigy, Dr. Lecter,” were Jack’s exact words. From the moment Hannibal set eyes on your husband, he knew the man to be entirely mediocre. His sole talent lay in presenting himself as charming. And it was a thin veneer of charm at that. It had slipped to reveal noxious levels of insecurity the moment Hannibal had opted for polite disengagement instead of indulging the man in his posturing.

Hannibal had no intention of ever seeing the man again. A low-level irritant, like pollen during spring, your husband hadn’t even been worth the trouble of doing away with. Until Jack invited him to a dinner party—and of course, his fool’s gold of a prodigy had been sitting there when he arrived. An ambush. Jack’s dreadfully indirect means of begging Hannibal to reconsider.

You’d blended into the atmosphere of the room at first. Ephemeral. No more noticeable than the wallpaper. Until you’d spoken.

There was a vibrancy to you. A magnetism. He found that it was impossible to look away from you after your eyes had met just the once. Hannibal spent the rest of the evening trying to catch your gaze again. Your husband spent the rest of the evening growing increasingly inebriated. You’d ended the night herding him (unsteady and belligerent) into a taxi while wearing an expression of weary devotion that fit your face like an ill-tailored suit.

Hannibal took him on as a private student, taking such a keen interest in him it caused a stir among his peers. How else was he supposed to become a fixture in your life? You were reserved. Quiet. It took months to begin doing away with the armor you’d built around yourself to withstand the weight of your husband’s corrosive ego.

But for every pleasant conversation or shared laughter, there was your husband sending you off dismissively—in your own home—as if you were little more than a maid. In fragments and moments too minuscule to be considered moments at all, you bewitched him.

“Why don’t you whip up something for dinner, babe? The Doc and I are starving.” The sharp SMACK! of a hand meeting a backside as you make your way towards the kitchen. You freeze in mortification. Hannibal doesn’t so much as blink, only smiles at your husband wanly.

Your husband goes missing. You come to Hannibal sobbing, begging him to join the frenzy of effort Jack’s plunged the department into.

“Of course, of course-” he murmurs, pulling you into the soothing circle of his arms. You haven’t slept in days. Half mad from worry and grief. So many tears shed over an anchor that had been determined to drag you into the depths with it.

But Hannibal knows this is part of the process. You have to grieve the man you’re inventing in your head in retrospect—a kind and playful husband—before you can face the hard reality of the brute you’d given your hand to. He’s looking forward to guiding you through the worst of it until you’ve shed the meager remains of who you were beneath the thumb of the man who had loved you so cheaply.

“When was the last time someone cooked you a decent meal, hm?”

Hannibal relishes in the preparation of this particular feast. He watches hungrily as being looked after lights you up from the inside out, even as your shoulders tremble from bitten-back tears. Haggard with worry, you still take the time to compliment how fresh everything tastes.

Hannibal almost finds it in himself to be surprised—despite his talents in the kitchen, he’d half convinced himself your husband would taste quite rancid.

JARETH (THE LABYRINTH):

You were born to be royalty. Destined to be his.

Instead, you live a perfectly dull human life with a perfectly dull human husband. You were a creature born for elevation, but you had burrowed yourself down into the mud like a common earthworm, and you smiled as you brought this misery onto yourself. Jareth would not begrudge you this happiness if it was a mask you wore to get yourself through the long, dreary mortal days ahead of you. But it was not a mask you wore to survive. You were content. Truly content.

His temper got away from him on the best of days—but he stifled it for you. You did not know any better. Of course you’d made your peace with the meager conditions of your existence. What other choice did you have? You couldn’t have known that Jareth waited for you. Longed for you. Dreamed of the shape of your soul before he had ever set eyes upon your person.

A human man would not rob the Goblin King of his consort.

Feeding poison into your husband’s mind was a small thing. Human hearts were fickle. It was foolish, really, to have given the entirety of yourself to something so volatile. You’d be in much safer hands with Jareth. There was not a power in all the worlds known and unknown that could change the course of Jareth’s heart or his love for you.

He liked to sit at your windowsill, wings fluttering against the glass as he imagined the day when you’d become his. Satisfied to watch as you go from falling asleep in your husband’s arms to sleeping on opposite sides of the bed. You fight more. About money. About intimacy. About nonsense. Insecurities that had never before been spoken aloud now sat between the two of you like a third person. You begin to sleep in the guest room.

Jareth leaves a copy of the Labyrinth on your pillow; you wake up beside it the way you’ll soon wake up next to Jareth. He can close his eyes and imagine the warmth of you.

You read the play. Over and over, you read it. But you never call for him—never ask him to take you away from your suffering. You drag your husband to couple’s therapy, sit across from him, and beg him to see you and hear you no matter how cruel and apathetic he becomes. Your devotion is admirable. It’s also misplaced. You have the heart of a Fae, steadfast and unchanging, obsessive over what draws your eye. There is no spot for Jareth or all the magic and miracles he can offer while your husband soaks your life in all that is ordinary.

The coroner tells you it was a heart attack that took your husband. He was dead before the ambulance arrived. You plan the funeral in a haze. Utterly alone in a way your worst nightmares couldn’t have prepared you for.

You’re getting dressed for the funeral, cloaking yourself in black and the appropriate level of misery for a widow. You stop. Pick up the Labyrinth, flipping through the pages in silence. And then you say the words he’s been waiting desperately to hear—“Goblin King, please take me away from here.”

The crown he’ll place upon your brow will be as breathtaking as you are.

NORMAN BATES:

Norman can’t understand it. He’s turned the shape of your marriage inside out and can’t even begin to understand what you see in your husband.

The man is a brute. Worse than a brute, actually. He's an animal. Mindless and cruel—no better than the coyotes Norman has to occasionally run off the property. But a coyote knows what it is. A low predator, taking meat wherever it can. Your husband would consider himself a far prouder animal, like a lion, king of some distant jungle. He’d spent the last week walking around the motel with his nose scrunched in distaste at anything and everything. Like he thinks he’s better than the air Norman breathes. All the while you wander behind him, like a dog beaten into submission, shooting Norman pitiful looks of apology.

“I’m so sorry for him,” says a glance out the corner of your eye. “I wish he wouldn’t act that way,” goes another. "I’d stop him if only I were brave enough." Your eyes drop to the floor; so much shame is gathered in the slump of your shoulders that it makes his chest ache for you.

Norman knows plenty about not being brave enough to escape. He wonders how quickly your husband broke your spirit. Had it taken years? Months? Or maybe you’d said your sweet “I do’s” with a heart already broken and defeated. He can’t look at the ring on your finger without feeling sick.

“Do you always let him treat you so badly?” Norman had asked suddenly, his tone too biting, revealing too much.

You’d flinched at the familiar sound of an irritated man. Norman pulled himself away from that open chasm of rage immediately. Eyes going soft like candle wax for you. Curling in on himself so that he might seem smaller. He hated the way you held your breath as you watched him calm himself. You didn’t even speak until his jaw unclenched.

“I didn’t at first. But I was only making life harder for myself. It’s easier this way. I’m only sorry you have to see it. We’ll be out of your hair soon, Mr. Bates.”

But Norman doesn’t want you out of his hair. Not soon, or ever. He wonders if you’ll survive your husband. You’re already so tired. He’s met a great deal of tired strangers while running the motel. He’s never wanted to save any of them as badly as he wants to save you—free you. And he knows just how to do it.

You burst into the front office the next morning in a small panic. “He’s gone, Norman! He’s taken the car, and he’s taken all his things, and he left me here! He left me here like garbage! Oh, Norman, what will I do—what am I going to do?”

He wrapped his arms around you, kissing the side of your head reassuringly, “Why, you’ll stay here, of course. You’ll stay here as long as you need. Don’t cry. You’re going to be alright. I’ll make sure of it.”

You go limp against him, trusting and sweet. Norman holds on a little tighter. It’s been so long since he’s had anyone to take care of.

SHANE WALSH:

Your husband was the type of man Shane loved to put behind bars back when the world ran on law and order instead of chaos.

Was there anything more pathetic than a man who stood at an altar, promising “to have and to hold, to love and to cherish,” and then a few years later turn around and start putting his hands on what he was meant to protect? It made Shane mad enough to spit. And the way you defended the man drove him to the very brink of sanity.

No matter how he asked the question—or how clear the answer already was—you always denied the plain truth. Ducking your head, unable to look him in the eyes as you began your usual song and dance, “He’s never laid a hand on me, Shane.”

He must have missed the memo on when bruises and busted lips started falling out of the sky.

Your husband was dangerous. A man that could bring himself to hurt what was (allegedly) most precious to him was a man that didn’t value anything at all. Shane cleaned his gun and surveyed the camp and its makeup—all the kids, the women, the old and sick—taking a mental tally of all the people too weak to defend themselves if your husband decided to take his violence a step further. Lash out just a little more wildly.

You were standing at the edge of camp together. Your husband flinging around his arms, voice on the edge of yelling. He liked that volume. That way, when you’d step closer, begging him to lower his voice, with your face burning from embarrassment, he could start yelling in earnest in order to “show you the difference between goddamn talking and yelling.”

Shane couldn’t watch another second of this. It was his job to protect this group, and the biggest threat right now wasn’t Walkers or a group of violent strangers waiting to strike under the cover of night. The threat was right here. Eating up camp supplies. Scaring the kids. Scaring you. Hurting you. The threat had just given you a shove he could pass off as playful when you tried to press a soothing hand to his arm.

You covered your face. Shane knew you were crying, even from a distance. The tremble in your shoulders gave it away.

“Hey, man! You’re with me today! Need someone light on their feet for this supply run!” Shane called over to your husband, who was all too quick to agree. He always shape-shifted into something polite and obliging in the face of someone bigger and stronger than him. Fucking scumbag.

The plan was to put him down clean. A single bullet in the head, and problem solved. He’d lived like an animal. He should die like an animal. But Shane had thought of all the nights you’d spent cowering at the man’s feet, under his fists, his boot—and a cold rage washed over him.

Your husband was a shitty fighter when it got down to it. It was always that way, though, with men like that. If he’d been any stronger, he wouldn’t have felt the need to make you feel so small.

Shane walks back into camp with his knuckles bloody and raw. He brings back plenty of supplies. He does not bring back your husband. He does bring back the memory of the man’s last moments—begging Shane to stop. Snot, blood, and tears were running down the man’s face in equal measure.

“Did you ever stop when they asked you?” But they both knew the answer to that.

That’s not the story Shane tells you, of course. What you get is soft hands cupping your face, a thumb caressing the apple of your cheek, and “He told me to look after you, so you don’t gotta worry about a thing. Ain’t gonna let a dying man’s wish go to waste.”

HOMELANDER:

How could you love something so fucking ordinary? How could you stand to look at your husband—let alone roll over and let him touch you?

Homelander couldn’t stop looking at the two of you. Shouts of ‘Over here, Homelander!’ and ‘Can you give us a smile!’ would draw his attention away for seconds at a time, and then it would fall back to you like gravity. You were further down the red carpet than you should be. You’d stopped to sign something from some nobody. You were sweet like that. Not sweet for the cameras, or only when important people were watching. Just sweet. It was your nature.

Your husband wraps an arm around your waist. It’s a scrawny, ordinary human arm; he uses it to cinch the lines of your bodies tightly together. You look like a team, the two of you against the world. Despite being surrounded by all these cameras and eyes and insincerity, none of it seems to touch either of you. Nothing is capable of piercing the bubble of your love, which you seem able to manifest anywhere and at any time.

You lean into your husband easily, joyful about it. The back of your head finding his shoulder, and you peer up at him, lovestruck. You’ve got a grin on your face that only a teenager should have. Not someone who’s been married for years.

He cuts his way back towards you, uncaring as he interrupts photos and poses to get to you. “Hey, you crazy kids!” He tries for playful and just barely hits the mark. “We gotta get a move on, or we’ll miss the start of the movie. You can’t miss the start of your own movie!”

His hand lands on your shoulder, heavy and broad. You beam up at him. It’s not the smile you’ve been giving your worthless husband all night, but it’s a good smile. Earnest.

“Oh my gosh, you are so right!” You gasp and pull away from your husband to hurry inside. A wave of triumph washes over Homelander to finally see you unsmothered by your husband’s relentless affection. Needy fuck.

You reach back for your husband’s hand, intertwining your fingers, dragging him behind you. He looks like a hapless duckling following its mother. Homelander’s eye twitches; it’s been doing that more and more lately. You stop, realizing Homelander hasn’t moved, and double back for him. You link your arm through his, pulling him alongside you so confidently it feels like you’ve done it a million times before. You make everything feel familiar.

Homelander spends the entire movie watching you and your husband out of the corner of his eye. Whispered jokes. Holding hands. You’re the type of couple everyone rolls their eyes at in public but wishes they could be like in private. Homelander crushes the armrest beneath his fingertips, wishing he was the one holding your hand, wishing he was the one whispering in your ear.

“Do you ever think you got hitched a little too soon?” He asks you the next day, after the rest of the Seven have all trickled out of the debriefing room.

“Huh?” You blink up at him, guileless.

“Do you think you got married too soon? I mean—you didn’t know you’d end up here, in the Seven, back when you got married, right? You were a small-town Supe back then. Barely on Vought’s radar, let alone payroll. You didn’t know you’d have so many options, one day.” He’s spent plenty of sleepless nights wondering how you wound up in the marriage you did. With someone so beneath you. With someone who could never hope to be your equal.

“Sometimes you don’t need to know how your whole future is going to look to know what the best part of it is gonna be. From the moment I met him, I knew my husband was the one. He was the one back then, and he’s the one now.” You say the words so softly. Devoted. Loyal. Interpreting Homelander’s words in the best light, the same way you look at everything else: the bright side.

You deserve the world. Deserve to be with someone who isn’t beneath you on the gene totem pole. You deserve to be with someone who can lift you up—make a god out of you. Or help you see that you already are one. Your husband is keeping you trapped in the muck of humanity by proximity alone. But Homelander can fix that easily.

His only regret is not making it last. Not relishing the moment to the fullest. He’d put his hands on either side of your husband’s skull and squeezed until it had burst like an overripe fruit, spraying his face and suit with viscera and bone fragments. It was instant relief, like swatting a mosquito out of the air before it could bite you or bzzz past your ear.

Vought held a press conference a week later. You stood behind a podium looking weak, terribly alone. You were meant to be part of a pair. “If anyone has any information, please come forward. And honey—if you’re watching this—I love you; we’re gonna get you home soon, okay?”

Homelander steps up beside you, and he wraps an arm around your shoulders, tugging you into his side. “We won’t rest until you’re back home where you belong, buddy.”

A/N: This is my first time writing for anyone in the husband gang in forever. I hope I’m still doing them justice! Also—I finally gave in and tried my hand at Homelander. It had to happen eventually lmao.

if you enjoyed these headcanons consider reblogging, leaving a reply, or an anon! a writer's fuel is engagement. if you really loved this, check out my PATREON: slasherscream, for some exclusive content. this particular story was posted three weeks ago on the patreon, for early access. xoxoxo

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[floatyflowers]

Dark! Jareth x Sarah's Mother! Reader

The rain hits the windows of your modest home like a thousand tiny fists, mirroring the storm raging inside you.

It was a night you'd never forget, thirteen years ago, when Sarah was just three months, her tiny form curled up in her crib upstairs, oblivious to the shattering of her world. Your husband, even now, the word tastes bitter, had stormed out after another screaming match.

The usual accusations flew 'You're too dreamy, too lost in your books and fantasies. Grow up! This isn't some fairy tale!'

You'd collapsed onto the living room floor, tears streaming, clutching a worn copy of The Labyrinth, that old storybook Sarah adored.

The words blurred on the page, but in your desperation, they whispered promises of escape. "I wish... I wish the Goblin King would come and take me away," you sobbed, the words tumbling out like a spell you didn't believe in. "Right now!"

The clock struck midnight. A chill wind snaked through the cracks in the walls, carrying the faint jingle of bells.

You looked up, heart pounding, and there he was, framed in the doorway like a shadow given form.

Jareth, the Goblin King, his eyes lightening up with mischievous delight under a cascade of wild blond hair, his leather-gloved hand extended, a crystal orb glowing in his palm.

"Did you call for me, my lady?" His voice was gentle and charming, laced with that intoxicating mix of mockery and hunger.

Before you could back away, and before sanity could claw its way back, he seized your wrist.

When the spinning stopped, you were in his kingdom, a labyrinth of twisted hedges, crumbling castles, and skies that bled eternal twilight.

Jareth's grip on you was ironclad, his body pressing close as he pulled you through corridors of stone that shifted like living things.

"You've wished yourself to me," he whispered against your ear, his breath hot and spiced with something otherworldly.

"And now, you're mine. No take-backs, darling. The old laws bind you."

"I have a husband and a daughter!"

"Your husband is more of a disadvantage and your daughter will grow up to forget you."

You fought at first, screaming, clawing at his arms, demanding he send you back. But Jareth was patient in his obsession and possession of you.

He showered you with gifts, gowns of silk that perfectly hugged your body, and even books and trinkets he got for you from the human world.

Also, he held balls and feasts in your honour to make your imprisonment feel less suffocating.

Sixteen years passed like a blur, in it you became the queen of the Labyrinth and slowly but painfully ended up warming up to Jareth and accepting your fate as his wife.

But it was strange and confusing when Jareth one day returned back from one of his errands, holding a baby in his arms, telling you that his sister wished him away.

Feeling pity, you took care of Toby, treating him kindly just like you used to do with your daughter.

When the gates of the Labyrinth opened once more, you never expected to see the girl stepping through, eyes bright, defiant, a familiar determination burning in her expression.

Sarah.

You froze, the world tipping beneath your feet as memories flooded back, her giggles, her tiny hands gripping yours, the scent of rain the night you lost everything.

"...Mom?" she breathed, voice trembling between disbelief and hope.

Indeed, it's you, the beautiful woman from the only picture she owns of you.

You barely managed to nod before she ran into your arms. The years melted away in an instant, she clung to you like a child again, and you buried your face in her hair, tears slipping free.

"I thought you were gone," she explained, shaking.

"Dad said...He said you left us."

You pulled back, cupping her face gently.

"I didn't leave, sweetheart. I wished myself away and the wish was heard.”

Behind you, a soft laugh broke the moment, that teasing tone you had come to know too well.

Jareth stepped forward from the shadows, crystal in hand, his eyes shining with quiet triumph.

"And now, my dear Sarah, you see it wasn't all for nothing."

Sarah turned sharply, her body tensing.

"You! You put me through that, the Labyrinth, the riddles, all of it!"

He only smiled, tilting his head.

"You took the first step and wished your baby brother away, and your mother is happily married to me."

"You expect me to believe that?" she spat.

Jareth's gaze softened slightly, not mockery, but something deeper, weary, almost human.

"Believe what you wish, little girl. But I offer you a choice: stay here, with her, where no time can touch you, or return to your world, where she will fade again into memory."

Sarah turned to you, conflict written across her face. "I can’t lose you again," she said with worry.

You smiled sadly, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek.

"And you won't. Not this time."

Your idea had formed long ago, a wish of your own.

You looked to Jareth, whose expression darkened with a hint of wary curiosity.

"I want us to go with her," you said firmly.

"You said wishes bind by old laws. Then grant me this one. Let us live together, in the mortal world.”

He blinked, clearly startled, then a slow grin spread across his face. "You would cage the Goblin King in the mortal realm?"

You stepped closer, fingers finding his gloved hand. "Maybe it’s time you see what a home feels like."

For a long, silent moment, he searched your eyes, seeing you stare pleadingly at him.

Then, with a low, resigned chuckle,

"As you wish."

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Six Months Later

The new house was comfortable, with a garden that was slowly becoming less wild under your care. You were tending to the roses, while watching Sarah and her stepfather circled each other with plastic swords.

"En garde!" Sarah laughed, lunging forward.

Jareth parried with theatrical flair, his wild hair now more tamed, his leather replaced with jeans and a simple shirt. He looked almost human, though his eyes still held that otherworldly gleam.

"Your form is improving," he conceded, "though you still telegraph your strikes."

"Maybe you're just getting old," Sarah teased.

Your ex-husband was shocked when you returned home with Sarah and Toby, you told him everything and both of you agreed that Sarah stays with you.

"I yield!" Jareth declared suddenly, dropping his sword. "Your mother's roses need tending, and I find myself drawn to more pleasant company."

Sarah rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "I will be inside. Don't be too disgustingly romantic, you two."

You laughed as she bounded toward the house, and then Jareth was walking toward you, his movements still holding that inhuman grace despite his mortal appearance.

He knelt beside you in the grass, uncaring of the dirt, and gently took the shears from your hands.

"Do you ever regret it?" you asked softly.

"Everything you gave up?"

His fingers found yours, intertwining with a tenderness that still surprised you. "I gave up nothing," he murmured, bringing your hand to his lips.

"I ruled a Kingdom , but I was alone. Here, with you, with Sarah, this is what I have been searching for across centuries."

"Even with the mortgage and the broken dishwasher?"

He laughed, the sound rich and warm.

"Even with those." His other hand came up to cup your face, thumb brushing your cheek.

"You wished for escape that night, and I took you. But you gave me something far more precious, you taught me what it means to choose love over power."

The Labyrinth still existed, waiting in the spaces between worlds, but Jareth had chosen something more precious: a family, a home, a life built on honest ground.

He leaned in, kissing you soft, and you thought of that desperate wish you had made years ago.

The Goblin King had come and taken you away.

But in the end, you had both found your way home.

After pulling away from him, you smile.

"please remember this afternoon we have to attend our neighbour's funeral, the poor man fell off the stairs while changing a light bulb."

"How unfortunate."

Indeed, how unfortunate that Jareth is the one who pushed him off.

Old habits die hard.

[effloradox]

he will wait (until you give yourself to him)

pairing: jareth the goblin king x reader

part 2 of nowhere man

notes: when i wrote part 1 of this i had no idea i was going to do a sequel (hence why it’s been nearly a year) but i’m actually really happy with this fic :)

word count: 2.6k

You're not sure how it happened. One minute you'd been walking about the castle, reading one of the few books you'd found in the castle library that was in a language you understood, and the next you'd been falling through the floor down a narrow passage. You suspected a bitter goblin was behind it but couldn't be sure, it had all happened so suddenly. Maybe Jareth had been behind you but you doubted it. Something in the air seems to shift in his presence and you don't remember feeling anything out of the ordinary except surprise. The fall is something of a painful blur and you're somewhat dazed when you finally hit the ground.

Falling all the way into the labyrinth brings back an onslaught of memories, none of them good.

You've never actually run the labyrinth. Given that you had been offered up to the Goblin King, it had never been required of you. In a particularly heated argument when you'd first arrived the King had threatened to put you in here but had fallen short of actually doing so in what he had described as 'an act of mercy'. You'd walked through it together a few times though, Jareth liked to walk you round to display the magnificence of it on days when he was in a particularly good mood, usually because a runner had once again failed to escape it. Being here unaccompanied was much more unnerving.

It only takes a few unknown sounds coming from somewhere in the distance for you to decide to start walking.

It doesn't take you long to realise that the labyrinth is guiding you through itself, presumably back to the Goblin City. The walls seem to shift around in front of you; turning you this way or that way as the Goblin City's silhouette starts to get progressively more imposing. That knowledge brings you some comfort and slows your pace back to your place of residence. You let a hand trail across the rough grain of the labyrinth's walls and find that you never have to take it away, that the labyrinth uses it as something as an anchor to guide you back home.

You briefly wonder when you started to consider the Goblin City as your home. You're quick to dismiss that thought, that's something to haunt you before you sleep for the next few nights rather than right now. The last thing you need right now is to have a complete breakdown.

It's almost peaceful being on your own for a while. Goblin's don't venture into the labyrinth if they know what's good for them, many of them have been lost here and ended up in the bog of eternal stench so they tend to avoid it like the plague. Being unwatched for maybe the first time since you arrived here is a luxury you don't plan to take for granted.

You lose yourself in a daydream quickly, following the path being set out in front of you. It takes longer than it should for you to realise you're not as alone as you initially assumed. In fairness to yourself, it's been a long time since you've seen an unfamiliar face. You hadn't even known Jareth had taken someone recently. No one had made it anywhere near the castle for so long you'd stopped looking out the windows of the castle for them.

Another human stands in front of you, a panicked look etched onto their face. They move towards you quickly, taking a firm hold of your arm.

"Oh thank god! I thought I was the only one! You have to help me!" Their grip on your arm is firm, bordering on painful. If they see you wince they don't react, only holding you tighter. "I need to get out of this place! Do you know the way?"

You shake your head. "No, sorry. I don't know where I'm going." It's a half truth, but they don't need to know that. The runner's face pinches with frustration before it softens into something you think might be pity.

"How long have you been here?" It's a question you're not sure how to answer.

"I'm not sure. What date is it when you're from?" They give you the date they remember it being and the pity blossoms into something more tangible as your face falls. Years. You've been here for years. When they speak again, their voice is much softer, like if they speak any louder you might shatter in front of them.

"My name's Taylor. What's yours?" You give yours in a similar fashion. Your voice comes out thin, defeated. They take your hand in theirs, giving it a light squeeze. "We can work out how to get out of here together, okay? I won't leave you behind." For the first time in years, you actually take them at their word. You don't believe them, only the Goblin King himself could truly free you of this place, but you believe their sincerity.

They're 7 hours into their run, they tell you. Over half way but they've made good progress from your reckoning. The shadow of the Goblin City lingers over the two of you in the mid-day sun as they lead you down this turn and that, talking more to themself than you but you don't mind much. You're not feeling particularly conversational at the moment.

You realise long before the runner that you're going in circles. Big circles, ones that aren't particularly obvious if you're not familiar with the labyrinth, but circles nonetheless. Whilst the labyrinth had felt like something of an ally when you were on your own, it feels like an enemy to the runner. Given how well they'd done in the first half of their run, you can't help but feel bad that you're hindering their chance at freedom so badly. You almost want to tell them to leave you behind but you fall short of actually doing so. Their grip on you is tight, like they're worried you'll disappear into thin air if they let go of you for even a moment. Time passes in a blur like usual but having another human around is oddly grounding. They keep checking on you, asking if you need a rest or some water, both of which you turn down. From your estimations, you'd been walking through the labyrinth for two hours when something seems to shift in the air. It sends a chill down your spine.

"Ah, there you are dearest." The voice of the Goblin King cuts through the silence of the labyrinth, leaving you and your fellow human frozen to the spot. He's dressed in his ceremonial robes, a flurry of fabrics in a breeze that wasn't there before he appeared. A look of irritation passes over his face as his eyes land on your entwined hands. You tug your arm away like the runner's hand has burned you. The fae are possessive things, you don't want to think about his reactions to everything that's transpired in the last few hours.

"Your highness." You bow, more out of habit than any real respect you have for him, then immediately realise your mistake. The runner looks at you with an unreadable expression, eyes darting between you and the Goblin King suspiciously. Strike one, you think. No runner would ever bow to the person trapping them like a rat in a cage.

"How do you like my labyrinth? Quite a tricky thing isn't it?" Whatever was going through the runner's mind is dropped when they process the Goblin King's words. They stick their chin out at him, standing a little bit taller.

"It's not that tricky. We're making good progress." They almost sound like they believe what they're saying which is the most impressive thing about the runner.

"Oh, is that so? From my estimations you've been walking in circles for almost two hours." The runner's expression drops for a moment before recovering. It's enough though, you see the first signs of doubt take root in them. You're painfully reminded just how much the Goblin King likes to trick and manipulate people.

"I still have four hours left then. We can still escape." They take your hand again, making a point of you being a united front. If they notice the tremor in your hands, they don't comment.

"We?" For the first time since he appeared before the two of you, the Goblin King seems to actually start taking the runner seriously. The way his gaze lands on you makes you shrink slightly. Strike two, maze runners aren't meant to be afraid of the Goblin King. They're angry at him.

"I'm not leaving them behind. We're going to leave together." The Goblin King lets out a soft noise of acknowledgment at the runner's words, a smug looks settling on his face. He turns to you and, for the first time in a long time, you think he might actually be angry with you.

"I must say you've done a wonderful job, my dear. Wasting their time like that pretending you don't know where you're going. Very commendable." His lies have an instantaneous effect on the runner as they rip their hand away from yours. Strike three, you're out.

"What's he talking about?"

"You didn't really believe you'd just happened upon another human who got lost here did you? I thought you were supposed to be a bright one." The Goblin King speaks before you even dare to utter a syllable. Denying his claims would only serve to make you worse off in the long run but the betrayal on the runner's face is something that is going to haunt your dreams for a long time.

"You tricked me!" Their rage is burning hot, eyes a burning storm, and when they move quickly towards you, it partly horrifies you that you instinctively step closer to Jareth, hoping he'll protect you from their (well placed) fury. He does, of course, whether intentionally or not. The floor of the labyrinth almost seems to give way under the runner's feet and they fall through with a startled cry. Maybe into the oubliette, maybe somewhere worse. You're not sure you have it in you to care. It's clear their time in the labyrinth has come to an end. There's a heavy silence between the two of you for a moment.

"Is that why I'm here? So you can play with your food?" Jareth almost looks offended at your accusation. There's a whisper in your head that you'll pay for that comment at some point but there's a lot of things that have happened today that you'll probably be paying for so it almost feels logical to get all your insubordination out in one fell swoop.

"Come now dearest, even I'm not that cruel. Not towards you, at least. No, that was a goblin who had ideas above his station. I'll deal with him later."

"Oh." A wave of numbness passes through you as you turn away from the Goblin King, steadying yourself against the wall of the labyrinth which almost seems to move forwards to meet you halfway. You briefly wonder if you're going to pass out or be sick.

"Oh come now, it's not all bad (Y/N)." You freeze at his words, turning slowly on your heel. The triumphant grin on his face makes only serves to make you feel sicker. How could he…

"'You heard me." You curse yourself. You'd been so careful to never give him your true name, content to let him call you whatever else he desired to avoid doing so. It was the only thing you had over him. You hadn't even thought about handing it over to the runner when they'd asked, too overwhelmed by the situation to think about the potential consequences of your actions.

"I hear everything that's said in my lands, but you already knew that. Remarkably careless of you really. If I'd known this was all it would take to make you hand it over I would have dropped you in here eons ago." Him knowing your true name feels like a death sentence in what has been years of living in purgatory. If you had any misguided visions of one day escaping his capture and being free of this place, they've been dashed by one foolish decision on your part.

"I…" You want to lash out; scream that this isn't fair, that none of this is fair. This isn't how your life was supposed to be. Your words fail you though when you look back up at the predatory smile Jareth wears.

"It's only fair, dearest. You've had knowledge of my true name for all this time, it only makes sense that I deserve yours in turn. I've been so incredibly patient don't you agree?" You've wondered many times since that fateful night whether the name he gave you was his true name or just another lie regardless of what he promised. The idea that he freely gave you his true name even when he could've easily deceived you once again stirs something in you whether you want it to or not. It does nothing to reassure you of your fate though. Knowledge of true names is power in this realm, and you're starting to wonder if today's events make you a liability to him. Being his little pet isn't fun but it's kept you relatively safe for all this time; today is the first time in a long time that you question why you're still permitted to grace the halls of the castle.

"So what now? I become just another of your goblin slave?" His face scrunches with displeasure at your question, like you've suggested he wear the same outfit to two consecutive balls.

"Hardly. Gosh you really do think little of me, don't you?" You don't respond to that, not trusting yourself to hold your tongue. There's no sense in digging yourself a deeper grave at this point. He tuts his annoyance at your silence but continues, more than used to this particular song and dance. "You seemed to know so much about fae culture when you first arrived and yet you're entirely ignorant to the most important information."

"And what information is that?" The question spills out before you can reign it in. The smile on his face is a terrifying mix of sinister and triumphant. You're once again painfully reminded that the thing in front of you is far from human.

"Anyone who knows a fae monarch's true name and is known by them in kind becomes their consort." Your legs almost give out underneath you as you take in his words. Consort. The word spirals through your mind, unsettling every part of you it reaches. He wants to marry you? You're aware that he's started talking again but you can't make out the words, it's like your head is underwater and everything coming through is muffled. He huffs a sigh of irritation at you but doesn't push it which might be the most generous thing he's ever done for you.

The labyrinth seems to almost melt away from your sight, rough grain softening to smooth stone underneath your fingertips. You blink and you're back in the castle, your long-forgotten book only an arms reach from you. Jareth is nowhere to be seen so you allow yourself to slide down the wall, unable to support your own weight anymore. The cool touch of the stone soothes you for only a moment. A tear escapes your eyes before you can stop it.

You're never leaving this place.

[hunniiibunniii333]

Coming Home To You..

Summary: Jareth had a long day dealing with goblins and ruling over the Underworld.. When he's finally able to retire for the night he finds relief in you over and over again

Work count: 905

Warnings: Smut with zero plot, overstimulation, praise, P in V sex, soft dom Jareth, very slight choking, aftercare, Jareth is actually really sweet about it ngl..

A/N: I've never written smut before so please keep that in mind!! Constructive criticism is appreciated!!

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You knew Jareth had a rough day when he walked into your shared room. His face was scrunched up in that sour way that told you he was in a foul mood. And the moment his sharp eyes landed on you, sitting in the massive bed in a pretty blue slip, freshly out the bath, hair still damp.. You knew you were in for it. 

"So beautiful.." Jareth pants out, watching his cock move in and out of your slick, aching pussy. So pretty, how you gripped onto him with each pass, as if trying to pull him right back in with each glide out. You were so fucked out. Hair a mess from him tugging on it, face flushed as the most pathetic little noises slipped passed your lips. You don't know how long you two have been going at it.. Probably hours now.. All you know was that he just wouldn't stop.

But how could he?? With the way your hips rolled to meet his thrusts, and the sight of you all sprawled out and wanting beneath him. Your body was trembling as he picked up pace again, a ragged moan escaping you.

"Mm.. You can come one more time for me? Yeah?" Jareth purred, moving one of your legs to rest on his shoulder as he sat back on his hatches. Your breath hitched, looking up at him with glossed over eyes. He was so beautiful.. Hauntingly so. His long, choppy hair sliding down his shoulders and chest, sticking to his sweat slick skin that glistened in the candle light. If it wasn't for the burning ache in your gut, you would have probably came again from the sight of him alone. 

"No.. no, its t'much" You protested, the words slurred and whimpering when he didn't stop. You attempted to press your palm to his taunt abdomen, to push him away- But he simply tsked.

He gently grabbed your hand, pinning it next to your head as he blanketed himself over your trembling form, "Come on.. You can do it, m'love.. You wanted this.. Practically begged for it, darling." He teased, pressing a kiss to your flushed cheek and then another to just under your ear. His free hand slid up from your hip, coming to grip your throat, giving it a slight squeeze, "Come or I'll have to force it our of you.." The purr made a shiver go down your spine and heat straight down to your cunt, that he was still abusing with his unwavering tempo.

"i-i can't.." Your voice wavered, tears pricking your eyes as overstimulation started to set in. He shushed you, kissing you tears before licking them from your cheeks

"Shh.. It's alright my dear, you're doing so so good... Just one more time. I know you can do it.." He encouraged, his hand going from your throat down your sternum, past your taunt stomach, to the apex of your thighs. He rubbed your swollen clit, making your hips jolt and a cry escape you.

"jareth- J-Jareth-" You chanted his name, biting at your bottom lip as you felt that all too familiar feeling building it up inside you. The pleasure was white hot, having you withering and sobbing beneath his skilled movements. He continued to coo at you, telling you how good you were being for him as he continued his assault on your pussy. 

It only took a few more well timed chants of his hips and rubs to your clit, and you were crying out his name for the umpteenth time, back arching off the silk sheets and eyes rolling back into your skull. Jareth grunted, feeling your walls clench around his achingly hard cock, no longer able to hold back any longer. With a moan, he slammed his hips to your one last time, hips shuddering and grinding as he filled you up. 

After a moment, the two of your slumped against each other, Jareth's face buried in the crook of your neck as the two of you tried to regain your breath. He pressed open mouthed kisses to your throat, tasting the salt of your skin. 

As the minutes ticked by, he lifted his head, looking down at you with concerned eyes "..Are you alright?" He asked, voice rough.

You simply nodded, and he did the same, leaning in to press a tender kiss to your lips.

Slowly, almost reverently, he moved from you, slipping on of your well used pussy with a grunt. He left the bed, taking his warmth with him. You shuddered, wrapping you arms around yourself to fight the chill. 

When he came back, he has a wash cloth in his hand. He gently settled beside you before wiping away the sticky mess between your trembling thighs. He wiped once, folding the rag, and then wiped away the mess of your inner thighs. Once he was finished, he tossed the now dirty cloth aside, moving to lay on the plush bed. 

Jareth grabbed your waist, tugging you to lay against his lean frame, tucking you head beneath his chin. You snuggled against him, the both of you sighing contently. No words were spoken between you. Not any sweet nothings, or questions of concern. There was no need for them.

Slowly, the two of your fell asleep in each other's embrace, drifting into a dreamless slumber. 

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[haidicerbere]

Howdy! I'm a maaaassive Jareth simp and I've had this idea about him for a while. Basically, I kinda like the idea of Jareth taking a fem!reader as something of a trophy wife. He doesn't know exactly how human know works, but he knows a king should have a beautiful queen, and thinks the reader is the most beautiful woman in any world.

He kinda sees her as more of a treasure or accessory, but he's still sure to shower her in plenty of gifts and poems, because he wants her to adore him as much as he adores her. He's also BIG on PDA. From where he's standing, you can't have a woman like that and then not show her off and put your love on display.

I hope this isn't an overwhelming first request. Don't feel any pressure to write it if it doesn't align with your headcanons!

HI OMG THANK YOU SO MUCH ! I've read your second message about the genre dont worry. Since its one of my first reader insert I hope you'll like it !! Thank you so much again !

I'm sorry for the long await , but with school and everything duuuh...I didnt know too well how to place the "trophy wife" But I tried ! Please tell me if i missed something !

Warnings: jareth is obviously a flirt (no smut dw)

Words : 681

The reception hall was packed… another one of those grand parties Jareth organized. The guests were dressed in the most extravagant way, as is the tradition in this kingdom… You wore a magnificent gown, form-fitting, shimmering just the way he liked them. You were almost like a jewel the king would carry everywhere with him. A trophy, a treasure worth possessing in any kingdom.

You and your beloved husband entered the ballroom. Applause and a few cheers greeted your arrival… Jareth held your by the hip, his gloved fingers lightly tracing the skin beneath your dress. His thumb caressed your skin, drawing intricate patterns… You shivered, and he sensed your nervousness, as he did with every entrance.

"My one? Don't be afraid, you are by far the most beautiful and perfect woman in this whole kingdom..." he said with that usual wolfish smirk on his lips, his mismatched eyes fixed solely on you.

“I’m no Fae Jareth… every woman in this land is more beautiful than me…” you say, lowering your gaze as you both make your way through the crowd. His brows furrow at your words; you can almost see his jaw tightening slightly, despite the insolent, proud mask he wears in public.

“Would you dare repeat it, my darling…” he said, putting you in a position where you want to challenge him and repeat the phrase, just to see where it leads, but at the same time, you want to enjoy your evening in a more…subtle way. So you say nothing as he leads you into a dance, slow and so intimate that you can feel his warmth through your clothes.

You dare to look up at him, only to be immediately pierced by his gaze, decorated of glitters and his pupils dilated in an unusual way, giving you a sensation of heat in your lower abdomen, which you quickly chase away.

Once the first dance is over, you return to your throne and settle comfortably while your husband takes his. He looks at you with a smile and pats his knees, inviting you to sit. You know perfectly well that if you refuse, he will seize you and make you sit on his lap. So you obey… you smooth your dress and sit on his lap. His hands instinctively rest on your thigh; if you had been wearing a short dress, he would have slipped his hand underneath to caress your bare skin, even with his gloves on.

You shiver and snuggle against him, your head in the crook of his neck. You feel him shiver as your painted lips leave a mark on his perfect skin. His hand tightens slightly before he pats your thigh. "My sweet... if you keep this up, I won't be able to hold back..." he whispers in your ear, gripping your hair.

"Maybe I don't want you to hold back?" That was the last straw. You could see his restraint shatter in his eyes. He gently pushed you away from his lap and stood up before grasping your hips and pressing them against his.

"You're mine... mine to show off... mine to see... mine to keep... if I want to take you now... I will..." and he's not lying. He's about to tear your beautiful dress when you interrupt him.

"Please, my husband... they know I'm yours" you say,embarrassed by the way he would not hesitatea second before taking you in front of every one. Your body against his, your hand at the base of his hair, on the nape of his neck, feeling the softness of his hair. He smiles again and presses his lips to yours, his hand gripping the soft skin of your hips.

“Perhaps we should cut the party short…” he said between gasps. “Perhaps we could… slip away discreetly?” you replied, running your hands down his neck, his shoulder, and his chest. “Perhaps we should…” And with that, you and your husband slipped away from the stifling scene to return to the passionate embrace of your bedroom for the rest of the evening…

The End

(I hope you like it !!!)

[thvshusband]

Magical Ball | Kinktober Day 8

jareth x wife!reader

warnings: jarreth is sooo in love with you, aphrodisiac, public dry humping/grinding, clothed sex, clit rubbing, missionary

a/n- a little longer one today. not really proofread like always 🙏🏻

Since the fateful day that you had sent your little brother, Toby, to be taken care of the Goblin King, Jareth, you have been pronounced Queen of the Goblin City. Adjusting to your new life in another world had been very difficult to say the least. The laws, festivities, and even the food was nothing like home. But, you have grown very fond of your new husband. He was very loving and helped you adjust to this other world.

As you slowly acclimated to the peculiarity that you were living, you began to grow more appreciative of your new life. The King was very passionate about being a ruler and being your man. He was also very possessive, he wanted everyone to know he was yours and you were his.

Today marked one year of you being being in the Goblin City. So, naturally, Jareth planned a huge ball to celebrate the anniversary of your arrival. You have been standing in front of your mirror for hours, your servants fitting the custom made dress to your body. The ball gown is made of sea island cotton, the best around. The light blue fabric accentuates your chest and arms, the flowy sleeves letting your arms breathe in the sweet smelling air. The fluffy skirt puffs out and ends half past your ankles, adding to the elegance of the garment. Ruffles decorate the bottom of it, along with a bow in the back of the dress placed at the end of the bodice.

Once the dress fits perfectly, your hair is styled and put into a half-up and half-down style, with only the top of your hair pulled into a perfect ponytail. Your hair is then curled and a white bow is put on your ponytail. Now, it's time for your makeup. Rouge is added to your cheeks and lips, your lashes are curled and coated in soot. Your eyes are then painted with crushed up berries, giving a slight blush to your lids. A necklace adorned with white jewels is then hung around your neck. Your diamond wedding band is placed back on your finger, a symbol of Jareth's love for you.

A few moments after you finish getting ready, Jareth joins your side and waits to walk into the ballroom, where the ball had just started. He looks at you with awe, appreciating your beauty. He takes your hand in his and compliments gently, "You look so beautiful tonight, I am so lucky you stayed here." Glancing at him, you see him wearing an unbuttoned white shirt, with ruffled adorned at the sleeves. A light blue jacket matching yours on top and black pants. You thank him and walk in to the party area, all eyes on you and the lover. You both find the way to your thrones and stand in front of them.

Hoggle stands in the corner of the throne area and begins the royal introduction. "You all have been invited here to celebrate Queen of the Goblin City, Queen Y/N, being here, in the Goblin City, for one year today. Let us rejoice in her being here for the rest of time!" You bow and appreciate the loud applause from your subjects, still a surreal experience to you, something you had dreamed of for years prior. As the crowd settles down, both you and Jareth take your seats, waiting for the first dance to return. You started looking around, appreciating the intricate details of the room. A huge crystal chandelier hung in the middle of the dancefloor, light reflecting off of it. You feel your husband grasp your hand, intertwining your fingers.

"What do you think of everything, darling?" Jareth questions, wondering of your approval. This day is very special to him, as it marks the day you stepped foot in his castle for the first time, which soon after became your castle, too.

You look at him and smile, "It’s absolutely wonderful Jareth, thank you!" You beamed, clearly so appreciative of this special day. He smiles in return, giddy that you are enjoying the planned festivities.

Soon, it is time for the first dance. Jareth stands up, your hand still in his, and guides you to the center of the dance floor, already cleared of goblins. He places his hand on your waist, his other hand holding yours in the air, bent softly at the elbow. As you begin to dance, you feel his eyes on you, piercing into your soul, your lover never being able to keep his eyes off of you. You gaze into each other's eyes, adorned with love and admiration for the other. Entranced by your beauty, he pulls you closer as you both move elegantly across the dance floor. Jareth leans in closer and traps you in a kiss, becoming blissfully unaware of your surroundings.

His tongue desperately slips in between your blushed lips, slowly enchanting you with lust. You relax your body, starting to melt into the entanglement of you and Jareth's pink tongues. He pulls you closer, wanting to feel your skin touch his. As he breaks the kiss, the two of you breathless, he resumes staring into your eyes, unable to break away, even just for a moment. Pure love radiates from him, detectable to everyone in the room, no space for doubt to be in the back of any goblins' mind.

When you both return to your thrones, plates of delectable sweets and breads envelop the areas surrounding the royal seats. You notice that some of them are your favorite foods from back in your old world. Perplexed, you exclaim, "How did you get these! I have been missing food back home so much!" You smile, filled with nostalgia.

As you take the first bite, an indescribable feeling takes hold of you, cradling you in a sense of need, desperation. You hadn't felt anything like this before. You need your husband, craving him. Returning your hand in his, he massages his thumb on the back of your hand slowly before bringing it up to his face and placing a soft, wet kiss on it. 

“I have done everything I can for you, and I would do it again in a heartbeat. Your name is imprinted in my heart, your entire being. I love you, y/n," Jareth coos, filled with love and fondness. The tension between the two of you became thicker, making you both hot and heavy for each other.

It almost seem like he was trying to coax a reaction out of you, for you to make the first move. "I love you too, Jareth," you speak as you stare into his eyes.

You get up and gather the skirt of your dress before sitting down in your man's lap, shifting to get comfortable. He wraps his arms around your waist, resting his arms just under the bottom of your boobs.

"Comfortable, Your Highness?" He questions, his hands reaching up and palming your clothed breasts, squeezing them lightly.

You gasp softly, realizing how much you needed his touch. Hearing your sound of enjoyment confirmation enough for him to go farther. He slides his hands down the bodice of the gown, evoking a gasp from you, a sound of excitement. But, a wave of embarrassment crashed over you. Remembering where the two of you are and who's in the room makes you feel awfully insecure.

You whisper in his ear, "But the goblins can see us, what will they think? Isn't it inappr-" "It doesn't matter, I want everyone to know you belong to me, I want to declare my love for you, over and over again," Jareth interrupts, shutting down your reluctance to be so vulnerable. He needs you here and now.

As you silently agree to his actions, the King gets more bold; he moves the petticoat under your skirt out of the way so you can properly sit on his lap, feeling his erection. By lightly grinding on it, you emit a quiet moan.

"Mmh, yes, right there, love. Keep grinding, you're doing such a wonderful job," Jareth teases, turning you on even more. Desperate for pleasure, you move slightly faster, trying to make sure attention is not drawn to the both of you. Heavy breathing and grunts accompanied by the fabric of the dress rustling slightly filled the air around the both of you; due to the hyperfocusing of the clarity of the sensually heated actions of you two.

You both soon decide to get some privacy, so the King makes up an excuse to go back to your shared chambers.

“You all will have to excuse my love and I, the Queen has since been feeling under the weather. We will return after she has rested up at about half past eight,” He announces, leading you to the bedroom.

He’s very careful with your dress while laying you on the bed. He moves the skirt up, revealing a white garter and a pair of white lace panties. He pulls those to the side, watching as a string of wetness stretches, attached to the fabric of the undergarment. Jareth stares in awe, admiring you. He moves his fingers to your swollen clit, he starts rubbing, slowly building in speed. Soon, he’s moving at your perfect pace, leaving you squirming.

“Enjoying this a lot, my darling?” Jareth asks rhetorically, knowing just how to make love to you. When you can barely even squeeze out a word, legs shaking, that’s when you’re truly being pleasured.

He pulls his cock out of his pants, tip already leaking, a very noticeable wet patch on the front of his pants. He had been craving you, every aching moment leaving him wanting you more and more. He puts it in, immediately feeling how tight, hot, and wet you are.

“So amazing, dear (Y/N), you’re so good to me,” Jareth coos, always filled with love for you.

He begins to move, holding your hand, maintaining eye contact with you. He wants to savor every time he makes love to you. He’s been wanting someone like you for so long, why wouldn’t he be?

You both moan together, looking into each other’s eyes. Jareth gets closer, releasing into you. “Can’t wait to do this again later, but we have to get back to the celebration,” he says, sounding somewhat disappointed.

You nod, agreeing. He helps you quickly clean off and the two of you walk out, returning to the ballroom.

“I’d do anything to have a special moment with you like that again.”

[melachelohimbo]

yes. do it. write the smutshot.

Thanks for answering, my sweet little perky titty kitty! of course I will fulfill your wettest dream <33 😍🥺

nightmare rotation actually

they’d fight (fuck) over the blunt

im the blunt