#it's about him finally understanding not just sacrifice in the name of love | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

slu7formen · 3 days

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I heard you were sad about the lack of Luke asks, so l've decided to try and help! Bare with me bc this might not be the best considering I'm think on the spot and its late over here so feel free to delete!

So, reader was with Luke when he was running away with Annie and Thalia so they're really close. Then, when her and Luke were like 16 or smth reader left on a quest and its been like 2 years so its assumed that she just failed and died on her quest. This ruined Luke bc he loved her and one night, maybe at the bonfire, he hears reader screaming his name somewhere in the foresty part of camp, just absolutely terrified. He finds her and shes hurt, I'm talkin reallyyy messed up like a massive gash across her eye, (matching scar awww) leavin her like half blind, huge claw marks, teeth marks, and other wounds. He carries her to the infirmary, shes prob passed out at this point from like blood loss. Anyways, she finally wakes up in the infirmary and a bunch of fluff ensues, yk the usual "Don't ever leave me again" "I thought you were dead" the fun stuff and obv they confess to each other! (also, is 🖤 taken?)

whoever made this request, it was so good, you’re evil and brilliant; thank you 🖤

MDNI. luke castellan x fem!reader

warnings: wounds, injuries, blood mention, presumed death, luke being heartbroken (sorry), crying

reminder: english's not my first language so l apologize for any spelling mistakes

₊˚⊹♡

Every morning, Luke woke with the same dull ache in his chest, a constant reminder of the gaping hole your absence had left in him. It was a hollow ache, a physical manifestation of the loneliness that had become his unwelcome company. Nine years old when he ran away, the world had been a harsh teacher, but three years later, when he found you, that harshness had softened, replaced by a fierce protectiveness. You, a scared, twelve-year-old with defiance blazing in your eyes and a meager weapon in hand, had become his anchor in the storm.

The streets had been a cruel way of living, but together, you and Luke had forged a bond stronger than steel. You were the same age, yet he was older by a few months, a difference that somehow granted him a silent responsibility for your safety. Thalia and Annabeth, two more lost souls swept up in the world of their demigod destinies, completed their unbalanced family. But it was you and Luke, the two eldest, who shared a silent language of understanding that went beyond words. You fought together, scavenged together, your backs against the world.

The arrival of Grover, a satyr reeking of panic, brought relief and a terrifying truth— you weren't alone. The hunt for demigods was real, and you were all in danger.

Fourteen. A year etched in his memory with the sharp point of a spear. The monsters, the desperate fight, Thalias selfless sacrifice, the agonizing transformation into the pine tree — the events played on a loop in his mind. Camp Half-Blood, once a beacon of hope, now felt like a bittersweet prison. He had you by his side then, a hand to grip in the darkness, a silent understanding in your shared gaze.

It wasn't supposed to be this way. You were supposed to be there, by his side, facing challenges and forging a future together. He replayed the memory of your first quest announcement on a loop. The fear in his gut, a slap in the face of his fierce protectiveness. He wasn't supposed to lose you.

It wasn't fair. It shouldn't have been you, alone, facing whatever monstrous fate had befallen you. A bitter taste filled his mouth as he replayed the day you left. The forced cheer, the worry that gnawed at him, all a blur now. Training became a way to numb the ache, each swing of his sword carrying a silent plea for your sate return. But as days turned into months, the hope that had fueled him began to fade away.

News traveled slow in the demigod world, but eventually, rumors reached Camp Half-Blood. Whispers of a monstrous encounter, a lost trail, a silence that stretched too long. A year after your departure, the whispers solidified into a grim reality - you were missing, presumed dead.

Luke felt the world tilt on its axis. Denial battled with a cold, horrifying truth. You were gone.

A quest, a single solitary mission, had stolen you from him. Stolen your laughter, your warmth, your presence that had become an essential part of his world. It wasn't fair.

The quest for the Golden Apple had been a cruel twist of fate. A desperate attempt to appease his father, to offer a sliver of hope to a camp drowning in sadness, it had backfired spectacularly. Luke returned empty-handed, his body wracked with exhaustion and his spirit battered. But the most visible reminder of his failure was the jagged scar that ran from beneath his eye down to his chin, a pale testament to the dragon's fury.

He'd needed your presence then more than ever. Needed your steady gaze and the quiet strength you possessed. Needed the spark of defiance in your eyes that mirrored his own growing anger towards a world that had seemed so determined to tear them apart. He needed your touch, your hugs, he needed you.

He stood stiffly before your burial shroud, an image carved in his memory forever. Tears streamed down his face, hot and unchecked. He ignored the concerned glances of his friends, focusing only on the phantom warmth of your hand in his, a memory more vivid than anything else.

In that moment, ravaged by grief, a single truth burned bright — he loved you. And he had lost you. The world felt a little emptier, a little colder, without you by his side.

And the first nights after you left were the worst.

At first, they were hopeful visions. He'd see you, alone on a dusty road, tending to a nasty gash on your arm with a makeshift bandage. A surge of worry would course through him, a familiar anxiety honed by years on the streets. But then, a wry smile would tug at his lips as he remembered the countless times he'd taught you how to create a tourniquet, how to patch a wound and survive on the bare minimum. A flicker of confidence, a belief in your resourcefulness, would chase away the initial fear. He just knew you'd find a way back to him.

He'd wake with a jolt, his hand instinctively reaching for the empty space beside him. The sheets were cold, the air thick with the silence of your absence. But then, a flicker of hope would ignite— you were alive, you were out there.

Finally, the dreams turned into nightmares. You'd appear, but not the way he remembered you. Pale and gaunt, your eyes hollow and vacant. Sometimes, you'd be chased by monstrous shadows, their grotesque forms dissolving into a chilling whisper of your name. These dreams left him gasping for breath, his heart hammering against his ribs.

It had been a little over a year since the agonizing ceremony, the image of your burial shroud seared into his memory. But time, a supposed healer, offered no solace. In reality, it had stretched the fact of your absence even wider. Two years. Two years since he'd last seen your smile, heard your voice, felt the warmth of your hand in his.

"Luke!"

Ah, yes. He heard you sometimes. At first, it happened while he was alone; he believed it could be you, trying to contact him in some way, but it never was that way. He never found you. Then he started hearing your voice in crowded places, mistaking your voice for the ones of other campers, and his heart ached every time he realized it wasn't you.

He felt like he was going insane. Hearing you, even after years. He must be going mad. But then, it became clearer.

"Luke!"

The voice, barely audible above the crackling flames, cut through his thoughts like a knife. He froze, his hand tightening around the thin stick that held his burned marshmallow. Was it-? No. It couldn't be. He must be imagining things again.

The grief, the pain, he knew, could play tricks on the mind.

He brushed it off, attempting to rejoin the conversation, forcing a lightness to his voice that felt hollow. But then, it came again. Clearer this time, tinged with a desperate urgency.

"Luke!? Luke!"

The single word, laden with a desperate urgency, pierced through his defenses. He froze, his blood turning to ice. It was your voice. The same voice that filled his dreams and haunted his waking hours. He whipped his head around, searching the darkened forest beyond the fire's reach.

But the trees stood silent, their branches swaying gently in the night breeze. Nothing. Yet, the echo of your voice lingered in the air, a chilling reminder of the impossible. His heart pounded in his chest, a frantic drum against his ribs.

He glanced around the fire, catching the bewildered expressions of a few campers who had clearly heard the voice too. Their eyes mirrored the confusion and fear that clawed at him. If he said anything, they'd think he'd cracked, that the pain had finally driven him mad.

"Luke!"

But it was you.

Your voice, unmistakable and undeniably real. A wave of disbelief washed over him, followed by a surge of hope so intense it threatened to suffocate him.

He scrambled to his feet, ignoring the surprised yelps of his friends as he knocked over a tray of steaming hot cocoa cups. Stumbling over his own feet, he charged towards the edge of the forest, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm against his ribs.

He skidded to a halt just inside the treeline, his eyes scanning the darkness. "yn!?" he called out, his voice hoarse with a mixture of fear and desperate hope. The only reply was the rustling of leaves in the night breeze.

It was cloaked in darkness, making it impossible to discern any details. But there was a smallness, a fragility to its silhouette that resonated with his memory of you.

Just as doubt began to creep back in, another call pierced the silence. "Luke!" This time, the desperation in your voice was unmistakable.

He didn't hesitate any longer. "yn!" he roared, his voice raw with emotion as he launched himself into a run.

Several campers, roused by the commotion, scrambled to their feet, their eyes wide with confusion and trepidation. They watched, mouths agape, as Luke bolted towards the treeline, his long strides eating away at the distance.

"Luke!" Your voice came again, closer this time, tinged with a note of panic.

"yn!" He didn't dare slow down, his heart making its way up to his mouth. He could hear the sound of others following him, their footsteps pounding on the soft earth behind him.

Through the dense foliage, he caught a glimpse of your figure — small, hunched over, moving with a limp. Hope flared bright within him, battling the tide of fear that threatened to drown him.

Then, you stumbled, nearly falling. He redoubled his efforts, pushing himself to the limit. As he broke through the last line of trees, he saw you standing there, bathed in the pale moonlight.

And his breath hitched in his throat.

The sight of you, once vibrant and full of life, was a punch to the gut. Dirt and grime smeared your face, your clothes were ripped and tattered, and a sheen of sweat covered your brow. But it was the wounds that stole his breath away. Deep claw marks raked across your arms, a bloody gash marred your leg, and the most horrifying of all — a massive scar stretched across your eye, a brutal reminder of some unseen battle. The campers behind him gasped in unison, their faces etched with shock and horror.

Chiron, alerted by the commotion, pushed his way through the crowd, his brow furrowed in concern.

But your focus was solely on Luke. With a desperate cry of his name, you lurched towards him, your injured leg buckling beneath you. Without hesitation, Luke launched himself forward, catching you in his arms just before you hit the ground.

"Luke..." you whispered, your voice barely a breath. Your eyes, the one that wasn't obscured by the wound, flickered with a spark of relief and a hint of something else - a deep, unspoken emotion that mirrored his own.

Then, your eyelids fluttered closed, and your body went limp in his arms. Panic surged through him as he cradled you closer, his voice hoarse with a mixture of fear and relief. " yn? No, no, no, no, yn?" he slightly slapped your cheek, no response. He looked back to to the campers that decided to follow him, his voice cracking with desperation. "Get the Apollo cabin, now!"

The days that followed your arrival were shrouded in a suffocating silence. The once vibrant camp seemed to echo with a collective held breath. No one dared to talk to Luke.

His eyes, once playful and sparkly, now held a deep, smoldering anger. He snapped at anyone who dared to approach. Only Chiron, with his patient wisdom, Annabeth, with her loyalty, and the healers of Apollo cabin, sworn to secrecy about your condition, were able to pierce the storm raging within him.

Each day, a relentless routine unfolded. Luke would rise with the first rays of dawn, his body heavy with the weight of his own despair. He'd force down a meager breakfast, the taste turning to ash in his mouth. Then, with a heart that felt like a lead weight in his chest, he'd make the agonizing trek to the Big House, the temporary haven where you resided. He would do it multiple times a day, actually.

Lee, the son of Apollo with a mop of messy blonde hair and eyes that held a touch of empathy, would greet him at the door, a practiced neutrality masking his concern. The answer was always the same. You were alive. The healers had managed to stabilize you. But your recovery was a slow, painful journey. The wounds you bore were a testament to a harrowing pain, and the care they had taken on your body was immense.

As soon as you had fainted in his arms, you had slipped into unconsciousness. No amount of coaxing, no whispered pleas from the healers, or songs in Ancient Greek, could bring you back. Luke was devastated. The relief of having you back, a physical presence after two agonizing years, was a fragile flame quickly extinguished by the reality of your condition. Your life hung by a thread, and he was kept at arm's length.

One particularly bleak afternoon, Luke found himself face-to-face with Chiron. The old centaur, his kind eyes reflecting the turmoil swirling within Luke, gestured for him to sit.

"Luke," Chiron began, his voice soft yet firm, "I understand your pain. Your worry for yn is valid and understandable. But you must also understand, her condition is delicate"

Luke clenched his fists, his jaw tightening with suppressed anger. "Why can't I see her? Annabeth's younger than me and yet, she gets to see her. Why not me?" The words tumbled out, laced with a raw desperation.

Chiron sighed, a weary sound. "Because, Luke," he said, his voice heavy with empathy, "we fear the emotional toll it might take on you if-, if the worst were to happen."

He slumped in his chair, defeated. Grief, anger, and a gnawing helplessness battled within him.

"How long then?" he rasped, his voice barely a whisper. "How long will it be before I can see her again?"

Chiron reached out, placing a comforting hand on Luke's shoulder. "We don't know, Luke" he said honestly. "But the healers are doing their best And you need to find your strength. She will need it when she wakes up.

He nodded dumbly, understanding Chiron's concern for him. But that didn't make the gnawing ache in his chest any less agonizing. He missed you. Missed the warmth of your hand in his, the light that sparkled in your eyes, the way your laughter could chase away even the darkest shadows.

A few days later, he walked by the Big House again. Lee greeted him again, just as every other day.

"How is she?" Luke asked.

Lee sighed, a gust of exasperation tinged with sympathy. He looked tired himself, dark circles under his eye and a large cup of coffee in his hand. "Little change. But she's stable. Stronger than she looks. We had some healers fainting because of how much singing they've done to her"

A muscle ticked in Luke's jaw. "Can't I at least see her?" The words came out harsher than he intended, dripping with frustration.

Lee studied him for a long moment, his own blue eyes reflecting the turmoil within Luke. Finally, he spoke. "Look, I get it. You're scared, you're angry. But you have to understand, seeing her likes this... we can't let you"

Luke clenched his fists. "I can handle it" he growled, the beast within him straining against its leash.

Lee took a step closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "Can you, Luke? Can you handle the possibility that maybe she doesn't get to wake up?"

The question hung in the air, a brutal truth that stripped away Luke's bravado. He stared at Lee, the anger draining away, replaced by a raw vulnerability that surprised even him. He swallowed hard, the lump in his throat suddenly making it hard to breathe.

"No" he whispered, the single word a confession of his deepest fear.

Lee nodded, a flicker of understanding softening his features. "Then trust us, Luke. Trust the healers. We're doing everything we can."

And then he remember Chiron's words. He knew he was right. He couldn't bear the thought of the last image of you being one of unconsciousness, a pale specter in a sterile infirmary bed.

The days that followed settled into a grim routine. Luke stopped asking the relentless question, 'Did she wake up?' The answer, etched into his weary soul, was a constant ache that no words could soothe. He had stopped arguing, the initial burst of rebellion replaced by a quiet desperation. He started asking more specific questions, focusing on the details of your injuries. Your eye, the massive gash that mirrored his own scar in a way that made his stomach churn, became a particular point of morbid fascination.

He couldn't bear to look at the jagged mark on his face, couldn't imagine how it felt on yours.

Not because he thought you wouldn't be beautiful —he knew you would be. But the thought of you facing the same constant reminder of pain, of vulnerability, filled him with a protective rage that simmered beneath the surtace.

But then, a shift began to occur. He noticed stolen glances exchanged between the Apollo campers, hushed whispers that died down as soon as he entered their vicinity. An unspoken secret they guarded fiercely. He tried to ignore it, burying himself in training, seeking solace in the familiar sting of sweat and exertion. Chiron's words were a constant drumbeat in his head - seeing you too soon, on the precipice of death, was a burden he might not bear.

But later that day, as the sun dipped below the horizon casting the camp in an orange glow, Chiron sought him out. Luke braced himself, his heart plummeting into his stomach. His mind spun with a thousand morbid possibilities.

He met Chiron's gaze, a storm brewing in his own eyes. "What is it?" he rasped, voice breaking.

Chiron took a deep breath, his eyes locking onto Luke's with a solemn intensity. "Luke," he began, his voice thick with a mix of trepidation and hope, "she's awake."

The world seemed to tilt on its axis again. The air whooshed out of Luke's lungs, leaving him breathless. For a moment, he could only stare, his mind struggling to process the simple, life-altering statement.

Then he ran.

His feet pounded a trantic rhythm against the dusty path, each step fueled by a desperate need to see you. Chiron's protests, if there were any, were lost in the roar of blood rushing in his ears. He wouldn't be denied this. Not now. His legs pumped like pistons, fueled by a desperate hope that threatened to shatter him if it turned out to be false. He burst through the doors of the Big House, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste. The interior was deserted, the silence amplifying the frantic pounding of his heart.

He flung open the infirmary door, the sight inside momentarily stealing his breath. Two Apollo campers stood by the window, their hushed whispers abruptly cut short by his arrival.

But his eyes were locked on you, the very image of him defying the cruelty of fate.

You sat on the bed, a fragile silhouette bathed in the pale light, your head bent over your bandaged hands. Your hair, once a fiery mane, had grown longer, a testament to the time that had passed for him in a blur of grief. Your skin, usually kissed by the sun, was a pale canvas.

He took everything in — the fresh cuts marring your arms, the claw marks, the way your shoulders slumped with exhaustion. And you had lifted your head, startled by the sudden noise.

Your eyes, usually sparkling with life, were dull with pain, but when they met his, a spark ignited within them.

"Luke!"

The word ripped from your throat, a cry that echoed with relief and a tremor of something deeper. You lunged off the bed, ignoring the wince that contorted your face as your injured leg protested.

"yn, wait!" Lee sprang forward, concern etched on his face. Your stitches, particularly those on your thigh, were still fresh, and any sudden movement could cause them to tear.

But you didn't listen. You threw yourself at Luke, your arms wrapping around him with a desperation that mirrored his own. He caught you, the impact sending a jolt through his body. His arms tightened around you, a desperate need to hold on, to feel you solid against him.

He held you tight, the fierce possessiveness in his grip both a comfort and a warning. Your body, the way you fit so perfectly against his larger frame, sent a jolt through him. He'd grown, you realized, his broad shoulders feeling wider, his embrace stronger. In contrast, you felt impossibly small, the warrior you remembered replaced by a shell of the person you once were. His hot tears quickly started to wet your hair.

The sudden weakness in your leg, the one that had been screaming in protest since you lunged at him, finally overwhelmed you. A sharp cry escaped your lips as your body gave way beneath you. Instinctively, Luke tightened his grip, his arms morphing into a cradle to catch your fall.

The impact with the floor sent a fresh wave of pain shooting through you, but it was a dull ache compared to the overwhelming joy of finally being in his arms again. You clung to him, your fingers digging into his back, burying your face in the crook of his neck. Luke wouldn't stop sobbing now, his shoulder shaking as his arms held you into his embrace.

The Apollo campers, sensing the intimacy of the moment, mumbled apologies as they slipped out of the infirmary, leaving you and Luke alone.

He cradled you close, the scent of your hair and the warmth of your body a balm to his battered soul. He buried his face in your hair, inhaling the familiar fragrance that had haunted his dreams for so long. It was real. You were real.

"You're alive" he sobbed, the words a broken mantra against your ear. "You're alive" he repeated. Each repetition wasn't just for you, but for him, a desperate attempt to convince himself that this wasn't a cruel dream, that you weren't an illusion.

He pulled back slightly, cupping your face in his hand, his thumb gently tracing the line of your jaw. The wounds looked clean now, stitched and bandaged, but the raw pain was etched in the lines around your eyes. The gash across your eye, a crimson scar angry and fresh, pulled at the corner of your eye, making it appear swollen and bruised. Yet, to him, you were the most beautiful sight he'd ever seen.

It started a finger's width above your eyebrow, then, just as abruptly, it dipped down, catching the outer corner of your eye. The scar tissue pulled the delicate skin, making your eye appear slightly narrowed and bloodshot.

But despite the rawness of the wound, despite the vulnerability etched on your face, there was something undeniably fierce about you. It was a look he hadn't seen before, a look born from surviving the unthinkable.

Tears welled up in your eyes again, blurring your vision. You had always been beautiful, that much was undeniable. But now, even with a scar contrasting against your features, you were breathtaking.

He didn't mean to say it out loud, but the words tumbled from his lips before he could stop them.

"You look beautiful" he breathed, his voice thick with emotion.

His words sent a shiver down your spine. You leaned into his touch, seeking solace in the warmth of his hand. "It hurts" you whispered, a tear tracing a path down your cheek.

"I know" he murmured, his voice filled with empathy. He sniffed uncontrollably at your sight, so broken and fragile, wrapped around his arm. "But you're alive. You're here" his bottom lip started trembling before he could control it. He inhaled sharply and his voice came out shaky; "I thought you were dead" tears rolling down his cheeks.

You laughed, a weak sound that was more like a sob. "You won't get rid of me that easily"

He leaned in, his forehead resting against yours, his breath warm on your skin. In that moment, the infirmary with its sterile smell and harsh light faded away. All that existed was the feel of you in his arms, the warmth of your body against his, and the knowledge that you were alive.

"Don't ever leave me again" he pleaded, his voice thick with a mix of relief and terror. The thought of losing you again, of facing another agonizing day without you, was almost unbearable.

"I wouldn't dream of it" you whispered.

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paymechildsupport · 18 days

Text

Sukuna, Sweetheart <3 // ♡ "Worship me..."

Such a cootie patootie, the most baby girl princess in the psyche ward (Sukuna x Reader)

-!! Body worship, -- goofy poetic ahh smut, -- deitification

-------------------'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'------------------- [Jus' thinkin about him getting on his knees to worship at my feet--] •┈••✦ ❤ ✦••┈•

>>My lil' meow meow <33333333

-----------------------------♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡-----------------------------

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Sukuna hated humans. Hated how mundane they were in their everday life, hated how emotional they were bitching and moaning about their dead grandpa he just cleaved in half , -- hated how pitifully weak they were with the pests they claimed to "love".

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Luckily he has you, to whom he rants to everyday, perched atop his lap on his throne. He can finally let all these icks off his chest, vent to someone who'll listen to him for once. You were such a good listener, he sometimes didn't know how you'd do it, -- putting up with him in his most temperamental of moods. How could you be so nice, so patient, so understanding with such a disagreeable curse?

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Sukuna didn't really believe in a place called "heaven"-- not like he'd ever go there anyways. But... with the way you'd look at him with those beautiful eyes of yours, Sukuna wondered if you were secretly an angel in disguise. You were the closest sensation he felt to "paradise", -- if divinity were real then you must be its incarnate.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ You were serene as water, him the starving man in the desert. Was that really you over there, on the horizon-? Or a mere mirage, an embodiment of all his deepest desires projected straight from his mind's eye?

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Oh, how he'd adore you; those claws going straight into his chest, digging out his abominable, monstrous heart-- or at least what was left of it, -- ripping it right from the cavity of his chest.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ The sacrifices he paid, the countless slain all in the name of tribute. Your name etched onto so many graves. He'd sink to his knees before you, lounging all the likes of a belligerent god on his throne. Paying homage to, his god, his savior, - for whom he laid waste to entire villages for, for whom he'd destroy and conquer for until the very end of his accursed life. Such a greedy little thing, salivating just at the mere idea of your gaze being reserved solely for him. No other 'shall have the honor of your eye, -- that was his and his alone. Your attention, he craved, -- lusted for, which he feasted like a starving man from when graciously offered to him.

‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ♡ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ♡ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡ °̩̥

ੈ♡˳ At your feet he'd present you with the heads of thousands. Blood, red and bright, pooled at your feet, puddles of his devotion, liquidized. Drunken eyes greedily feasted on your divine figure, adoring every surface, every crevice, every scar etched into your flesh, every fold of your skin, every wrinkle- every uneven line in your complexion.

ੈ♡˳ You'd bring your hand down, fingers feeling over his skin, reaching under and tilting his face upwards. Looking every bit the excited puppy, you could swear he'd even start to drool at your touch. Your hand would twine in his hair, nails scraping his scalp in such a pleasurable way it had him purring, leaning right into your soft touch.

ੈ♡˳ Silly little thing looked so expectant, so adoring of your mere presence. His lips gently pressed into the curve of your palm, the sensation of his canines grazing your flesh as he traced upwards.

ੈ♡˳ So soft, so gentle, his tongue would trail, tasting you, savoring you. Kitty licks up your forearm, hot air from his lungs huffing, his body practically vibrating with the carnal need to reveal himself fully to you. Laid before your feet, naked and bare, his body all yours, -- he needed your gaze, your attention on him, -- all of him.

ੈ♡˳ Your body so precious, he'd handle it like the most beautiful of porcelain. Hold you gently, as if you were mad of glass. The terror of accidentally damaging you with his immense strength. You were his greatest temptation, the wine he'd down in a heartbeat.

Your body was a temple, being inside of it brought Sukuna the closest to the gods as he'd ever been. Buried deep inside you, your bodies becoming one, he'd take you lovingly in the night. How he adored when you'd fall with the sun, landing like a fallen star into his arms.

He'd pour his heart out for you, emptying his essence right in your middle.

Your own release was a gift from his non-existent Heaven. He'd rather die than waste a single drop; eager to take you in his mouth and swallow you up in deep gulps. He'd never had something sweeter. He was a very picky man with his food, - your relief being a five-star meal.

Your body writhed underneath him; your flush faced soaked with fat tears being the sight to undo him fully. You were so pretty and ethereal, the most beautifully pure sight for such a cruel, vile world. Such purity for Sukuna to tarnish, to corrupt, to savor with his tongue and swallow whole.

You underneath him, panting, soft gasps and little moans,-- perfect body marred with his love. Marked up good, neck missing a chunk from where he bit it off. Hands fucking your body everywhere, his tongue fucking into your entrance, sending you to cloud nine. He could spend for eternity in between your legs, head rested between your thighs, lapping up his reward with a devotion unknown to mere man.

High off him, chest covered and legs lathered with his seed, face reflecting the look of pure worship he'd show you, -- this was the sight that stole the breath straight from Sukuna's lungs. You were his masterpiece; littered in his loving marks, stuffed full from his raw adoration, hollowed by his cocks.

He ate up your delicious moans, -- relishing in your pleads for him.

No, love was too fickle, too human for Sukuna.

...

But pure, undiluted worship? ...

... That, he would breathe into you until your very last, dying breath.

//////////////////////////////////////////// ////////////////////////////////////

Sukuna brain rot goes so hardddd :(( I saw that pic of him with heart pupils in the manga leaks and couldn't help myself--

It's so hilarious to me he has such a thing for literature and poetry, -- makes me love em' even more (imagine him dedicating entire hymns and poets to you back in the Heian Era :0 )

(kitten. :3 ).

#jjk #jjk x reader #jjk oneshot #jjk x gender neutral reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x y/n #jjk smut #sukuna #sukuna x male reader #ryomen sukuna #sukuna ryomen #ryomen sukuna smut #sukuna smut #sukuna x female reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna fluff

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thelostmagicians · 1 year

Text

Hugs | Steve Harrington

Summary: Steve Harrington hated hugs until you came along. [1.9k]

Fluff, comfort, slight angst, implied homophobia (against Robin)

♡

Steve Harrington hated hugs.

Hugs were meant to be soft and warm like ice cream on a sunny day, crackling fire on a chilly night, but to Steve they were anything but.

He blamed his aversion to hugs on the lack of affection he received as a child. He couldn’t recall a time when his father even gave him a simple pat on the back let alone a hug. And his mom, she tries, but when a rare ‘I love you’ slips past her lips it’s in the same tone she uses for the grocer at the store, so Steve can never tell if she means it.

Steve didn’t know the meaning of love until Nancy Wheeler broke his heart and Dustin Henderson nuzzled his way in with an unlikely friendship and demodog. Since then, he’s opened up his large and previously empty heart to a talkative Robin Buckley, Dustin and his group of ragtag friends, Nancy Wheeler (albeit it’s different now), a smidge for Jonathan Byers, and even Eddie Munson. Even though he loves his friends to the point of self sacrifice he can never seem to spare them a hug. He’ll give them an encouraging nod and an affectionate high five, but he’s never been able to engulf any of them in the warmth radiating off his chest. And Steve feels awful for this, he truly does. He felt awful when Dustin had to seek solace in Robin’s arms when Eddie was injured and when Lucas clinged onto Max’s hand while she was on life support. He knows they understand it isn’t anything personal, but he still wants to be able to show his feelings through a soothing hand hold or a comforting embrace.

The first time he sees you he's at Nancy’s house for a small gathering celebrating the completion of her and Jonathan’s internship at the big fancy newspaper in New York. You’re in the kitchen helping Nancy with the snacks, smiling wide at her full of sunshine and sparkle, a stark difference from the gloomy aura of Hawkins.

“I see someone’s caught your eye already,” Jonathan giggles, breaking him out of his trance.

Steve glances at you a final time before he turns to Jonathan and steals his drink.

“Hey, why can’t you just get your own?” Jonathan whines a little, the result of a smoke sesh with Argyle and Eddie slowly wearing off. Steve can tell he’s only got a few minutes left to question Jonathan about you before he sobers up and uses this to tease him in the future.

“Who is she? Don’t think ‘ve seen her here before,” Steve tries to act as nonchalant as possible, but he can tell he’s failing with the way Jonathan smiles.

“She’s mine and Nance’s friend. We met her at the internship and she wanted to visit here for a change of scenery. Isn’t that crazy, someone from New York finds a place like Hawkins interesting enough to visit?”

Steve nods in agreement, because why would someone like you, someone so full of light and everything good want anything to do with the drabby town of Hawkins.

“What’s her name?”

When Jonathan says your name loud enough for him to hear over Robin and Eddie’s loud chatter Steve gasps softly. He mumbles your name to himself thrice because it tastes sweet on his tongue, sweeter than the cherry popsicles he likes so much. You talk for the first time that night, nothing past basic introductions, but it’s enough for him to drive home with a smile on his face because he liked the way your lips looked when you said his name.

The first time you hug him he’s taken by surprise his body goes rigid and then pliant. He isn’t exactly reciprocating the hug, but he isn’t pushing you away like he would the others. He pulls back first taking a look at your disheveled appearance, Nancy had called him earlier frantically telling him you needed to be picked up from Creel House and he wasted no time coming to your rescue.

He brushes the dust off your shoulders as you huff in embarrassment. “I’m so sorry for this, Nancy told me to wait for her and Jonathan to get back but I wanted to see the house for myself. I thought I could handle it, but I guess it’s a little too creepy for me,” you explain sheepishly.

Steve chuckles awkwardly, still a little loopy from your hug, “Yeah this house isn’t for the faint of heart. We brought the kids here once to err- explore and we still have nightmares about it.”

Steve curses under his breath as you give him a curious look, pushing more details out of him. “There were just a lot of spiders, ya know and the history makes it creepy enough,” he plays it off like it was no big deal but he had an inkling you knew there was more to the story.

The second time you hug Steve it leaves him winded, but he decides he likes the feeling. He lets you hold onto him longer than last time and pulls back when you sneakily go to ruffle his hair. He pouts a little, hands swatting yours away while he tries to fix it the best he can without a mirror.

“Don’t worry Steve, you’re still the prettiest person in all of Hawkins,” you say giggling.

His cheeks heat up but he likes you too much to throw a fit about your teasing. You’ve gotten closer over the past few weeks, always bringing him and Robin lunch during work and he thinks he might just keep you.

Steve realizes you're a hugger when the first thing you do after you pick him up from the station is trap him in your warm arms instead of yelling like the others would have. He thought he was over high school bullshit, but he couldn’t hold himself back when Robin called him from Tammy Thompson’s house on the verge of tears because Tommy Hagan accused her for looking at a girl a little too long for it to be considered straight. He was fuming when he pulled up to the house, Eddie meeting him at the doorway trying to convince him to not make a scene. He tossed Eddie his keys telling him to take Robin home while he threw punch after punch at Tommy for making someone he loved feel unsafe.

He pushes you off gently trying to explain what happened but you shush him softly, eyes falling to Hopper as he claps him on the back a proud smile on his otherwise stoic face. Everyone’s waiting for him when he arrives at the Byers, Joyce with a first aid kit, Jonathan with a smug smile (probably reminiscing his first fight with Steve), and Robin with eyes full of love and gratitude. He lets everyone fuss over him that night before he falls asleep on the Byers’ couch with your hand holding his.

Steve lets you hug him often now, he rolls his eyes and huffs a bit, but allows it with the pretense of it being the last time. It never is, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

You’re on his kitchen floor passing a bottle of wine back and forth sharing core memories. The others have gone home already after the last movie ended but you seemed reluctant to leave, so Steve offered you the guest room and a pair of old pajamas.

“Do you have any happy memories, Stevie?” You ask gently.

Steve shakes his head, “Not really, didn’t really have much of a happy childhood I guess, the only one I can think about is going to my Nana’s for christmas, but she died when I was five.” Steve’s a little tipsy now absentmindedly spilling his heart out to you not thinking about the repercussions.

You smile sadly, “I know what you mean, sort of.”

Steve waves his hand urging you to go on. You sigh softly, “I’ve been almost everywhere and yet it feels like I haven't experienced anything. I have loving parents but I never feel like they love me for who I am, they only love me for what I am, you know? To them I’m more of a trophy, something crossed off on the path of life to show accomplishment. I told you I came to Hawkins to research small towns for a project, but I think that was just an excuse. When I met Nancy and Jonathan they spoke so fondly about everyone back home. They might’ve been in New York, but their hearts resided in Hawkins. I wanted to find that for myself and followed them here…and I think I did.”

Steve shoots you a soft smile full of hearts as your eyes fill with unshed tears. You try your best to scoot over in your tipsy state and fall into his lap resembling a clumsy hug. This time he doesn’t pull away.

It’s nearing summer break for everyone now. Nancy and Jonathan are heading back to New York in a few weeks to present a proposal to your guys’ boss in New York for a new paper about small towns with mysterious histories. They put together a portfolio with files full of research done by you, articles written by Nancy, and photographs taken by Jonathan. The kids are finishing up finals and making plans for junior year. Robin passed her first year at community college and he quit his job at Family Video to work at the station with Hopper. And you, you decided to stay back in Hawkins. Steve can’t find a better excuse than this to throw a summer party at his house.

The sun is shining, bellies are full, hearts are happy, and laughs are loud in Steve’s backyard. Steve opened up his pool for the first time since Barbara Holland’s death and he thinks it’s time he starts moving on. Everyone is in the pool having fun, everyone except you and Steve. You’re lounging on one of the chairs, Jane Eyre in your hand and a lazy smile on your face, so it was no surprise Steve chose to stay at your side.

Steve is terrified to bare his heart to you, to tell you how he really feels, he thinks he might as well hand you his heart and a hammer on a silver platter. But then he remembers the shy smile you had when you told him you were leaving New York for good and you were staying in Hawkins. He looks over to you, your book finally pushed aside in favor of watching your friends have fun and he can’t hold his feelings in any longer.

His fingers brush up your arm slowly making their way to pet at your soft cheeks.

“You know you’re the only one who’s allowed to hug me.” It’s a concealed declaration of love an I love you that only the two of you can decipher.

“I know.” I love you too.

Steve smiles shyly before gently cupping your chin and pressing his lips to yours in a much awaited kiss. He pulls back gently only to pull you into his chest. He squeezes you hard pouring all his love into the first hug he’s ever initiated.

Steve Harrington used to hate hugs, but not so much anymore, not when your arms feel like home.

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sp1rit-realm · 1 year

Text

༻¨*:· 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐒𝐒 ·:*¨༺

༻¨*:· summary ·:*¨༺ you get paired with Eddie Munson for your ceramics final.

༻¨*:· notes ·:*¨༺ 𖦹 cheerleader!reader 𖦹 eddie calls reader "princess" and "sweet thing" 𖦹 angst for one microsecond 𖦹 closest thing you will get to enemies to lovers from me 𖦹 jason carver. you have been warned 𖦹 im sorry if your name is allie 𖦹 im in love with this fic 𖦹 i actually love the way this came out 𖦹 i did not proofread this⎝(ˊ0ˋ)⎠

༻¨*:· word count ·:*¨༺ 𖦹 3.2k

You hear someone shout. Something about "sheep," and you immediately know who it is. Still, you turn your head to see the person staring at you.

"Oh," He scoffs, "And their leader stares directly at me! Hey, princess! Was there something you needed? Or were you just staring at the freak again?"

You don't answer, turning back to your lunch.

"Yep, that's what I thought!" He yells.

Then, Carver stands up, "Leave her alone!" He yells.

Eddie smirks, "Princess needs her knight in shining armor to save her?" He mockingly croons.

Ignoring Eddie, you look to Carver, "Jason, just—" You take a deep breath, "Just sit down. Leave him alone."

Jason scoffs, "He's picking on you, babe."

"First, don't call me babe. You hear me?" Jason nods, "Second, sit down."

For once in his life, Jason listens.

Eddie smiles in victory, knowing he got you riled up. Even happier knowing Carver got told off.

You walked into fourth period late and sighed upon seeing the only open seat. Silently, you sit next to him. You hear him groan, and you don't need to look to know he's rolling his eyes.

The teacher drones on about the subject, and Eddie watches as you diligently take notes. Your pen's ink is sparkly and blue; he internally scoffs.

The teacher mentions the words: "Final project." Eddie sighs, and you light up. He despises how happy you look.

Ms. Ronette mentions that this will be a partner project, and this time, you groan. None of your friends are in this class.

Then, she says that you will be working with your seat partner. There's an eruption of both glee and gloom. Some people are indifferent. You're hoping that's how Eddie feels, but you know he's pissed. You and Eddie look at each other, and you offer a hopeful smile. He scowls in return.

As soon as the bell rings, Eddie is out the door. You chase after him.

"Eddie! Wait!" He stops, and you catch your breath, "You would think all that cheering would make it easier for me to breathe after running for five seconds," You laugh. Eddie does not, "Just... get on with it."

You frown, "When should we meet to work on the project? I'm free today after five." You offer.

"I have Hellfire," He keeps walking.

Taking long strides to keep up with him, you continued, "I can wait. How long does it usually run?"

"'Till six, if we're lucky."

"Oh, well, I can sit in." You suggest with a smile, "It doesn't sound all that bad."

He hates how genuine you sound.

"Fine. But," Eddie stops to turn at you, "Absolutely no mocking or making fun of it. Understand?"

You nod.

"Sorry that you have to spend time with the freak," One of the girls on the team says in the locker room.

You shrug, "Y'know, maybe you should give him a chance. He doesn't seem horrible."

"I hear he sacrifices to the Devil." She whispers.

"Oh, I think that's just rumors," You deny the accusation thrown at him. You never liked rumors.

Walking into Hellfire was scary. You weren't sure what to expect, and Allie definitely got into your head with the whole sacrificing thing. She even told you he might lure you into a trap and sacrifice you. You didn't believe it rationally. But, your heart beats as you knock.

"Enter." You hear Eddie say. He's sitting on a throne and looks so in his element.

Nobody greets you, and you weren't expecting them to. Still, it would have been nice.

You pull out your notebook and begin sketching your final project.

Eventually, you give up on the sketch to listen in on the game. It's pretty interesting. There are trolls and elves, and you hear the word merfolk at one point. That piques your interest, and you begin drawing a mermaid. She's demonic and cryptic and freaky, and you smile. She's beautiful.

Everyone's packing up, and you're glad. All you want to do is work on your project.

"We can go to my house?" You propose.

"I smell like weed."

"And?"

He tries to hide his smirk—it doesn't work.

Once you're at your house, you grab your basket of albums.

"Pick one," You smile.

"What do you even have in there? Pop music?"

You shrug, "I think I'll surprise you."

"What, you have one Bowie album in there? Think that'll impress me?"

Why was he being so difficult?

"I'm just trying to put on some music to make this more bearable."

He scoffs, "Fine. Give it to me."

You hand him the basket, and he's surprisingly careful with it.

His eyebrows raise as he flicks through your collection, "Kill 'Em All?"

You smile. You surprised Eddie Munson.

With the music playing, you pull out your textbook.

"Who do you want to study?"

"I don't care." He shrugs.

"Look, Munson," You cross your arms, "I care about my grade in this class. I know you probably don't, but I do."

"Of course, everything is about you," He copies your movements, crossing his arms back, "I'll have you know, I immensely enjoy pottery."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

An awkward silence falls over the two of you.

"Let's go with Beatrice Wood." He murmurs.

"That's who I was thinking, actually," You whisper, pulling out your sketch.

"Guess we have something in common." He snorts like it's the funniest thing in the world.

"Guess we do."

And with that, you set out on your research.

"It's getting late," You yawn, "Did you want dinner?"

Eddie wants to say no but also doesn't want box mac n cheese again. Ultimately, his guilt wins, "Nah, don't worry about it."

"Nonsense," You dismiss him, "I'll make something."

"Are you sure?" He's growing anxious by the second.

"I'm positive," You reassure.

"You live in a trailer, right?" You ask, blowing on your food.

He nods, "What about it?"

You can tell his defenses are up.

"Just wondering," You shrug.

"You gonna tell all your friends? Make fun of the trailer park freak?"

You furrow your brows, "No. I don't enjoy making fun of people, and I certainly wouldn't make fun of you. If anything, I would make fun of Allie." You state.

"Why? I'm, like, prime 'picking-on' material."

You shake your head, "It's not nice to make fun of someone for where they live or what they do for fun. Allie is the worst if I'm being honest. She's always talking about how much she loves tennis. She's not even good at it."

Eddie laughs, "Didn't you just say it's not nice to make fun of someone's hobbies?"

You smile sheepishly, "Yeah, but Allie's a bitch."

Eddie gawps, "I've never heard you swear."

"I don't do it often," You shrug.

"You should do it more."

Eddie leaves, and you tell him to drive home safely. Maybe working on this project won't be as bad as you thought.

"How was working with Munson?" Allie asks you the next day.

You roll your eyes, "You were right!" Your smile was saccharine sweet, "He tried to sacrifice me!"

Allie gasps, "Really!?"

"No, idiot," You huff, "We actually got a lot done. And then we had dinner."

"Who'd you have dinner with?"

"Carver." You greeted.

"Tell me you didn't have dinner with the freak. What did you eat?" He laughs, "Box mac and cheese?"

You cross your arms, "It's not nice to make fun of people, Jason." With that, you walked away.

"Imagine being named Jason," You murmur, sitting beside Eddie. He laughs, and a sense of pride settles in you.

"Imagine your last name being Carver," He whispers. You giggle, and Eddie is sure it's the sweetest sound he's ever heard. Then, he remembers he's supposed to hate you.

"So..." You're elbows deep in clay at this point, "What exactly is 'Dungeons and Dragons?'"

Eddie is surprised, "Um," He swallows the lump in his throat, "It's an RPG."

"I—" You sigh as your pot collapses again, "I'm not sure what that is." You throw the clay again.

"Role-playing game. I'm the Dungeon Master or DM."

"So you're character is... Dungeon Master?"

He smiles, "Not quite."

"Why do I feel like you're making fun of me?"

"I'm not making fun of you, princess. Promise."

"Stop calling me that," You whisper, though you're smiling.

"Why? You're the princess of Hawkins High."

"No, I'm not."

"Mhm," He nods theatrically, "Sure."

It makes you laugh, and you don't care about the stares you receive from your peers.

"So... You wanna come to my place to work on the project?" Eddie asks at the end of the period.

"Can you drive me?" You ask, hopefully.

"Sure can, princess."

You try to disguise your smile as a scowl at the name. Eddie can see right through you.

"Lots of mugs..." You say, looking around Eddie's trailer.

"My Uncle Wayne's." He answers. "Anyway, this was to my room!" He declares like he's on a journey. You giggle, and Eddie melts again.

Eddie's giddy. He always is when he's thinking about you. Your perfume and that lip gloss that's been used so much that the label has begun to rub off.

"I'm running out," You pout as you stare at the tube of gloss, and Eddie thinks he would buy you all the lip glosses in the world if it meant you would smile at him.

"Hey, shiny lips," You roll your eyes with a smile, "Time to work on this project."

You groan and clutch your chest like you've been mortally wounded. Eddie laughs at your antics.

You settle on his bed, books out, when he asks, "Am I what they chalk me up to be? Have I freaked you out?"

You swear there's almost a sadness in his tone, "No. You haven't tried sacrificing me."

"Yet." He adds, knowing it will make you giggle again. God, he loves that sound. He decides it's the worst thing on the planet because how can you be so lovely and sweet and laugh like that and then expect him not to fall for you? It's cruel, truly.

"Did you draw this?" He nudges the drawing of the mermaid.

"Oh, yeah," You grow warm.

"It's pretty fucking sick," Eddie says as he pulls the drawing out.

"I drew it when you were playing Dungeons and Dragons. Someone said something about merfolk, so I drew one." You shrugged, "It's not that good—"

"Oh, shut up. It's good. Amazing, even."

"You don't have to lie," You murmur.

"I'm not lying! How do I prove that to you?"

You think momentarily, "Hang it on your wall, then I'll believe you."

Eddie smiles and grabs a pin. He hangs it next to his guitar.

You gawp at him.

"What?"

"You actually hung it!"

"Of course I did! It's amazing!"

"Thank you."

"Don't mention it, princess."

"Stop calling me princess, Eddie," You cross your arms.

"Stop being a princess, and I'll stop calling you princess." He jests.

You find yourself not wanting to leave, "So..." You look around his room, "You sell?"

Eddie huffs a laugh, "Did the princess wanna buy something?"

Your eyes go wide, "No! No, I was just wondering."

"Have you ever smoked weed?"

You nod, "I like smoking. It makes me laugh a lot."

And then, Eddie decides he needs to get you high.

"You wanna smoke?"

"I don't have any money," You shake your head.

"C'mon, it's on me. I've got my own stash," He opens a drawer and pulls out a pre-rolled joint.

You couldn't stop laughing, and Eddie adored it. Your eyes got smaller while the slopes of your cheeks grew. He was sure he was in the presence of an angel.

"And then," You laughed, "She vomited! All over her white clothes!"

"You really do hate this Allie girl, don't you?"

You throw your head back and groan, "She's the worst, Munson. All she does is talk and talk and talk about how much she loves tennis and her boyfriend, and her voice is so nasally. It gives me a migraine."

"Who's her boyfriend?" Eddie asks, intrigued.

"Just... a guy."

"Oh!" He snaps, "It's Gonzalez, right? Michael?"

"Yeah. Can we talk about something else?"

Eddie was quiet, and you were worried you scared him off with your strong reaction.

"Let's talk about Beatrice Wood."

You smiled kindly, glad he didn't pry. You received a smile back from Eddie Munson for the first time, and it felt like you won the lottery.

Eddie decided he hated you. He hated you and your cute face and your stupid laugh. He despised you. You freaky-art-making bubbly cheerleader.

And there he was. Nothing more than an anomaly who reeked of weed and cigarettes. A nerd-game-playing, grumpy freak.

And the worst part? He was falling for you. Hard. Oh, he loathed you because he knew you would never feel the same way.

You were too good for him. Too pretty, too nice, too lovely.

"You weren't here yesterday," You grab some slip with a frown as Eddie sits across from you.

"Yeah... I was at home."

"I saw you during passing period, Eddie. Where were you?"

Eddie sighed, "I was dealing."

"The whole period?" You threw your slab a little too hard. Eddie flinched.

"Yeah."

You solemnly nodded. There had to be some reason Eddie ditched. Maybe it was you. His whole M.O. was "hating cheerleaders," so would it be that ridiculous to assume he didn't like you? It would, you decided. He liked you. He spent so much time with you. Sure, it was to work on the project, but there was no doubt in your mind that you spent more time together than anyone should during a research project.

"Whatcha thinking about, princess?" He smirks.

You sigh, "Things I shouldn't be thinking about."

"Like... me?" He hopes he doesn't come off as desperate.

"Maybe," You smile, "Maybe not."

"That wasn't a no."

"It certainly wasn't," You confirm.

Eddie beams.

"You've been spending a lot of time with the freak," Jason says during lunch.

"His name is Eddie, Carver. He's a person." You cross your arms, then mutter: "Unlike you."

"What did you just say?" He asks.

"Nothing, Jason," You glare at him.

"Look," He barks out a humorless laugh, "I don't get why you jump to defend him. He's a freak. He's probably got a sock at home with your name on it. He's not good for you."

And that's when you snap, "Oh, like you know what's good for me! Do you even know my favorite color? Because I'm sure he does!"

Carver has nothing to say to that, and he leaves you alone.

"I am so sick of Carver," You moan in the locker room.

"So am I, if I'm being honest," Allie concurs.

"I literally was not talking to you, Allie." You huff out.

"Jeez," She murmurs, "No need to be so rude."

"Actually, Allie," You turn to her, "There is."

You walk into the drama room, and Eddie greets you. He makes everyone else welcome you. It's a nice feeling that makes you warm inside.

"Sorry it ran late, princess," Eddie apologizes as you sit in his van.

"It's okay," You reassure, "I drew some more."

Eddie nearly slams on the breaks, "You did?"

"I did," You gleam like the star you are.

"Can't wait to see them."

"Sweet thing, these are amazing." Eddie isn't smiling, and it would worry you if not for his tone. He's so sincere, and you melt. "What if you draw something for me?" He proposes.

"I will," You promise, "After we work."

"Take as much time as you need, princess."

You don't understand why everyone seems to despise him. Eddie's a good kid with a kind heart, and you really enjoy him and his company. He's funny and stupid and cute. Yes, Eddie Munson is cute, attractive, pretty, whatever word you want. And you're surprised you didn't notice it sooner, but as he sits on his bed, tongue poking out ever so slightly as he reads, you can't deny how attracted you are to him.

"Allie keeps talking about Michael," You mention. It was out of nowhere. You were both silently writing. Eddie looks up at you, and you look... wounded.

"Yeah? What about him?"

You huff, "About how he's so great."

Eddie frowns, "Look, sweet thing, I know you don't like Allie, but why are you so upset she's with Michael?"

You look like you're about to burst into tears, and Eddie is scared he's said the wrong thing.

"Because I should be with him." You put and cross your arms.

"You like Michael?" Eddie is surprised because Gonzalez is a douchebag, and you're a sweet angel.

"Not anymore," You harshly wipe at your eyes, "We used to date."

Eddie's heart frowns, "And Allie...?"

"Took him from me!" You sniffle; Eddie's heart breaks.

"I sound childish," You determine, trying to blink back the onslaught of tears approaching, "But she just took him, and she doesn't even care about how I felt. Y'know she told me you were going to lure me and sacrifice me? How cruel is that?"

"That's... wow. Allie really is a bitch, isn't she?"

You solemnly nod as Eddie wraps his arm around you. You soften into it.

"For what it's worth, Michael's an idiot." He mutters into your hair.

"An idiot?" you look up at him, eyes all big and watery.

"An idiot to lose a girl like you."

"Can I kiss you?" You realize after you've said it that you sound lame, but as Eddie ducks down to place his lips on yours, you couldn't care less.

You dial your home's number into the phone, twisting the cord around your finger, kiss-bitten lips, and a wide grin.

The phone rings once, twice, three times, then your mother answers.

"Y/l residence."

"Mom," You all but gush, "I'm gonna stay over at a friend's tonight."

"Y/n? Who?"

"My friend Eddie," You're quiet, testing the waters.

"Eddie?" You can hear the apprehension in her voice, "A boy?"

"Yes, mom. A boy."

"Honey," She sighs, "You need to wash your uniform. I trust you, but..."

"But?"

"I don't want you staying over at his house. I don't even know him."

You shake your head at an excited Eddie, whose mood sours.

"Okay. I'll see you in a little." You sigh, hanging up.

"No dice?" Eddie asks, already knowing the answer.

"No dice." You confirm, and you both frown.

"Bye, princess," Eddie says as you open the door to the van

"Bye, Eddie," You smile, happy with the outcome of your study sesh.

You scream into your pillow that night, murmuring: "I kissed him." Over and over, still shocked.

"I forgot to give this to you yesterday," You push a piece of folded paper toward Eddie.

"What is it?"

"Just... open the paper."

You've drawn a cute bunny. Eddie smiles, "For me?"

"For you."

"This is so metal, babe."

You laugh, "Are you sure about that? It's a bunny."

"Most metal thing ever." He affirms.

The next day after class, Eddie shows you a tattoo of a small bunny on his arm, right next to the bats.

"You—" You point at his arm, "You got it tattooed?"

"'Course I did, sweet thing. Most metal thing ever, remember?"

You stumble into the cafeteria with Eddie.

"Oh my god!" You laugh, and all eyes are on you. You, the princess of Hawkins High, are laughing—not at, but with Eddie Munson.

Eddie Munson, the school freak.

"I cannot believe you got it tattooed."

"Believe it, babe."

And, for the first time, you walk right past the "popular kids" table. You sit next to Eddie, unbothered.

thank you for reading, lovely ₊˚.༄

mutuals ଘ(੭ ˊᵕˋ)੭*༺ ♡‧₊˚ @forourmoons @lucasnclair @vampieteeth @sw34terw34ther @imshiningjustforyou @doyouknowwhoyouare13 @maddipoof @meredarling @masivechaos

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persevereforahappyending · 3 months

Text

Luck Runs Out |Part 2|

Pairing: Mabel x Reader

Summary: When your luck runs out you unknowingly drag Mabel back into the life, she's so desperate to escape.

Warnings: Mention of drugs, Mention of abusive/toxic relationships

Word Count: 4.5k

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Mabel sighed, relieved to finally be home. She slung her backpack off, tossing it onto the kitchen table, as she also tossed her keys onto the counter. She was seriously regretting taking summer courses. She didn’t load up on classes, but she wanted to take as many as she could as fast as she could, since she was going back to school so late, she felt like she had some catching up to do. Her first year was all about taking core classes, basically re-learning everything she learned in high school, pointless but she guessed sort of necessary. Now that she was in her second year she was finally getting into the classes for her major, which was exciting in the moment but was now killing her.

She pulled out her phone from her back pocket when she felt it buzz, rolling her eyes as she saw Charlie’s name light up the screen. They broke up a few months ago and he still called her, it was hard to get over someone when they kept trying to insert themselves into her life. Charlie had been great, he was what Mabel thought she wanted, but as much as she cared about him, as much as she had loved him, they just weren’t right for each other. Charlie was content to work on the fishing boat with his brother and even help out his dad with the business side of things. Mabel couldn’t fault him for that, he loved it, and he was doing a great job, their little fishing company had come so far in just a year, they were still starting out but with his dad investing they were making quick progress. Mabel just wanted more, she wanted to finish school, she wanted to make something of herself, she wanted to get out of this town and see the world.

Mabel had never been anywhere, she’d barely even left the state, always needing to stay close to home for one reason or another, she dreamed of adventure and Charlie wouldn’t give her that. When she broke up with him, he had offered to do better, to try harder. He didn’t understand that he wasn’t the problem, that Mabel just wanted a different life than him. It was fun while it lasted and she still loved him, she was pretty sure she always would, but they just weren’t on the same path anymore. She was sure Charlie would drop everything and go on a trip with her, he would sacrifice what he could to make her happy, but she didn’t want him to, she didn’t want him to give up on his dream and what made him happy just to be with her.

Mabel stared at the ringing phone before tapping the red button, sending him straight to voicemail. It was better this way, he just needed to move on, he was a great guy and he’d find someone who wanted the same out of life as him. Mabel walked over to her bed, flopping face first and let out a tired groan, her face buried in the sheets. She felt the phone vibrate in her hand again, she lifted her head to see Charlie calling once again. She didn’t hesitate this time, tapping the red button before dropping her head back into her mattress again. Not a second later her phone was vibrating again.

“Dude!” Mabel spat as she aggressively answered the phone. “Take a-”

“Open the door,” he said, sounding out of breath.

“What?” She sat up, looking across the room at her front door just as rapid banging began on said door.

“Open the door, please.” He sounded desperate, his breathing heavy.

She kept the phone to her ear as she walked to the door, opening it with a furrowed brow. Her eyes went wide at seeing Charlie, phone in one hand, while his other arm was wrapped around you. Costa was on your other side with an arm wrapped around you, most of your weight leaning on him as Charlie had been trying to call her. She watched as the two guys silently begged her to enter. She stepped aside not knowing what else to do, she watched as they dragged you to her bed, gently laying you down as best as they could. When they stepped away, she saw Costa’s shirt covered in blood, in the spot you had been leaning on.

Mabel walked closer, getting a good look at you. You were soaked, you shivered, whether from the wet clothes clinging to your body or the fever you were clearly running based on the sweat coating your brow she didn’t know. There were dark circles under your eyes which remained closed the entire time, you silently flinched with each movement as if you were in pain. Mabel furrowed her brow at you, you looked familiar, like she had seen you around town a few times, but she didn’t know you, she’d never spoken to you. When her eyes drifted down to the rest of you, she zeroed in on your right shoulder, your jacket was soaked with blood.

Charlie and Costa got to work, taking off your jacket and tossing it onto the floor. Costa moved to your feet, taking off your boots and soaked socks, tossing them into the same pile. Mabel couldn’t take her eyes off your shoulder though, there was a small rip, that’s where the blood was darkest. Charlie was trying to look into the hole without actually touching you.

“What happened?” Mabel asked, she barely felt her lips move before the words came out. She couldn’t take her eyes off the wound on your shoulder.

“What happened?” Mabel asked again, this time louder when neither of the boys so much as turned to her.

“She was shot,” Costa said.

“What!” Mabel’s eyes went wide, just as Charlie ripped part of your shirt. She finally got a good look at the wound, they were right you had been shot, it was still bleeding. “Why did you bring them here?”

“We need your help,” Charlie said, finally turning to face her. Mabel looked at Charlie, his eyes wide, his hands now covered in your blood and shaking. She had never seen Charlie like that, even during everything that happened last year, Charlie always came off as calm, like he wasn’t afraid of anything.

“You need a hospital,” she tried to reason. She didn’t know why they thought she could help, she didn’t know anything, they needed to take you to the hospital.

“We can’t.”

“Why not?” The boys looked at each other, silently debating in they should tell her not. “You bring someone with a gunshot wound to my apartment, as they’re bleeding out in my bed,” Mabel snapped. “I deserve to know why you can’t take them to the fucking hospital!”

“Drugs,” Charlie finally snapped. Mabel’s eyes went wide, no, no, there was no way she was being dragged back into that scene. She just got out, after everything that happened last year, she was out, she was in school, she was trying to do something with her life. “Drugs,” he whispered again, dropping his eyes to the floor.

“Get out,” Mabel whispered.

“Mabel,” Charlie said softly.

“Get out!”

“Mab-”

“No! No, you can’t do this to me. You can’t bring this here. I don’t want any part of this.”

“Neither did we!” Charlie stepped closer, he reached for her hands, but she pulled away, crossing her arms. “I don’t know what’s going on,” he admitted, staring at her with those puppy dog eyes of his, begging her to understand. “I just-all I know is-” he looked back at you, you were getting progressively worse, looking paler by the minute. “They need our help, and I can’t just let someone die,” his voice broke.

“Why me?” Mabel asked, her eyes not leaving your face. She knew she was already going to help; she couldn’t just ignore someone bleeding out in front of her, ignoring the fact that said person was literally in her home.

“I didn’t know who else to go to. I just figured you might know how to help…” he trailed off his eyes finishing his sentence ‘because of your mom and your history with this stuff’.

Mable closed her eyes and slowly let out a breath. She wasn’t a doctor, not even a nurse, but she learned from a young age how to patch people up. Mabel clenched her jaw, shaking her head at the memory of her childhood, she had been just ten when she first helped her mom with an overdose. She had to patch up her mom when she couldn’t meet payments and her dealer got angry. She had to learn how to stitch up wounds with what she had when a boyfriend of her mom's would come in with a gash on his head or a knife wound in his gut.

“I need a rag and a bowl of water,” Mabel said, Charlie already moving to the kitchen, nearly tripling over his own feet in the process. “There’s a first aid kit in the bathroom.” Costa ran, coming out a moment later with the kit. “Was it a through and through?” She asked walking over to scrub her hands with soap and water. She didn’t have gloves, but she could get her hands as clean as possible at the very least.

“What?” Charlie asked confused as he held the bowl of water and rag.

“The bullet,” She pushed past him, making her way to your bedside. “Does it have an exit wound?”

“I don’t know,” he looked at her confused.

Mabel suppressed an eye roll before gently touching your shoulder, lifting you off the bed just enough for her to see behind you. “It does,” she mumbled.

“Is that good?”

Mabel nodded, “Means we don’t have to try and dig it out and risk more damage.”

Mabel got to work, wiping the blood around the wound, you winced whenever she applied the slightest bit of pressure. She cleaned the front and back before taking some gauze out of the med kit, putting it on the hole in the front then some in the back before she began to tightly wrap it. When she was done and satisfied with the wrapping, not worried it was too tight and cutting off circulation or to loose, she leaned back with a sigh.

She started to reach for her phone when she noticed the blood staining her hands. She got up and went back to the kitchen, scrubbing away as much blood as she could. She glanced back to see the boys standing around awkwardly, Charlie acting like he had never been in her place before, as if he didn’t spend almost every night there when they were together.

“Can you get them up?” Mabel asked. “We need to change the sheets and get those wet clothes off.”

They nodded and got to work, one of them gently lifting you up, while the other stripped the bed. Mabel ran to her dresser, digging through it until she pulled out a large shirt and some sweatpants. Charlie helped guide you onto the couch in the corner, away from the bed. Mabel got down on her knees and began to strip you down as well. She threw the wet clothes into a pile with the other stuff. She made sure to quickly rub a towel down your body, minding your wound to make sure you were dry before, with some slight difficulty, getting you dressed in the new dry clothes. When she was finally done, she turned to see the boys finishing putting the clean sheets onto the bed.

Mabel put one arm around you, struggling to lift you off the couch before Charlie ran over, wrapping an arm around you as well. They led you to the bed, your body leaning on Mabel as Charlie pulled back the sheets then as gently as she could Mabel laid you down. She pulled the covers all the way up to your neck. She could see you still shivering, your skin was freezing, paler than she knew a person could get.

Mabel reached for her phone again, scrolling through her contacts until she found the name she was looking for, a name she never wanted to call. She pressed the name, taking a second to take a deep breath before bringing the phone to her ear.

“Who are you calling?” Charlie asked.

She ignored him, choosing to stare at you, needing the reminder as to why she was calling this person. “Hello?” A man answered the phone. Mabel’s breath caught in her throat at hearing his voice.

“I need your help,” she said, trying to maintain her composure.

“Oh?” Mabel could practically hear his smirk.

“I need you to bring pain meds,” Mabel continued, refusing to allow him to say anything more. “And anything you’ll need for a gunshot,” she whispered as she looked back at your unconscious form.

“What have you gotten yourself into?” it wasn’t concern in his voice, it certainly would never be that, it was curiosity. “What kind of trouble has the great infallible Mabel gotten herself into?”

“Just get here,” Mabel snapped. Her eyes instantly found Charlie’s, but she quickly looked away. She knew Charlie’s eyes were still on her, she could practically feel his concern from across the room.

The man let out a tired sigh. “You know this is going to cost you.”

“Whatever,” Mabel glared at Charlie, who frowned at her, giving her confused puppy dog eyes. Her eyes shifted, finding you again, a total stranger, but someone she couldn’t just let die. “You’re on a time limit.” She took the phone away from her ear, aggressively hitting the red button before he could say anything else.

Mabel sat in one of the chairs at the small kitchen table, her arms crossed, and jaw clinched, shaking her head. She was wishing she could time travel and go back to earlier when her only worry for the day was how exhausted she was from school and how she was going to get all her work done on time.

She glanced out of the side of her eye to see Costa and Charlie looking at each other, tossing quick glances at her. Costa started gesturing towards her and silently whispering at Charlie. Mabel closed her eyes, sighing, it was only a matter of time before one of them asked again.

“Hey, Mabel,” Charlie asked hesitantly. Mabel looked at him irritated, raising an eyebrow as she waited for him to continue. “Who was that?” he glanced back at Costa who was looking down at the floor, his fingers fiddling with the edge of the blanket on the bed.

Mabel sighed, calming herself down before answering, “A doctor.” Charlie’s eyebrows raised at that, he glanced at Costa as if to ask, ‘did you know about that?’ and Mabel followed his gaze to see Costa with the same look. Mabel had never mentioned the guy before, certainly never around Charlie, he had been out of her life for years before she even met Charlie. “He’s…” she clicked her tongue, thinking of the best way to describe the doctor. “Friends with my mom,” she settled on but if the boys saw the way she clenched her jaw on the word friends they didn’t say anything.

“Now,” she said, turning in her chair to fully face Charlie and Costa. “Tell me exactly what happened.”

Charlie grabbed a chair, pulling it near your bedside so he could still face Mabel and Costa, who elected to continue standing. Charlie sighed, resting an elbow on his leg as he ran a hand across his shaved head.

“We went out, early,” Costa spoke up. “There was a huge storm last night and we wanted to get out there as soon as possible. “We were on our way to a regular spot of ours when we caught sight of something floating in the water.” Costa looked down at you. “Turned out to be,” he gestured at you. “We got them aboard, saw the wound first, and then…”

“We saw the drugs,” Charlie finished. “There were three large packs,” he gestured with his hands trying to show how big they were. “Wrapped in plastic and taped up, like the one we picked up last year.” His eyes met Mabels, she knew exactly what he was talking about, she had seen it plenty of times, it’s how they packed the drugs for drops to make sure they didn’t get contaminated by the water. “They were bigger than the one we got though.”

“So much bigger.” It was Costa’s turn to start gesturing with his hands, trying to accurately represent the size. “Like three or four times bigger.”

Mabel sucked in a breath. The drop Charlie and the crew picked up last year was a small one, it was a one and done drop. What they were describing now though was much bigger, Mabel would bet money there wasn’t just three packs, that there was a lot more somewhere. The fact that three got loose from the others worried Mabel, three large packs was a lot of money to go missing, whoever was bringing these drugs in wouldn’t be happy.

“And did you leave it?” she asked. When she was met with nothing but silence, she looked from Charlie to Costa, seeing both of them suddenly finding the floor much more interesting. “Where is it?” she asked as calmly as she could.

“On the boat,” Charlie answered after a moment. “It’s hidden.”

“Good. Keep it that way.” She shook her head, this was so much bigger than last year, the crew had no idea what they were putting themselves in the middle of. They got lucky that last year Tom’s dad killed the dealers and got arrested, that was actually a best-case scenario. This was so much bigger and there was no one to dig them out of the hole this time, even if they didn’t intentionally involve themselves in it, even if they had only meant to help someone.

They were interrupted by three loud knocks on the door, making all three of them jump. Mabel got up from her chair but paused on her way to the door to turn and face the boys again. “Don’t say anything,” she said, pointing at each of them. She didn’t turn back to the door, ignoring another knock as she waited for both of them to nod in agreement.

She opened the door, seeing the doctor leaning against the door frame. He bumped her shoulder as he shoved his way in, not waiting for an invite. He walked through her place as if he owned it, glancing at the two men by your bedside who were now both standing, their arms crossed.

“It’s like you don’t trust me,” he said, looking back at Mabel.

“I don’t trust you,” Mabel replied, crossing her arms.

“Then why call?”

“You’re the only doctor I know who works off the books and can get pain killers.”

He smirked at her. Mabel glared up at him. “Where’s my patient?” Mabel glanced behind him at you. He turned without another word, setting his med kit on your bedside as he got a look at you. He got to work, moving to the sink to scrub his hands then pulling on gloves before he started peeling back the bandaging Mabel had done.

Mabel stood behind him, watching his every movement. She knew the man was a good doctor, he patched up plenty of people, saved plenty of lives, in and outside of the hospital. She wouldn’t classify what he and her mom had as a relationship, more like a mutual agreement, a business contract if anything. They definitely hooked up; Mabel was sure of that. Mabel assumed it happened when her mom couldn’t pay him. They first met when Mabel’s mom got rushed to the hospital for an overdose one time, Mabel had walked in on them whispering to each other and then the doctor handed her a pill bottle.

That’s how it started. Mabel’s mom might have worked with common drug dealers, selling, and cutting product but she got the good stuff from the doctor. She would get pain killers and all kinds of prescription meds from him; it was a side business he ran. He was also the first person they called when one of the dealers got too aggressive when Mabel’s mom missed out on a big deal and smashed a glass across her face, giving her a nice, jagged cut on the side of her head. Mabel stood in the doorway, watching as the doc picked shards out of the cut then stitched her back up. He always did things as if they were out of the kindness of his heart, but he always made people pay for his help, if they couldn’t pay with money, he was good at coming up with another means of currency.

“How’s it looking?” she asked after watching the doctor poke around your wound for a few minutes.

“Not bad,” he mumbled. “Missed anything vital, was a through and through, and you did a decent job cleaning it.” He looked back at her with a smirk, “Guess you did learn something from me.” Mabel rolled her eyes, she hated to admit he was right, she learned how to patch up so many wounds because of him, she just didn’t have all the supplies for properly dealing with a gunshot, well as properly as one can without taking the person to the hospital.

The doctor continued to work on you, cleaning up your wound and giving you a shot of what Mabel assumed was painkillers. Costa and Charlie actually did as she asked and remained quiet the entire time, though Charlie did glare at the doctor, not that he paid Charlie any mind. The doctor put new bandages on you then gently put your arm in a sling.

He stood up from the chair, packing up his kit then walked over to Mabel. Mabel looked up at him and he handed her a small pill bottle. “Two every twelve hours, got it?” Mabel nodded. “I left the wound open, so change the bandages twice every day and make sure to clean around the wound when you do so.” Mabel nodded along, taking in all his directions.

Mabel walked with him as he moved towards the door. Mabel even opened the door for him. He stepped out, putting his hand up to catch the door she had started to close. Mabel huffed, glaring up at him. He leaned down, his lips brushing against her ear, whispering for only her to hear as he said, “I’ll text you about payment.” He pushed off the door and disappeared back down the hall. Mabel slammed the door, clenching her jaw, she knew he was going to charge her something outrageous, but it wasn’t like she could just let you die.

“What was that about?” Charlie asked, cautiously moving closer to her.

“Nothing,” Mabel mumbled. She knew she should tell him; Charlie was rich and could more than pay whatever the doc decided she owed, and this was Charlie’s problem, he brought it to her door. She couldn’t bring herself to tell him though, she didn’t want him having to save her, even though this was all his fault.

His phone buzzed and as soon as he looked at the screen, he let out a loud groan. “Shit,” he whispered.

“What?”

“Tommy.” He quickly typed back a message. “He wants us back. We set out today only to come straight back after finding them,” he nodded back to your sleeping form. “We still need to get our catch.”

“Go.”

“What?” he was still texting Tommy, most likely arguing with him. “No. We can’t go. I can’t just drop this mess on your doorstep and then leave.”

“Yeah, it’s a pretty shitty thing to do,” Mabel deadpanned. Charlie looked up at her slightly shocked and was about to continue his argument or try and defend himself, but Mabel wouldn’t let him even get started. “But everything needs to seem normal. This is serious shit you’ve now gotten yourselves into. I don’t know what happened out there, but I know it can’t be good and whoever they were with,” she nodded to you, “can’t know you found them. You guys,” she glanced at Charlie and Costa. “Need to pretend everything is normal so you need to go on your run.”

“But-”

“Don’t,” Mabel held up a hand. “Everything is fine. Everything is normal. You don’t know anything; you’re going out for your catch. Don’t say anything to anyone and don’t do anything with the drugs. Got it?” she stared into Charlie’s eyes, making sure he knew how serious she was.

“Got it,” he finally said, nodding along. “Are you sure you’ll be okay with them?” he gestured back to you.

Mabel nodded. “They’re injured, I’m sure I can take them if they try anything.”

Charlie chuckled, Mabel couldn’t help but smile, it had been a while since she heard his laugh. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I know,” she shrugged. “I’ll be fine. We’ll figure this out when you guys get back.”

“Okay.” He gave Costa a nod and they made their way out, leaving Mabel alone with you.

Mabel locked the door after the guys left. There was no reason for her to suspect anyone would come looking for you here, but she was also on edge when drugs were involved. She walked around her place, cleaning up the mess, throwing away the bloody bandages, and even tossed your wet clothes into the dryer. She made her way to your bedside, looking down at you once again, you already looked better than when the boys had brought you over a few hours ago, the color was slowly coming back to your face.

Mabel caught a glimmer of silver around your neck, she had seen it before when she changed you into dry clothes, but she was preoccupied in making sure you didn’t die that she didn’t pay the shimmer much mind. She reached down, gently pulling the silver chain out from under your shirt. At the end of the necklace was a little silver trident, she tilted her head at it, she guessed it wasn’t completely unusual for a fisherman to have something of the sort, but it certainly wasn’t common.

Knowing she couldn’t leave you alone she grabbed her backpack, pulled out all the stuff she’d need and got her laptop set up. She usually did her homework on the couch but opted for the kitchen table. She had just enough space to spread out her work but was also close enough to you that she could be there if anything happened. Mabel opened up her laptop, and got to work on her homework, she couldn’t help but glance up at you every few seconds.

#mabel (finestkind)#mabel finestkind #mabel x reader #mabel x fem!reader #mabel x you #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x reader #finestkind 2023 #luck runs out

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symphonyofsilence · 11 months

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Honestly, it looks like at least after the Guanyin Temple, WWX is actively resisting understanding that JC still cares about him. JC takes a Stab to the chest for him, asks him why he didn't keep his promise & stay by his side, has a full breakdown over his sacrifice, gives him back Chenqing that he's kept for all these years, gets angry at JGY on his behalf, JGY spells out for WWX that JC is angry because he feels WWX was wronged, and that JC must have come to rescue not only JL, but WWX too, & targets WWX in the middle of the fight, fully trusting that JC would rush to his rescue, and he does. JC even thanks LWJ and holds a fallen WN. & I think one reason that WWX might be subconsciously fighting against getting all these clear signs and still avoiding JC might be that as much as he thinks he can’t handle JC’s wrath and blame and wants him to forgive him, he actually can’t afford JC’s forgiveness and unconditional love. Because he still blames himself for JZX’s and JYL’s deaths and even the massacre of Lotus Pier. & JC is the only one who has the right to be angry at him for all of these. He and JL. JC’s the only one who knew JYL & genuinely cared about her. WWX doesn’t think he deserves JC’s forgiveness. In fact, he looks terrified of it. Just look how quickly he turns from JC after thanking him for giving Chenqing back to him (Chenqing that after all these years still sounded like he had first used it. A very telling sign of JC's affection in itself.) Even though even JL who was watching from afar could say that JC had something to say to WWX:

JC is an outward force blaming him and being angry at him. WWX can tell him that he doesn’t know what to say to him when asked for an explanation, he can tell him that it’s all in the past. Let it go. he can beat the shit out of him. He can apologize to him and be judged by him. He can avoid him. Pretending that by ignoring him he doesn’t have to face the past. JC blames WWX and is harsh to him so WWX doesn’t have to fight himself and blame himself all the time. post-resurrection WWX keeps misinterpreting everything JC says and is unwilling to listen to him and get the hints JC keeps giving him about how he just wants WWX to come back home & interprets everything JC even doesn’t say in the worst ways he can bc it’s not so much about JC than it’s about WWX projecting onto JC. Because he thinks JC MUST be thinking that way. BC WWX thinks he deserves JC’s hatred. And judging by how he keeps misinterpreting JC even pre-time-skip, and in true WWX fashion fully believes himself to be right & doesn't second guess himself and or makes any effort to understand JC, & JYL is always the JC translator for him, from the moment she says to him that despite his tantrum JC is happy to finally have a playmate, to the moment she says that JC was the one who offered WWX name JL, and without JYL there to take their hands and pull them to meet each other in the middle the brothers can't communicate, Jiang Cheng has never been so much his own person in Wei Wuxian's mind as WWX's interpretation of him. WWX's shidi. An open book to WWX in WWX's mind. When he was not WWX's fragile shidi who needed protection (which @cerusee has written a great meta about here.), then he was WWX's betrayed, angry shidi who blamed him & resented him. If JC forgives him and continues to be his loving brother then it’s clear that the only one who can’t forgive WWX is WWX. and what is he gonna do about that?

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devildomwriter · 6 months

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First Things They Say to MC

Lucifer

“I will explain everything to you.” — (1-1)

Mammon

“Huh? Who the hell are ya? You ain’t Lucifer.” Or “Are ya foolin’ around? Who the hell are ya?” — (1-1)

Leviathan

“Do you realize what just happened? Mammon used you as a distraction to get away from me. …Or maybe I should say he used you as a sacrifice. I’ll admit that mammon is one of the scummiest scumbags you’ll ever meet…a total lowlife. But still, that was pretty dumb of you letting him use you like that.” *sigh* “This is EXACTLY why humans are— …Wait a second. Humans…yes, that’s it… Suddenly, I’ve got an idea. Listen, are you free right now? Of course you are. You’ve gotta be, right? You know what? Never mind. Either way, you’re coming with me.” — (1-10)

Satan

“Aha. So I’m that one, am I? Nice to meet you MC. I am Satan, the avatar of wrath.” — (1-2)

Asmodeus

“That’s right! It pretty much sums up what I’m about! Including my power. Let’s give a little demonstration! MC, could you gaze into my eyes for a moment? It’s okay, I don’t hurt you. Come on don’t be shy… …Wait a minute. There’s something about you…hmm…” — (1-2)

Beelzebub

“I’m Beelzebub, the avatar of gluttony.” — (1-2)

Belphegor

“…el… …elp… Help… Someone help me… Help… ….Over here! — (2-15)

Solomon

“Hey, you there. That’s right, I’m talking to you, the human with that frightened, tormented look on your face that demons love so much. You’re practically screaming, ‘Come and eat me! I’m scrumptious!’ Your name’s MC, isn’t it?” — (2-2)

Thirteen

“Ahahahaha! Ooh, that was just hilarious! You walked RIGHT into my trap! Well done, Mr. Bucket 3! WELL DONE!” or “Ugh, what was THAT?! Honestly, I don’t believe it! Mr. Bucket Number 3 was supposed to land on your HEAD not the floor!” — (65-3)

Simeon

“Well, hello, MC. I’ve heard a lot of rumors!” — (2-13)

Luke

“Never trust…mmrmhrm.” — (2-15)

Raphael

“…I have to say, I take that as an insult. You think I’m Michael? I do not appreciate being mistaken for that socially inept weirdo. My name is Raphael. Try to remember that in the future.” or “Correct.” or “…Wrong. If you don’t know, say so. Don’t just guess at random. My name is Raphael.”

Michael

“Hello there, MC.” *sigh*… “Here I am, finally getting to talk to you, and it had to be in a situation like this… Can you hear me, MC?” — (38-17)

Little D. No. 2

“Hello there, I’m Little D. No. 2! Ah, but call me Number Two if you would, mmkay?” — (7-10)

Mephistopheles

“Don’t touch that! …So, it’s you. It’s bad form to pick up someone else’s documents and start looking through them, you know? Don’t they teach you that in the human world?” — (63-1)

Barbatos

“…Ah yes, pardon me. I suppose we haven’t met before, have we? My name is Barbatos. I apologize for not introducing myself sooner. I have the honor of serving as steward to Lord Diavolo. Pleased to make your acquaintance.” — (2-13)

Diavolo

“Welcome to the devildom MC. …Oh pardon me. Feeling a bit shocked, are we? Well, that’s understandable. You’ve only just arrived after all. As a human it will probably take a while for you to adjust to things here in the devildom.” — (1-1)

#obey me thanks #obey me lucifer #obey me little d no 2 #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me asmodeus #obey me satan #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me solomon #obey me simeon #obey me luke #obey me Michael #obey me raphael #obey me mephistopheles #obey me diavolo #obey me barbatos #obey me thirteen

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nolongerapileofashprobably · 11 months

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Okay so my genuine thoughts on the final scenes of Totk

So having Link go through the final ‘dungeon’ and wind up exactly where we started the game, with those rocks we ACHED to break bc it was instinct, only to get that satisfaction after EVERYTHING and to see that Zelda’s fate was foretold millennia ago. Turning into a dragon WAS her only choice. And for good reason.

Ganondorf’s fight. WOW. That was genuinely so beautifully done. He ALSO dodges how Link does. To have Ganondorf dodge something, the entire action moving in slow motion, only to then have LINK do the same the next move?? Poetic cinema people. And the champions arriving 🥹 only to then have them all fucking thrown to the side when he takes in his doubles to regain his own strength? Absolutely insane and hands down my favorite boss fight in the entirety of the Zelda series. Yeah. That’s how much I enjoyed it as a player.

Can we also just talk about how concerned everyone got and how they yelled his name when he was taken from the underground??

And THEN the final fight with Ganondorf swallowing a secret stone and becoming a dragon. It brings Zelda’s sacrifice to light. She did it out of selflessness and love. He did it out of selfishness and hatred. GOD do I love characters that juxtapose each other. Zelda is a girl who was given the responsibility of a power she never wanted while Ganondorf is a megalomaniac who sought the destruction of peace because of his own selfish desires. Seeing the difference between them in that final fight as two dragons… it was EVERYTHING.

Zelda’s dragon form was tiny compared to Ganondorf’s dragon form. She protects. He attacks.

It’s so beautiful to see how Zelda, who isn’t mentally awake, first instinct are to save Link. She quickly maneuvers so she can not only juke out Ganondorf, but also then save Link who was flung into the air in the process. Link clutching onto her dragon fur? Or whatever?? And understanding that while the sages are all still underground, he is not alone in the sky. She’s going to be by his side this entire time.

For someone who was alone the majority of the last game… this was so fucking emotional and beautiful to see.

Them lowkey explaining calamity Ganon by also using dragons this game was a really nice consistency touch btw I was digging how focal dragons were to the entire game this time around.

And then the final bit. That SCENE. Rauru and Sonia channeling their power through Link, who was incredibly confused before he realized what they must be doing, and got SO determined. Turning Zelda back and even getting his own hand back in the process??? Insane to see. Zelda was so so loved by Rauru and Sonia despite only spending a short amount of time with them. And that just makes my heart hurt when we consider what actually happened.

And when Link falls unconscious, which is completely logical when you think about the fight he just went through, the altitude he was at, and channeling enough magic that it reversed the effects of an all powerful secret stone???? Yo he went through a LOT!

And he wakes up, already on the alert bc man is freefallin only to then realize that Zelda is back and she’s also falling. And she’ll hit the ground a lot sooner than he would at the rate they’re going.

Link couldn’t reach Zelda in the beginning of this entire thing. But this time? This time he not only reaches her hand, but he pulls her in close, shields her head as best as he can, and prepares them to hit the water. Once they do, he carries her out of the water. Gentle, oh so gently, laying her down and kneels over her as she begins to wake up.

And one of the first thing Zelda does as she wakes up is to take him in and looks him over to see if HE’S hurt. Just like she did in the beginning of the game. And everything click. They won. He defeated Ganondorf and she was granted the impossible by Rauru and Sonia to turn back into a human.

And Zelda IMMEDIATELY rambles on about everything. About how much has happened. How much she has to tell him.

And finally. Finally. She looks at him and smiles so fucking gently that it drives me INSANE with how much she obviously adores him, and says, “I’m home, Link. I’m home.”

Because home is right there. Right by his side. In this Hyrule that they’ve been rebuilding together. The one they lived the past half decade ish together in a house Link bought and traveled across Hyrule no matter what the issue was. In the Hyrule where she is so beloved by everyone.

Zelda is home.

#and if that doesn’t make you SOB then I don’t know what will #this was an absolutely insane game and I’ve still got so much to do #don’t even get me started on the fact that you build a dream family home in this game too.#like. that tells us SO MUCH #they’re in love your honor #botw zelink #zelink #totk zelink #totk spoilers #loz totk spoilers #loz tears of the kingdom spoilers

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abibliophobiaa · 11 months

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Beyond — s.h. x f!reader

Chapter Three: Marry Me, Today and Every Day

a/n: here’s chapter three of my purely self-indulgent fun, which shouldn’t be taken very seriously, if at all fic. haha. wanted to play around with one of my favorite tropes, so here we are with modern day!rich!fake husband!steve harrington x afab!reader. next chapter we get down to business, and maybe things will start to take a turn for these two. who is to say? also--the book r is reading is an actual fanfic by @blueywrites that you most definitely should check out. haha. just a fun little easter egg.

warnings/tags: hugely unedited (10k words); mentions of alcohol; parent loss, both parties; r has a sister and father; smut in later chapters, so 18+, minors dni; additional tags to be added.

masterlist

Sweat slicks your palms. Brings an awareness to every inch of your body as you pace around your bridal suite. Fear permeates every nerve ending. Sets them alight with a new sort of panic. This daunting, unrelenting, overwhelming knowledge that in less than an hour you’ll be a wife.

In less than an hour, you’ll be the new Mrs. Steve Harrington.

A Harrington.

Married to a man who you barely know, and yet his is the name you splutter out when your father asks what you need, noticing the staggering rise and fall of your chest, palm over your sternum where your heart races beneath.

The room clears out then. Faces pass in your peripheral vision, all varying degrees of worry lining them. Whispers, you’re certain, from your soon to be mother-in-law and Steve’s grandmother, over if you’re getting cold feet.

And it’s not that.

Not really.

You’ve resigned yourself to the understanding that this is what’s best for right now. Marrying Steve pays for your student debt, which gives you the liberty to find work in the interim while finishing up veterinarian school, and thus aids in assisting your father in taking care of what he needs to.

With money not being a worry in your mind, all your efforts can be in assisting the man who gave you life and lost his own love too soon. All your efforts can be put into that little girl with fire in her eyes and love in every inch of her bones—even when she’s trying to hide it in her cell phone, on social media, or scrolling through TikTok. It’s a sacrifice you don’t have any lingering regrets over.

He stands there in his tuxedo and wire frame glasses, hair styled back to perfection in a way that’s still so strikingly him, and yet elevated in a way you’ve not seen him before. Your head photographer, Jonathan, waves the rest of his crew out of the room when he realizes you’ll be needing a moment, the rest of the bodies filling the space finally slipping out of the room one by one until it’s just the two of you remaining.

“Wow,” he breathes out, swiping his palms against the front of the black tux, eyes roving your form. “You look—wow.”

“I, ah, thank you.” You allow your eyes to trail his form. The head to toe dress attire, the effortlessness in which he holds himself. Handsome, disturbingly so, and he never acts like he’s fully aware of the effect he has. “You clean up well, Mr. Harrington.”

He chuckles and suddenly you’re just a girl, and he’s just a boy, standing in a room together, taking in one another. It’s a slow perusal. Him, handsome as ever, in all black, save for the little floral arrangement on his chest that mirrors the one you’ll be carrying when you walk down the aisle, the glasses he’s wearing for the evening, and the gold watch around his wrist.

“Are you okay?”

He steps closer, hand extending slightly before it drops back to his side. Like he thinks better of it, like he doesn’t feel right about being near to you. It’s been that way since your bachelorette party. Since the moment he kissed you and forgot that next morning. The look in his eye when he stated plainly he didn’t remember much at all about the moment where you wondered, if only briefly, that there might be something more to this arrangement than two people entering a business deal.

From that moment on, he’d made himself very busy, and you spoke little. Figured it was likely better that way. No way to muddle the lines established in your fake marriage. Better now than when you’re deeper into the arrangement, and delusion might have arisen.

But now, in this moment, you need that nearness. Crave the touch of the only other person who understands what you’re going through. The only other person who appreciates the depth of the nervousness pooling in your belly. Circling around your heart like a vice. Clawing at your lungs to leave you breathless.

“I’m just nervous,” you admit, trying to keep the frustrated tears at bay by inhaling deeply. He moves closer, thumb brushing along your right hand to where you’ve moved your engagement ring until after the ceremony when it’s joined by your wedding ring. “We’re doing something absolutely insane.”

“Completely,” he agrees, and those fingers drag along the inside of your palm. Your fingers reflexively tighten around his, comforting warmth seeping into flesh. “But you can say the word and I’ll call it off now.”

“You’ll let me be a runaway bride?”

It’s a watery laugh that prompts Steve to grip your other palm in hand as well, giving both a gentle squeeze. Your eyes wander downward to the two tethers anchoring you to earth in this moment, then to the kind face of the man who is to be your husband in minutes.

“Just say the word and I’ll come up with an excuse why it couldn’t happen.”

“No. No. I’m marrying you today, Steve.”

He blows out an exhale. A stray hair falls down into his eyes at the motion, and your fingers hesitantly reach up to push at it. His stare pierces you, hazel eyes warm as you card your fingers through dark locks, feeling them shift and move beneath your fingertips, impossibly soft and lush.

Gently, ever so gently the hand curling in your right one loosens and circles your wrist like a bracelet. Rests briefly over your frantic pulse point, before trailing along the back of your arm. Faint brushes of skin back and forth, back and forth, loosening that breath presently hitched tight in your chest.

“How about this,” he begins, eyes darting to where gooseflesh starts to prickle along your skin. You chalk it up to the AC unit in the bridal suite, meant to block out the heat of the city in summer. “When you walk down the aisle, you only look at me. Don’t look at anyone else, okay? It’s just you and me out there, no one else matters. Eyes on me.”

“Okay.”

A long exhale leaves your mouth. Lungs deflate with the deepest breath in what feels like hours now. Steve’s fingers extricate themselves from yours in those moments of quiet, footfalls of his leather shoes clacking along the floor as he makes his way over to the door. His hand curls around metal when your voice breaks into the resounding silence, quiet and minuscule for you, and you loathe to admit there are nerves that still cling to every fiber of your being over what you’re about to do in front of hundreds of literal strangers.

“Steve.”

It’s simple. But he turns quickly, barely opens his mouth to speak when you rush forward and wind your arms around his waist. And there’s no protest. No argument as broad arms twine around your waist. As they rest low against your back, radiating warmth and comfort.

He remains like that, quiet and steadfast, until you’re both ready. Until you lace your fingers with him and he leads you to where your father stands ready to walk you down the aisle. He hands you off to the older man, rests a comforting palm on his father-in-law’s shoulder and dips his head once. Tips his head in your direction and offers you a kind smile.

“Eyes on me,” he reminds you.

“Eyes on you.”

So it begins.

There’s a ring on Steve’s finger. You notice it as you sit beside him at your sweetheart table, as strangers and friends alike offer you congratulations and greetings in support of your nuptials.

Because you’re married now. Freshly Mrs. Harrington.

In a whirlwind of emotion, you’d walked down the aisle onto that beautifully lit private rooftop. Admired only briefly the weeks of wedding planning spent with your new mother-in-law and followed Steve’s directions.

Eyes on him to block out your surroundings, eyes on him to ignore the shutter of Jonathan’s camera, of the other photographers milling about. Eyes on him as you heard the audible sniffles of Steve’s family and your own. Eyes on him as the officiant had you recite words that would bind you to Steve as you slid rings on each other's fingers. Empty words that felt like ash on your tongue. Nearly choked you as you spoke them out loud in front of hundreds of people. Declarations of a devoted love shared between kindred spirits wanting to spend the rest of their lives together.

And you’d kept your eyes on him as you were declared husband and wife, as your new name was announced to that rooftop gathering, as they’d announced Steve could now ‘kiss the bride.’

He’d been warm and welcome. Lips brushed against yours with a gentleness that had your head spinning, stomach swooping low in your belly. When he leaned back to take you in, his palm, the one where his new wedding band sat, cupped your face. To others, a sign of affection. To you, a reminder that it was only you two up there. Even as he leaned down and pressed his forehead to yours, as the room erupted into applause, and he whispered to you.

“Keep looking at me until we get back inside, okay?”

A simple sentence. A comforting command meant to quiet your fears with the sound of his voice and the touch of his hand against yours.

Now you sit in a romantically lit room, all atmospheric blues dancing along the walls draped in white with your new first initial of your last name highlighted on the dance floor. Beside you, Steve chats enthusiastically with a man and woman, who offer you remarks on your appearance. It’s all you’ve heard all evening. Comments on your new marriage, how beautiful you look, how happy everyone is for you two.

You find it eases that tension, helps you settle in against your chair, still holding your husband’s hand as you sip daintily at a glass of champagne. That and Steve’s constantly checking in on you, making sure you’re okay, offering to grab you another drink despite the fact wait staff quite literally answers your every beck and call. There’s a gratitude toward him that rests behind your ribs, an appreciation regardless of the confusing few days you’ve had as of late with him.

Your husband who is not. A man you share a name with and only that. Who you signed paperwork with and will be heading off on a honeymoon with come morning. A man whom you’ll be sleeping in a separate bed from tonight, when most would assume you will be consummating your marriage. There’s none of that, only a pre-planned understanding.

Agreements, plans, business deals.

Before your mind can venture any further, the Emcee announces your first dance as husband and wife. You’ve almost forgotten about this part in all your planning. Never really thought beyond the kiss at the altar. Even so, Steve’s cupping your hand and leading you into the center of the dance floor where a giant ‘H’ is emblazoned below, drawing you near to him in an embrace as the song begins and you’re swaying back and forth in the arms of your husband.

“I’m scared to death that she might be it, that the love is real, that the shoe might fit.”

“People are staring,” you point out, curling your hands around the back of his neck, resting your head on his shoulder.

“Today is our day,” he laughs against the top of your head. Warm breath puffs along your skin, shiver tingling your spine. “I think you've forgotten. Everyone is here to celebrate us.”

“She might just be my everything and beyond. Beyond.”

“You’re my husband.”

He chuckles again, chest rumbling near your ear as you sway, his broad hands against your hips, tugging you closer.

“Guess that makes you my wife, huh?”

“Space and time in the afterlife. Will she have my kids? Will she be my wife?”

Your nose wrinkles at the newness of your title. Wife. Wife. You’re someone’s wife now. And he’s your husband. Husband. You mouth the word once more silently to yourself, finding it unusual, tongue stumbling over it, and snort into his suit.

That hand around your right hip tightens. “Something funny?” he asks, but there’s a levity in his tone that has your mouth jolting upward at the corners.

“Just…this day.”

“I know,” he agrees, voice growing softer as he adds, “people are also staring because you are beautiful, you know?

“Steve.”

“It’s true.”

“Thank you,” you whisper, pressing closer to him.

“I know this day has been…stressful for you, but you’re not alone. There’s two of us now.”

“She might just be my everything and beyond.”

Your head tips back at his words, feeble mind stumbling momentarily over his compliment, heart thumping as you say, “Like a team.”

He grins. “Exactly like that. We’re the Harringtons now.”

“The Harringtons.”

The name falls easily from your lips, but your quiet conversation is disrupted by the clanging of glasses about the room. Silverware all around the room taps against the delicate surfaces, a continuous tinkering around you both that has Steve’s mouth parting slightly. The pink of his tongue swipes briefly across his bottom lip before he closes it once more, lines of his throat bobbing on a swallow.

“They want us to kiss,” you tell him, sliding one palm down from where it rests around his neck until it curves around the edge of his jaw. You tip his head your way slightly, eyes scouring face. “And will probably be wanting us to do so all night. So…guess we might as well put on our best show, huh?”

It continues for the duration of the evening. Kiss after kiss bestowed by your husband. Constant expected affection. His fingers laced between your own, your hand on his thigh, his head on your shoulder, lips at your temple, lips on yours. Over and over again for hours. This time in a way that the slight buzz you have from your champagne could never erase—from either of your minds.

The evening itself becomes fun. Music changes and you’re brought onto the dance floor with your new husband and the friends from your hometown, as well as the ones he’s made along the way. Strangers who become dance partners. Bodies twirling and swirling along the floor, hands tangling with hands, laughter pulling from your lips. Like this, with Robin and Eddie’s forms near to your own, you feel lighter. Like this, when the song changes and you sing the words out loud in a silly rush with Steve in the center as those around you egg you on, you allow yourself to let go. To be free. To enjoy the evening that is about you and Steve.

Before long your feet are aching. Heels are discarded beneath you at your table, hand in Steve’s once more, as your closest friends give speeches. For Steve, it’s a rushed flurry of words from Robin. She speaks mostly to the closeness they’ve developed in the short time they’ve been friends, but a bond that has easily etched deep between the two of them. Speaks of your time as her roommate, about how she’d only been kidding when she said maybe you should get out there and start dating and quickly fall in love with her friend. Laughs easily when she says maybe she should have introduced them sooner.

It almost feels real, the words she speaks—the words Eddie speaks as he grabs the microphone and draws it close to his lips. He ties his hair back quickly, sweat from dancing clinging to the bangs dancing along his brow, and he clears his throat. Unrolls a piece of paper that’s on the tiniest scroll you’ve ever seen, but rolls all the way down to the floor when he unfurls it. The room bursts into enthusiastic laughter, your chest aching in adoration at the first words he speaks.

“You see…before I knew Steve, I knew his new wife. We grew up together in some shit hole town—I can curse, right? Sorry for all the kids here. Anyway, we grew up together…as I was saying. So when she asked me if I’d still love her if she did something stupid, I was thinking she meant a prank. Steve, just a heads up, your wife is a menace. A total damn menace. But I'm sure you knew that already.” He pauses for a moment as Steve chuckles, nodding his head in agreement, then continues, “And then she goes and falls in love with this guy. Big boy Harrington.”

Another round of laughter echoes in the room, and Steve grips your hand tighter in his where it rests against his lap.

“Pretty stupid, huh?” He chuckles to himself, folding the microphone against his waist for a moment as he bows, thanking the crowd for their involvement. “But it’s not that stupid when I really think about it. Because these two are some of the best people I know. Really and truly, and it makes sense that we’re all here right now. Right here in this room. Two people like this are meant to find each other. Drawn together by some…cosmic force. I mean, look at them! Have you ever seen two people so in love?”

The room leans in. Swells with emotion as Eddie sniffles audibly. This part, you know, is part of his speech. He’d read it to the two of you the night before, just as Robin had. Those around you don’t know, but you do. And still, your guests are nodding in agreement. Some are dabbing napkins into the corners of their eyes, swallowing down knots of emotion welling in their throats. Your own father glances your way with a fondness that cleaves you down the center, ears ringing as Eddie continues the rest of his speech, filling the cavity with guilt.

Clapping hands draw you from your silent reverie, followed only by the sound of metal meeting glass once more. The sound of your heart pounding in your ears as Steve slides a hand along the side of your face and leans down for the umpteenth time that evening, stilling your mind with the glide of his mouth against your own.

Soon enough, the bouquet has been tossed, the garter awkwardly collected from your thigh, and cake has been shared between the two of you, sugary remnants that linger in Steve’s hair (a mental note made to never mess with his hair ever again upon fear of death in your marriage) still visible as guest stand on either side of an aisle outside where a car is waiting for the two of you, lit sparklers dancing to life in their hands.

Your eyes meet his. “Ready to go?”

He grips your hand. “We’re in the home stretch now.”

Seventeen hours.

Seventeen hours is what it takes for you to arrive in the Maldives. Plus the time spent traversing you two across the main private island to your smaller bungalow only accessible by boat. You’ve barely had time to take in the beautiful sights, tiredness clinging to every limb, by the time the two of you are deposited on a dock leading to the place you’ll be staying for the next five days.

Steve clambers down onto the wood beside you, his own form looking a little worse for wear. He’s not spoken in quite some time. Neither of you have, really. Not since you returned to your penthouse after the wedding and slipped out of your wedding clothes. Nor when you parted down opposite ends of the hall. Even at the airport your conversation had been simple, pleasant, easy chatter about the weather and what you might do when you get to the island.

“Look how beautiful!” You enthuse, taking in the beautiful thatched roof of your private honeymoon suite on the water.

Pretty purple light douses the building, casts that same hue across the surface of the lagoon that laps against the edges of the boardwalk. From where you're standing, you can see another pathway leading to an outdoor gazebo and dining area draped in flowing cream curtains that billow in the gentle caress of the breeze around you.

You turn to look at your husband. “Wanna go explore?”

He yawns, head dipping as your guide lingers behind on the boat, wishing you two a lovely first evening on your honeymoon. Inside you’re met with a beautiful living room with sliding glass doors that lead to a deck, fully stocked with a jacuzzi, pool, and a sunken outdoor bath. Tired bones scream at the prospect of using them, though you proceed further into the suite. There’s a beautiful kitchen with the option of a private chef, a gym, an indoor spa you know you’ll be utilizing, the master bathroom with a tub that looks like it could fit ten people, and finally…the master bedroom.

The suddenness of your realization dawns, because your eyes immediately hone in on the one bed. A king bed, but only one all the same. You’re tired, you’re so tired that all you want is to peel back the covers and clamber in, but this throws a wrench into those plans. That clarity must also hit Steve, because he’s dropping his things to the ground and walking around the side of the bed to grip a pillow in hand, and begins making his way toward the entrance of the bedroom when you splutter audibly.

“Where are you going?”

He cards his fingers through his hair, exasperation lining those withdrawn features. “There’s a couch I saw in the living room.”

You shake your head, reaching out to cup his bicep. It instantly tenses under your fingertips. You don’t dwell on it, and instead argue, “You’re going to kill your back. We’re here for five days. We’re adults…we can share a bed.”

It’ll be like a sleepover. An adult sleepover where no sex is involved. Definitely not on your honeymoon—and definitely not with the man you married nearly twenty-four hours ago who you know very little about. You don’t know his birthday, his likes, dislikes…you don’t even know his favorite color, his favorite show, or if he’s a dog or cat person. Sleeping in the same bed as him will be a cake walk. Nothing to even worry about. A mere blip on the radar.

“I just…I don’t want…” He exhales deeply, and you finally notice the dark circles under his eyes. “You’ve already done enough by uprooting your life and marrying me—”

“It’s a bed, Steve.”

That seems to quiet the tension in his shoulders. They drop into a slouch, his form trailing back over to the side of the bed facing the wall when you clear your throat, awkward laugh breaking into the otherwise silent room.

“I like to sleep facing the wall,” you say gently, noticing the slight downturn of his lips. “But I’m assuming you do as well, so for the sake of both of our sanities I can sleep facing the door.”

He shakes his head vehemently. “No. No, I’ll take the door side. I can handle a few nights.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. Happy wife, happy life, right?”

Your lip twitches upward. “You don’t snore, do you?” You ask teasingly.

“I…don't think so. But I’m sure you’ll tell me if I do,” he says, moving himself around the bed once more. He settles down against the mattress, testing the surface beneath his palm. “Bed is soft.”

“I would hope it would be for a private honeymoon villa. Your mother really went all out, huh?”

Your head tilts upward, taking in the vaulted ceilings. Where you’re standing you can even hear the sound of water lapping on the deck outside your windows.

“Pretty sure she’s secretly hoping I extend the Harrington line this week.”

Your nose wrinkles at that. “We’re absolutely making a pillow wall after that comment.”

“I’m joking,” he grumbles, body falling backward onto the bed.

One thing you’ve learned about Steve Harrington? He’s dramatic—impossibly so. Sort of like Robin, though he’s more frustrated outbursts versus her nervous or frantic ones.

“Pillow. Wall.”

“Fine.”

You walk over to the bed where your husband lays with his eyes closed and forearm strewn over his face. Bare knees brushing his, you reach out and tug on his free hand splayed near his hip, trying to drag him upward to no avail.

“Stop being a big baby.”

“We just flew for seventeen hours,” he argues, sitting upright.

“Steve. Lift your hulking ass off the bed. The sooner you get up, the sooner we go to bed.”

Your new husband grumbles to himself as he stands to his feet, helping you pull down the comforter on the top of the bed. Satisfied, you pluck a few of the extra pillows and make a line down the center of the mattress, pointing out your side and his, before slipping into the bathroom to get ready for bed.

You follow your normal routine. Wash your face, brush your teeth, slip on a moisturizer. You change out of your clothes next, opting for a matching set of shorts and a tank top, before tossing your street clothes into a laundry bin and sliding into your “Bride” slippers given as a gift by one of your friends at your bachelorette.

There’s a brief moment your eyes trail to the shower, where there’s glass paneling and a bench in the corner and then further to your right toward the gigantic bath tub you could practically swim in…and huff. Such a strange thing to be in this beautiful honeymoon hideaway with a man down the hall who regards you as a friend.

The same friend you now share a last name with.

Pushing the thoughts aside, you meander back down the hall to your bedroom for the next five days and come to find Steve laying on his stomach with his broad back on display, sheets hung low around his waist. You can map the various freckles and marks along his skin from where he rests, head resting on his forearm.

Smiling to yourself, you settle down into the bed and roll over to shut the lamp nearest your side of the bed. The room descends into darkness, and you whisper, “Goodnight,” before following him into sleep.

Pristine blue water surrounds you as far as the eye can see. The world is quiet from your home away from home for the week, save for the rustle of your book pages turning as you progress through the story and the sound of Steve’s fingers clacking across a keyboard. You exhale with a long huff, pushing your sunglasses higher up on the bridge of your nose.

Steve’s been working for hours now.

Since you both woke up, really.

Initially you had been a little miffed as you cooked up something for the two of you in your large kitchen, opting out of calling for a private chef to do so, and he pulled out his phone and laptop. You figured that was fine, up until the headphones went in while you sat down across from him and ended up sharing your breakfast in complete and utter silence.

On its own, that wasn’t so much an issue. What bothered you was your request to go outside and enjoy the sun together, and he’d agreed. In your mind, his intentions were genuinely to spend time with you. He’d slipped into a bathing suit and everything, only to join you on the sun deck with his leather work bag, laptop pulled out before you could even get in a word of protest.

“You know, most people enjoy their honeymoon,” you tease, turning the page in your book.

You find yourself needing to take a break anyway. The two couples in your book are on vacation themselves, and the main character kissed the dark haired hero on the makeshift dance floor after one of the hottest dancing scenes you’ve ever read occurred. And seeing as your own honeymoon is not heating up, you’re frustrated.

Increasingly so when he says, “This isn’t a typical honeymoon.”

“Weren’t you trying to wrap up the business before we came here?”

You recall a conversation you had wherein he said as much about wanting to make sure he’d be able to partake in the Maldives, but it seems those words were rang untrue.

“Yes, but…things happen.”

Your book thumps onto the lounger beside you. “You do realize everyone thinks we’re on a real honeymoon, right?”

He dips his head, sunglasses sliding down the bridge of his nose as he glances over the top of his laptop to glance your way.

“Your coworkers are going to be confused why you’re logged in for work while you’re here. I mean—look how romantic this place is!”

“I’m not following…”

Huffing, you curl your legs beneath you, shifting your body toward him. “You’re supposed to be…you know, giving me attention every hour of the day while we’re here. Ravishing me. Going at it like—non-stop. It’s supposed to be overly romantic. Flowers on the bed, sexy showers, no sleep, naked trysts in the kitchen—”

“Fine.” He shuts the laptop. Tucks it away in his leather bag. “I’m logging off. Happy?”

You grin enthusiastically. “Very, husband.”

Steve disappears inside for a moment, then appears once more with his phone in hand. You’re about to argue with him when he shows you he’s playing a game of solitaire—which you snort at, shoving him when his eyes roll—and slip your sunglasses back on over your eyes. Opening your book, Steve pushes at the back cover, leaning in close to try and read the short description on the back of what lingers inside the dog-eared pages.

“What are you reading, wife?” You catch the slight uptick of his lip; the smirk he tries to hide.

Conversation. Small talk. You can work with that. “To Know You’re Mine.”

He tucks his phone near his thigh. “What’s it about?”

“Swingers.”

“That’s very vague,” he points out. “Can you give me a little more than just ‘swingers?’”

Your brow arches. “Do you really care?”

“No, I’m asking because I’m bored.”

Shifting your chairs closer to one another, you flip the book over so he can see the front cover and start pointing out the little cartoon characters on the nondescript covers on shelves everywhere nowadays.

“So there’s these two who are dating, right? Have been for a long time. But it’s her first boyfriend and they live together. Then one day, he takes her to his friend’s show. And that’s where you then meet these two characters. Just so happens, they start swinging and…well, it gets really crazy. Do you want me to tell you the rest? I’m about…halfway.”

He nods his head and you explain the entirety of the plot so far. And maybe your honeymoon isn’t perfect, maybe jet lag kicks in and Steve starts to nod off right around the time you start explaining the chapter you’re up to, and maybe you have to nudge him to come inside so he doesn’t get sunburned.

Maybe you watch him as he lays down on the living room couch and you drape a blanket over his slumbering form. Maybe you settle down on another couch and roll over onto your side to look at him, your book long discarded on the coffee table. Maybe you allow yourself to roam his features, so much younger than his twenty-seven years when he’s resting like this—when he doesn’t have a whole company on his shoulders.

Maybe you close your eyes too and join him.

Suffering from jet lag, your first day is spent mostly lounging around. Sleeping off the long trip you’ve taken to get to where you are. Steve sits on his couch near you, and you sit bundled in blankets on the couch opposite. You watch reality TV, a show where couples pair up in a villa and try to make romantic connections, and scroll through social media. Allow yourself to click through different stories from your friends accounts, glance at the few articles printed, and scour the comments beneath regarding your recent wedding.

TikTok is blowing up with videos of you and Steve photographed with Eddie. You are in your wedding gown and Steve is beside you, hand in yours. He looks happy. Genuinely happy in a way that has you smiling over to where he sits, hazel eyes drifting your way curiously. You don’t even know how they got access to them in the first place, and likely don’t even want to know.

Overall, it seems like most are impressed and craving more photos. Wanting the inside scoop on the famous Corroded Coffin member’s best friends. No one seems to question the validity of the marriage, though there are questions as to why so quickly, but are snuffed out by those who make note that it isn’t like the two of you haven’t been in the same social circles for some time now. That it was a matter of time before the two of you realized love was always there, right in front of the both of you, and all you needed to do was reach out and grasp it.

By the next morning, you’re both awake and ready to take on the day, ordering a boat to the main island for your spa day. The prospect of a massage after the weeks spent planning your wedding sounds lovely, and you tell Steve as much, leaning into his frame as your guide asks how the first day of your honeymoon was.

“Amazing,” you gush, though you spent another night with a mountain of pillows between you and the man beside you. The only reason you’re close now is because they’re watching your interactions, gauging the newlyweds. “It’s so beautiful here.”

And that’s that, until you arrive at the spa booked for a private afternoon with your new husband, compliments of your new mother-in-law and the travel agent she’d worked alongside to make sure your accommodations were all you could ever dream of.

The only detail left out on your itinerary was the fact it was a nude spa. Fully. Part of some “bonding exercise” as the attendant explained before the two of you entered the hot spring, freshly massaged and draped in the coziest of robes to ever grace your skin.

You’re left alone with Steve in a darkened room warmed by the steam rising from the water’s surface, eyes dragging along his presently clothed form.

“I’ve seen your chest? You sleep shirtless, which…I mean, is fine. And uh…you’ve seen me in a bikini. It’s kind of like that, no?”

“Except now we’ll be naked.”

“Well, there’s that.”

“Yeah, that.”

“I mean, it’s not that serious. No cause for alarm bells,” you say, trying to ease the tension rolling off of Steve’s shoulders in waves. “I mean, you could always turn around and I can get in first. Just…eyes above the water level only.”

Steve rubs a hand along the back of his neck, nodding slowly. “Yeah. Sure. Okay, you go first.”

He doesn’t move for a moment, and you rush over the small deck to turn him around so he’s facing the wall. With his back turned, you untie the robe and drape it across a rack, then move over to the water’s edge to dip your toes into the water with a sigh. Warm water laps at your skin, coaxes you further into the hot spring until you’re settled down on a bench, water up to your shoulders, hopefully obscuring the rest of you from view.

“Okay, I’m in,” you announce. “You can get in. I’ll close my eyes.”

You pinch them shut in emphasis, clapping your hands over your face just in case. The sound of his bare feed padding across the deck reaches your ears, followed by the splash of what you assume to be a foot stepping into the water. It’s followed by a low exhale.

You pop your eyes open momentarily and Steve’s voice has you clapping them shut frantically. A shout of, “I’m not in all the way!”

“What are you waiting for?! Jesus to come back?!”

“Oh, I don’t know, to adjust to the warm water. It’s cold out here.”

You scoff. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I didn’t see your dick.”

“Can you not?”

“What? I didn’t!”

“I’m glad you didn’t!”

You scoff. “I mean, ow. That’s kind of rude. I’m your wife.”

“Did you bump your head and forget the part where we’re on a fake honeymoon, following our fake wedding?” He whisper-yells, still not moving down the stairs leading into the sauna.

“I didn’t say I want to see it! Don’t get too big of a head now,” you amend, eyes narrowing. “Steve, just get in, please.”

Your sigh of exasperation has him moving swiftly. Water ripples around your shoulders, gentle caresses against skin as he settles down beside you and announces you can open your eyes.

“There’s this dinner spot I think we should try out tonight. It’s on the main island, but it’s supposed to be really good,” he says after a while, drawing your attention to him. “I figure it could be nice to spend an afternoon out. Together.”

“Is my husband asking me on a date?” You tease, watching as his head submerges itself under the water, leaving you in solitude. “I’m kidding. Kidding, Steve. This seems on brand; my husband trying to escape me on our honeymoon.”

He emerges with a laugh, hair slick against his head, broad chest heaving up and down as he catches his breath. It’s then your eyes wander southward. Hitch on the hair lining his chest, the way it trails below the surface of the water, hinting at a downward path your heart clenches at the mere prospect of following.

Steve’s…well, your husband is handsome. You’ve known since you met him that first time nearly a year ago. But now, sitting there, with the ring you got him your ring on his finger as he cards his fingers through his hair. It…shouldn’t do anything, but it does. Bubbles to life feelings you would rather push away, sweep under a rug, ignore.

Deflect, deflect, deflect.

It’s easier this way.

Because he’s not your real husband in the ways that matter.

Capturing your current distraction as you continue to mindlessly stare, Steve taps your shoulder, drawing your gaze back to his face, your mouth twisting into a frown.

“Sorry, sorry. I wasn’t looking I—”

Scrambling to escape the moment, you start to rise a bit from the water, only for Steve’s gaze to stray. “Eyes up here, Harrington,” you tease, shoving at him and forcing him deeper into the water, hazel eyes bright and wide, holding you in place there in that sauna.

He laughs, spluttering as his head dips beneath the surface.

A deep, hearty, lyrical sound.

That laughter continues until dinner, where Steve brings you to a lovely outdoor restaurant on the beach. All around tables lit by candlelight outline the sandy floor. Little twinkling lights illuminate the space, hidden in the trees, curling around their slender trunks. It’s gorgeous, and you say so as your waitress congratulates you on your marriage while she seats the two of you, offering a bottle of champagne gifted by your mother-in-law.

Until it stops because of a simple sentence that makes Steve stiffen on the spot: “Are those the new Harringtons?”

It’s supposed to be easy. A business deal with a contract like the ones he’d grown up reading. An exercise his father had him do often: would hand him a detailed contract, pages thick, and see if Steve could find the faults within. It’s why he knows the one he drafted up for his own marriage was—or rather, should have been—perfect. But marriage contracts don’t account for persistent wives. For the types of women who seep into the crevices of your life and make themselves known.

And that, he finds quickly, is you. You’re vibrant and joyful and downright fun to be around, and try as he might to deny it, finds himself enjoying your company. But he’d told himself, from the moment on that rooftop when he’d asked you to marry him, that these things could only grow complicated if he allowed them to. If he allowed himself to open up, to feel, to wonder.

Such as this moment, presently staring him in the face. You are in that pretty, off the shoulder cream dress he’d seen you unpack back in the bedroom that clings to your every curve, as Carol and her husband, Tommy H, settle down at the table beside the two of you. And, naturally, you slip into easy conversation with them. Chipper chatter as you catch up on the happenings of your honeymoon so far.

“Isn’t it just so beautiful here? It’s actually our first time here too, but it has been so lovely. Have you two been able to get out and see anything? I’m sure you’re still in that first few days of your trip bliss,” Carol asks, waggling her brows teasingly.

“I…uh, what?” You pause for a moment, reaching across the table to grab Steve’s hand in yours. As if you’ve just remembered you’re married and are meant to play the part of a newlywed. “Oh, yeah…so we have a private bungalow on the water. So you can imagine…”

“That sounds so romantic. Ugh, honey—” She reaches over to clasp her hand around her own husband’s forearm fondly, as if she’s reliving memories of their own newly wedded bliss. “If you haven’t seen any beaches yet, you definitely need to. The water was so perfect. We also tried out this really lovely breakfast place. Great for a morning meal and it’s connected to the sweetest trail. Such pretty scenery here, isn’t there, Tommy?”

Tommy nods, turning to Steve when the girls slip into easy conversation, grinning widely. “She seems great, buddy. So happy for you.”

“She really is,” Steve admits, catching the profile of your pretty face. The upturn of your lips that has his heart careening into the pit of his stomach.

He hates when it does that, and it seems to do so all the time now.

He knows it’s not coincidental.

And that’s the problem, now isn’t it?

The charm you possess. The way Carol and Tommy talk to you like they’ve known you for years as opposed to the few minutes it takes to learn their background history. To find out that they know Steve from the private school they went to in the city. You quickly learn Steve and Tommy played baseball together, before Steve went to business school and Jason pursued the major leagues. They’ve not seen each other in years, so there are no hard feelings about not being invited to the wedding, but they’re happy for the two of you.

Steve told himself marrying you would be easy because he knew little of you. You’re his best friend Eddie’s best friend. You were previously Robin’s roommate. But up until your vows at the altar you were a name his friends would bring up in conversation, and now you’re central to a majority of his conversations, share a last name with him, have now shared a bed with him.

Luckily, there are only a few more days left of your honeymoon. A few until he’s back in the city, back to work, and back to normalcy. You’ll be heading back to school, he’ll have a semblance of reality he feels he’s been lacking, so wrapped up in wedding planning and get togethers, and he’ll have no questions as to why he’s finding it so hard to keep your marriage strictly as what it was always intended to be: a business deal.

For now he’ll have to deal with you grabbing his hand flirtatiously when an Emcee announces a competition for that evening that manages to put a new glint in yours and Carol’s eyes. An expectant glee for him to participate with you, keen on competition, despite his grunts of protest.

For now he’ll have to deal with the way your eyes meet him as a coconut is pressed between the two of you and the game of the evening is announced. Coconut smoochie, wherein two couples compete to bring the coconut between their bodies up to their mouths for a kiss, without using their hands.

For now, he’ll have to deal with the smirk that lines your lips as he starts shifting this way and that, coconut rolling between the two of you, sliding against his abdomen, his chest, your chest, your breasts.

For now, he’ll have to ignore the way you grin to yourself when Carol and Tommy drop their coconut behind the two of you, how satisfied you are when Steve manages to get the coconut under his chin and pinches it there.

“Harrington, you’re not so bad at this,” you tease, chest against his, hips against his.

One wrong move and—

“Can’t believe you got me to do this.”

“You’re on your honeymoon. Live a little. Life doesn’t have to be numbers and contracts all the time.”

And you’re right. He knows this. But he hates the way his stomach twists violently, how his heart clenches as your lips press against the coconut and the other side is pressed to his mouth. Hates how when you’re announced the winners and the coconut drops to the floor between you, his palms sweat as your arms come to curl around his waist.

Because you’re his wife, yes.

Technically.

On paper, at least.

But that’s all it can be.

This affair, this agreement—it has an expiration date.

Three years.

Three years and then you’ll be gone.

Lost to him, like so many others.

For the sake of your agreement, it has to remain that way.

Light seeps in through your bedroom window. A heaviness around your waist, like a weighted blanket, keeps you still. Comforted. Warm. A sigh spills from your lips, pleasant and happy. Contented. Burrowing deeper into that warm, you hum, relishing in the feeling of it. Of being cocooned, safe, held close.

Held close.

Held—

Head shifting, you come to notice Steve flush against your back. His hips against your backside, thighs tangling with yours, and that weight around you? Yeah, it’s connected to a wrist, a bicep—because it’s an arm. Steve’s broad arm cages you in against his bare chest. His warm, freshly tanned, bare chest. Those fingers around your hip curl tighter. The arm around you tugs you closer, though you’re not sure how much closer two people can be without climbing into the other person, and you realize the very…interesting situation you two have found yourselves in.

His body against yours. Your body flush against him. His breath in your hair, along your ear, his mouth near the hinge of your jaw. If he moves even the slightest bit, they’ll make contact with your skin. And you’ve kissed Steve enough times now to know said kisses are dangerous. They’ll only lead to dreaming, to questioning, to wondering.

You don’t have time for any of those things.

Your honeymoon is coming to a close soon enough. Only a few days left now, and then you’ll be back to your own lives. To normalcy. Or as normal as two people freshly married can be.

“Steve?” Your voice is quiet in an attempt to not startle the man holding you.

His mouth shifts near your ear. A low yawn spills against your jaw, heat fanning across your skin. “Yeah?”

“You’re squeezing me,” you point out, wiggling your body for emphasis. “Our pillow wall fell down in our sleep.”

But it’s in the wiggling against his solid form that you realize there are actually three people in the room. Your husband, yourself, and the warm, thick, long, and presently hard erection pressed against your bottom.

It’s also when you hear the slow exhale of your husband’s breath along the hollow of your ear. A telltale sound, even in the short time you’ve been married, that signals he’s hardly awake. Still in that wispy world between waking and sleep. Deciding to not rouse him further, you settle back down into his embrace.

Or rather, try to. When you do so, your body freezes on the spot. Cold water seemingly drops from a bucket onto your shared bed. Because Steve whimpers against your shoulder.

Whimpers.

A breathy, needy sound that has your stomach fluttering. And further still, as your heart rate picks up, realization dawns. Your knee involuntarily searches for its twin beneath the covers, thighs clenching around Steve’s thigh. This time, he moans. A deep rumble in his chest that vibrates along your spine, has your fingers clutching at his arm slung low around your hips.

“Steve,” you try again, pleading with whoever listens from above as Steve’s hips roll forward, cock pressing against your backside again, making your pussy flutter around nothing. Betrays you and your damn emotions. Your pillow swallows your moan, desire racketting in your veins. “Fu—Steve.”

Awareness grows. Waking follows. Steve starts to shift behind you, arm loosening from around your waist, chest slipping from your back. His form moves toward the headboard and you try to not miss the loss of his warmth so deeply, try to not linger on the instantaneous loneliness that creeps when the king sized bed grows even larger before you, the gaping maw between you created by lies and acts, touted before your closest family and friends never so insurmountable.

As you rise from your own pillow and look at him, he tugs the blankets higher up on his hips, hands moving to the bedside table to grab his glasses and phone. Your mouth opens to speak, to reassure him it’s fine, that it happens, that it’s just a silly pillow wall, but he mutters shower and slips out of the room and down the hall.

Huffing, you roll onto your back, listening to the sound of your racing heartbeat coming back to a normal rhythm. It’s joined a moment later by the water running, the gentle rainfall of the shower head in the master bathroom sparking to life, likely steaming that room.

You don’t want to think about it.

Try hard to not think about the figure of your husband slipping into the stream. Try not to imagine the sight of his bare chest on display, rivulets of water dripping down his sculpted abdominals, fingers running through the hair growing longer since you’ve met him on his head, along the stubble that’s lining his jaw and upper lip now. Try to not imagine him still pressed against you, rolling his hips against yours, drawing a quiet moan from you. Definitely don’t imagine what he’s likely doing in the shower to alleviate his…situation. Your fingers edge along the hem of your sleep shorts as you try to block out the image of his corded arms straining in the shower as those long fingers curl tight around his c—

No!

Absolutely not! Not going there.

NOPE.

The day before your flight home arrives sooner than you expect it to. Five days of…well, maybe not marital bliss, but something, passing before your eyes. After the night you woke to Steve’s arms around your waist, the pillow wall became a pillow mountain.

And, though you loathe to admit it, you hate the mornings that follow. They remind you of what you can expect once you’re back in the city with him. Nights where you slip to one end of the hall and him the other, where you pass each other on the way to grab coffee in the morning, where you wave goodbye before one of you leaves and silence follows.

Steve wakes early the morning of your last day, mutters that he’s going to spend some time in the private gym, leaving you to make breakfast for when he gets out. With both a plate of eggs and coffee brewing for your husband, you open your laptop with the intention of making sure all your classes have been set up.

What greets you there isn’t…well, it’s not unexpected. It was part of your deal, but you hadn’t anticipated him paying the bill already.

Thousands of dollars were paid, bringing your total due for the semester down to nothing.

Zero.

Zilch.

Eyes burning, you close the lid of your laptop, sniffling as Steve enters the room and thanks you, taking a bite of his breakfast.

“You didn’t have to cook again,” he says. “We haven’t called the private chef at all this week.”

You shrug, wiping at your under eyes quickly. “I don’t mind. I like cooking. I’ll have to go shopping when we get home.”

Home.

That’s right.

The walls of your penthouse that feel so far from it are, in fact, your home.

“Don’t drive yourself crazy cooking all the time. I order out or go out most nights anyway.”

“Right,” you say, dipping your head and pouring him a cup of coffee. “I’ll be busy with school soon anyway.”

“Exactly.” He sips his drink. “That should be your main focus.”

“Right.”

Awkward.

Stilted.

Uncomfortable.

Those feelings linger as you step out onto the hammock outside, dangling over the water below. Your book is back on your lap, Steve’s on your right, freshly brought up to speed on where you’re at. The main character broke up with her boyfriend and told the main male lead that they need to stop seeing each other.

Needing to take a break from it, tears gathering in your eyes, you tip your gaze up to the sky. The sun beats heavily on your head, warms your skin, and makes you sleepy.

Steve turns his head your way, fingers trailing along your forearm, breaking you out of your silent reverie. “Hey. Are you okay? You’ve been a little quiet this morning.”

“Yeah.” You nod, rolling over onto your side. Reaching up to place your book on a safer spot of the deck, you shift closer to him, lips turning downward. “I saw you paid my semester—”

“I told you I would. It was part of the deal.”

The deal.

The arrangement.

“I know, I just…seeing it was kind of overwhelming. In a good way. In an…I’m really grateful kind of way.” A slow exhale spills from your lips, chest falling with the effort of it. “I know we didn’t get married in the most, uh, conventional way, but—there are things that this will allow me to do that I wouldn’t be able to otherwise. It’s a big weight lifted off my shoulder. So. I guess thank you for marrying me.”

The corner of his lip twitches upward as your husband rolls over onto his side, sunglasses blocking half his face from view. “This is also a weight off my shoulders, too. I think you forget that. I needed to get married for the company—”

“A company you don’t want,” you tease, wrinkling your nose.

“A company I don’t want,” he agrees, chuckling lightly. “But I’d rather it stay out of my cousin’s hands. So thank you for marrying me.”

“Ready to go home, Mr. Harrington?”

He snorts. “Sure, Mrs. Harrington.”

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