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rileyslibrary · 6 months

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You discover Ghost’s secret collection. (platonic and a little bittersweet)

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“My office, 5 pm,” he said.

And that’s precisely what you did.

It’s 5 pm sharp, and you’re standing outside Ghost’s office. The worn wooden door stares back at you, and you knock on it twice, pausing for a few seconds before swinging it open. It’s such an odd ritual, this brief interlude between acknowledging one’s privacy and invading it—a fine line or, in this case, two knocks away, between respect and intrusion.

Or, at least, that would be the case if someone was inside to intrude on. Because, peeking your head through the door, you realise your lieutenant is nowhere to be found.

“Lieutenant Riley?” You say out loud.

Silence.

“Ghost?” You say again, this time louder.

Nothing.

You recall his orders. My office, 5 pm.

You check your watch. It’s 5 pm.

“Simon?” You finally whisper as you enter the room, closing the door behind you.

You approach his desk and sit on the chair across from his; your go-to chair whenever you come in here to talk strategy, report on various matters, or vent when something doesn’t go as planned, and you need someone to lend you an ear. He does the latter exceptionally well. Apart from when he decides to serve you with cold, hard truths such as “It was your choice though, wasn’t it,” or “ah, but you started it, so why do you whine now.”

Your gaze drifts to the clock on his desk. You grab it, turn it towards you and peek at the time, thinking that your watch might be in the wrong and you’re indeed intruding. But no. It’s a few minutes past five; he should have been here by now.

You hear footsteps right above you, where the captain’s office is located. They’re not heavy steps but firm. Steps from someone who doesn’t need to assert their presence; they already know who—or what—they are. It’s him, you think. He is up there. Price must have kept him busy; that’s why he’s late.

You adjust your position on the chair, straightening your back and stretching your neck. Left ear to left shoulder, right ear to right shoulder, rotating your head to the right, towards the window, and then to the other side, where a bookshelf is located.

And then, something on the bookshelf catches your eye amid the files and maps stacked on its shelves. You squint, trying to figure out its shape as the sun’s rays reflect on its surface.

You stand up and approach the bookshelf. Your back creates a barrier between the object and the sun, revealing its proper form.

A snow globe.

You trace your fingers on the shiny exterior. Although the scenery portrayed inside the globe is cold and uninviting, the sun has warmed the glass up. Isn’t that how he is? Cold on the outside, uninviting. Touch his insides, those depths of his psyche that he hides so well, and he’s warm. Almost kind. Almost.

You lift it from its position. Heavy. There’s a wolf inside, sitting in the middle. Lonely.

You shake the globe and stare in a trance as the white flakes fall on the miniature wolf. You look closer; it’s not a wolf. It looks more like a...

“Siberian Husky.” You hear his voice from behind you.

Your hands twitch, and the snow globe almost slips from your grasp. Reflexes kick in instantly, and you regain control, gripping the snow globe’s base with both hands. You bring it closer to your chest.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Ghost!” You shout.

He closes the door behind him and walks towards his office chair. You place the snow globe on the shelf but keep staring at it.

“A gift?” You ask, pointing towards it.

“No,” he says, opening his desk drawer and taking some papers. “I bought it.”

“You bought it.” You repeat, raising one eyebrow.

“Yes,” he nods. “For my collection.”

“For your collection.” You repeat, raising your other eyebrow as well.

He stops fiddling with the papers and looks at you.

“Is this how we’re going to keep this conversation going?” He asks.

You look at him, then back at the snow globe.

“S-so you collect snow globes?” You ask.

“That’s what I said.” He replies.

“Why?”

“What do you mean why?” he shrugs. “Souvenirs.”

You have so many questions. So, so many. As if a stray snow globe in the lieutenant’s office wasn’t peculiar enough, now you have the words ‘collection’ and ‘souvenirs’ adding to your confusion.

Another “why” escapes your lips as you trace the snow globe with your fingers. He sighs, slowly standing up from his seat and walking towards the bookshelf. He probably thinks you won’t get to the actual nature of the meeting if your questions aren’t answered.

“Why do I collect snow globes, or why do I collect things in general?” He asks, now standing next to you.

“Snow globes,” you state. “Why snow globes?”

“It’s a small world, innit?” he whispers, lifting it from the shelf. “They are not empty bullet shells or loots from a dead civilian’s house. Plus, I fucking hate keyrings.”

You chuckle, and he turns to look at you.

“When did you start collecting them?” You ask, leaning on the bookshelf, watching him play with the globe.

“Since I began going on missions,” he explains. He lifts the globe higher, towards the sun. “Every time I visit a country for the first time, I buy myself one.”

“An homage to the country?”

“Sort of like that,” he nods. “Especially if you buy it from an old lady who probably needs the money.”

You both look at the globe, reflecting the sunlight towards you. No wonder you mistook the husky for a wolf. People often mistake Ghost for a wolf. Yet, here he is, collecting snow globes and supporting small businesses. He’s a husky; loyal and protective. A smile threatens to escape your lips, but you suppress it.

“It’s pretty.” You whisper.

“You like it?” He asks.

You nod, this time unable to keep your smile concealed.

“You can have it,” he says, extending the snow globe to you and releasing it in your hands.

“No, Lt.!” you shout. “I’d never-”

“Ah, nonsense!” He shouts back, already walking towards his desk. “I’ll be going again next week, so I’ll buy me another one.”

“B-but this signifies your first time there!” You retort.

“And this might be my last,” he replies. He sits back on his chair and pulls it close to the desk as he motions for you to do the same.

But you don’t comply. Instead, you stand where he left you, holding the snow globe close to your chest. You look worried. He looks content.

“Is that why you visited Price before coming here?”

He nods. His eyes have formed little creases at their corners; a hint he’s smiling under that mask of his.

“Sir, please, don’t say that,” you whisper, “you’ll have plenty of first times again.”

He lets out a sharp chuckle and leans back on his chair.

“We, as soldiers, rarely think about our first times,” he explains. “For most people, first times are good. They make them reminiscent of the past. To us, first times are rarely good. Think about it: first time getting shot, first getting captured, first time killing someone.”

“What about winning?” You ask as you approach his desk. “First time winning a war?”

“Ah,” he sighs, “winning.” He interlocks his fingers and lowers his eyes to his lap.

“Yes, winning.” You state, sitting on the chair across from him and placing the snow globe on the desk. “Wars against drugs, against human trafficking, terrorism.”

“Winning a war is a fallacy.” He whispers.

“Lt., what are you saying?” You chuckle nervously, baffled by his response. “That’s war for you; there’re always winners and losers!”

“We’re all losers in war,” he says, raising his index finger to the air. “All but one.”

You furrow your eyebrows and tilt your head at him. “Who?” you ask.

“Death.” He replies. “Death is the one and only winner; the rest of us are just playing his game.”

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A/N: This was a WIP for a loooooong time. I remember answering an ask a few months ago, hinting at something to do with snow, but I couldn’t find the inspiration to finish it. And then, be it the events of MWIII, be it the Frozen Tundra, it finally clicked. I hope you enjoyed it and I didn’t make you sad. Ghost will return from his trip, and we’ll get to annoy tf out of him again, so don’t worry.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x gn!reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x y/n #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley fanfiction #simon ghost riley fic #simon riley x reader #simon riley x gn!reader #simon riley x y/n #simon riley x you #simon riley #cod ghost #ghost cod #call of duty

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eiightysixbaby · 5 months

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i’ll be home for christmas

PART ONE: Last Christmas

series masterlist || next part

word count: 5.8k

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: you feel like you’ve been floating through life since eddie left town last christmas. what are you supposed to do when everything reminds you of him, and christmas doesn’t feel the same anymore?

cw: switches between past and present tense, angst angst angst, reader’s nickname is ‘sunny’.

author’s note: i cannot express how excited i am to finally be sharing the first part to this story! i have truly poured every possible ounce of my energy into this and i really hope it shows. thank you in advance for reading, i hope you all enjoy it as much as i’ve enjoyed writing it.

Present Day: December 17th, 1989.

Snowflakes swirl around your face, dancing in front of your nose before being whisked away in a flurry of cold air. It’s not snowing hard — just enough to make Hawkins feel more magical. You stuff your hands into your coat pockets, eagerly awaiting the steaming cup of coffee you’re headed for. Behind you, Nancy pleads with Mike to put a hat on because his ears are bright red from the cold, and of course he doesn’t listen. Stubborn as usual. Steve calls him a little shit, and you roll your eyes to yourself as they bicker. You can’t quite bring yourself to laugh, though, and you don’t turn around to join in on the teasing like you usually would. Your eyes are angled down, watching as your boots press imprints into the dusting of snow that coats the pavement beneath you.

“I always thought Hawkins looked its prettiest when it’s snowing,” Robin’s voice says from behind you, getting clearer as she jogs to catch up to you.

Your shoes scuff against the frosty sidewalk, a little hum leaving you as you glance around at the town center. The storefronts are all decorated for the upcoming holiday, strings of garland and pretty green wreaths with red ribbon hanging on every door. Cheery window displays with Santa Claus and artificial Christmas trees liven up the shops. Shiny red and gold baubles hang from bare trees, string lights wrap around ornate light poles and coil up until they kiss the big red bows that are tied around the tops.

Robin’s right. It is pretty. The snow makes everything even more picturesque, like you’re living in a town inside of a snow globe. This could be the setting of a holiday movie, as far as you’re concerned. You’ve always loved Christmas, it’s always been the happiest time of the year for you. This year, though, is different. The warmth and joy you usually feel every December is gone, left behind on a snowy night last year. Robin senses your sadness, of course she does, because she’s sensed it just about every single time it’s crept up on you over the course of the last 12 months. Ever the empath, that one.

“Hey, I know it’s hard for you this year, kid,” she says, softer now, resting a gentle hand on your shoulder as you walk side-by-side. Her vibrant blue eyes catch yours, studying you carefully. “You know we’re feeling it too. And we’re all here for you,” she adds, nodding in the direction of the rest of your friends.

Steve, Nancy, Jonathan, and the kids all trail behind you, spread out on the sidewalk. You know they’re all feeling the difference of this holiday, too. In their own ways, they’re hurting too. You know you’re not the only one. You almost feel selfish, but you know that’s not what your friends would want, so you try your best to shove it down.

“I know, Rob. Thank you. I promise I’m not trying to be a downer,” you say, taking a shaky inhale. Crisp, cold air fills your lungs, the icy chill almost burning.

“No, hey, don’t do that. You’re not being a downer. We’re gonna have you all merry and bright in no time,” she says with her signature pretty smile, but you feel like she’s trying to reassure both you and herself as she says it.

You hope she’s right. You long to break free from the shackles of the numbness that’s clung to you this entire year. A certain someone’s absence that’s left you feeling hollow.

You reach the coffee shop, holding out a gloved hand to open the door for your friends. You trail in behind everyone, warm air hitting you in a comforting wave, like a blanket wrapping around your frame. The entire place smells like fresh coffee grounds and hints of vanilla, and you inhale deeply, letting it envelope you.

You vaguely hear Dustin and Max arguing about whether hot chocolate or coffee is the better hot beverage, before your ears tune in to the Christmas music playing over the speaker. “I’ll Be Home For Christmas” rings out in the small space, and you feel as though you’ve been punched in the gut as the soothing voice croons through the sound system. What should be a happy, comforting song only adds salt to your wounds, and if you had any say here you’d turn it right off. It reminds you of all of the things you wish you could forget, reminds you that you won’t be spending this Christmas with the person you should be. Longing coils its way around your heart, squeezing tight enough you feel it could shatter.

“What’re you gonna get?” Jonathan asks from beside you, bringing you out of your head as you realize you’d been staring aimlessly at the menu.

“Huh? Oh, um, probably a vanilla latte. Boring, I know,” you give him a little smile, the best you can muster, which he returns.

“Nah, it’s a classic. Can’t go wrong,” he says, walking towards the waiting cashier to go and order.

He orders his drink and yours, paying for both before you can get a word in edgewise. “Jonathan—” you start as you both move to the side to wait for your items.

“Don’t offer to pay me back. It’s my treat, okay?” he insists, giving you a knowing look. It’s his way of trying to cheer you up, to bring that holiday spirit back to life inside of you.

You and Jonathan had been friends for years now, he’d been a part of the group since the beginning, but only in this past year did you become especially close. He’d been such a big support system for you, letting you vent when you needed to and only offering advice when you explicitly asked for it. He’s an exceptional listener, the perfect confidant, and you’re grateful for his friendship. You’re grateful for the whole gang — their warmth and consistent companionship making everything easier for you.

Jonathan tells you to go sit with the others, assuring you that he’ll collect the drinks and bring them over to the table. Coats and scarves and gloves are discarded, hung on the coat rack that’s nestled in the corner right behind the two tables Nancy chose for you all. She sits next to Robin, the taller girl draping an arm over the back of Nancy’s chair, fingertips brushing her shoulder affectionately through her fluffy sweater. You sit across from Steve, opting for the seat closest to the window so you can look out. Max, Dustin, Lucas, Will, and Mike all sit at their own table, animatedly chatting about the Secret Santa gift exchange they’re doing. You giggle lightly when Dustin accidentally reveals that he’d drawn El’s name, the table immediately grilling into him and roaring with laughter.

Jonathan sits down beside you with the drinks and you immediately grab your cup, the warmth from it soothing your hands. You slip into easy conversation; talking about what Christmas gifts you all still have to buy and coming up with a plan for the group Christmas party, discussing your jobs and all of the usual things.

“And so I’m banging on the bathroom door, right? Yelling at Steve to come help me with this customer,” Robin rambles animatedly, her hands flying as she tells a story from work. “He comes out of the bathroom, and the fucking button on his pants pops off. His pants literally fall down around his ankles in the middle of the bakery. I’m peeing myself laughing at this point, the customer is still angrily waving his fist at me—” she keeps talking, you know she does, but your attention is diverted elsewhere in the midst of her anecdote.

A car horn honks outside, making you turn your head towards the commotion just in time to see a van pull up at a stop light outside of the coffee shop. A van that makes your heart feel like it’s plummeted to the bottom of your stomach. A Chevy, a deep burgundy in color with a cream stripe running along the side. You feel your mouth go dry as you’re plagued with a flood of memories. You vaguely register Jonathan and Nancy’s laughter towards Robin, you know you should be laughing too, but your mind is already far away from this moment — transported somewhere else. Back to a year ago. Back to Eddie.

Christmas Eve, 1988.

You hoist yourself up into the van, a smile on your face as you sit down, instantly pressing your hands to the air vents to try and warm them up. You’re buzzing from the party at Steve’s, waving enthusiastically to the host in question as he closes the front door to his house. Eddie had insisted on warming the vehicle up for you while you said your goodbyes to everyone, and he watches you from the driver’s seat as you buckle your seatbelt.

“So, where are you taking me, handsome?” you ask, barely able to contain your joy.

“You’ll see,” he says, giving your hand a squeeze. He shoots you a smile that doesn’t quite meet his eyes, but you shake it off easily, assuming he’s just getting tired. You know you were.

Snow flies sideways in the beams of the headlights, those big, fluffy flakes that have always been your favorite. You drive past houses decorated like something out of a scene from a movie; rainbow lights coiled around bushes and pine trees, white bulbs lining rooftops and candles glowing in windows. Every door seems to don a wreath with a big red bow, and even some snowmen wave at you with their stick arms, mittens held high in the air.

It’s magical, that’s the only word you could use. Your heart feels like it could burst out of your chest, giddy like a child again. Christmas music plays on the radio and Eddie hums along to it beside you, making you want to grab him and kiss him and just never let go. What you two had going on was unlabeled, at the moment, but the tension between you was tangible. Your seemingly upcoming relationship had become the butt of the affectionate jokes in your friend group, the gang being less than subtle about what they expected from you and Eddie. And they didn’t even know about the kiss yet…

Being with him felt like everything good in the world, wrapped in a tiny package and sealed with a bow. Sometimes he would look at you like he loved you, and sometimes you felt like you loved him. There was no rush, no hurry, no deadline with Eddie. You let things flow naturally, progress gradually as you enjoyed getting closer and closer with one another. You’re feeling like tonight might be the night, like he might finally ask you to be his.

The van drives across snowy backroads, a dense layer of trees on either side. You know exactly where you’re headed now, hands rubbing on your thighs in an absentminded fidget. It’s not long until you pull up beside Lover’s Lake; your usual spot, your special spot. There’s a lonely dock leading out to the water, a dock that you’ve spent many a night sitting at while you gazed at the stars with the curly haired boy. It, too, is decorated for the holiday now, strands of lights twisted around the railings, illuminating the surrounding frozen water.

Eddie puts the van in park, killing the engine before his door swings open with a reluctant creak. You open your own door, only to be met with him extending a hand for you to take, helping you down onto the icy ground. You tug your hat further down over your ears, slipping your gloves out of your coat pocket and onto your hands. Eddie’s grabbed a blanket from the back of the van, tucking it under his arm. You can see your breath with every exhale as your boots crunch through the dirt and grass, walking to the dock with Eddie right in front of you.

The blanket is laid out on the old wooden planks, serving as a buffer between you and the cold, frozen surface of the dock. You gaze out at the vast expanse of the lake, a few lights twinkling on the opposite shore. You reach for Eddie’s hand, giving his fingers a squeeze before just holding them, your gloves providing him with some extra warmth.

“I have something for you,” he says then, taking you by surprise.

“Eddie, I thought we were exchanging gifts tomorrow—” you start, but he doesn’t let you finish.

“This couldn’t wait,” he insists, and his eyes hold an emotion you can’t place.

Is this it? Is he going to ask you to be his girlfriend?

His hand fumbles around in his coat pocket before he finds what he’s looking for, retrieving a tiny velvet box. A dainty ribbon is wrapped around it, tied with a bow on the top, and you gasp a little when you see it. He hands it off to you, watching as you delicately pull the knot loose, setting the shiny ribbon in your lap. You open the box with so much care, a hand flying to cover your mouth when you see what waits for you.

A beautiful gold necklace with a heart pendant rests on the silky bunch of fabric inside the box. You lift the pendant with a finger, noticing an engraved ‘E’ in the center of the heart. The whole thing is dainty, not flashy, not too much, but yet more than enough.

“Eddie—” you breathe, tears pricking in your eyes as you meet his stare.

He looks nervous. He’s not smiling.

“I want you to have that so you never forget me, and how much you mean to me,” he says, scooting closer to you.

He pulls you to him, pressing his forehead to yours.

“I could never forget you, what do you mean?” you ask, clutching the box close to your body.

“Sweetheart, there’s something I need to tell you. And I need you to try and understand,” he says, and the words immediately make your stomach flip. You feel ill, and he hasn’t even told you what he needs to tell you yet.

You close the box, holding it even tighter, as if it could freeze this moment in time.

He pulls back just slightly, enough so he can look you directly in the eye. One hand rests on your cheek, the shockwaves of his touch reaching the deepest parts of your soul.

“I’m leaving Hawkins. Tomorrow,” he says finally, a shuddering breath leaving him.

And that was the moment your whole world shattered.

Present Day: December 17th, 1989.

You’re torn from your memories at the feeling of Jonathan’s hand on your arm, his voice calling to you through the fog you feel floating in your brain.

“Sunny, hey, you okay?” he prods, concern evident on his face when you turn to look at him.

Nancy, Steve, and Robin look expectantly at you from the other side of the table, worried about where you’d drifted off to.

“Yeah, I— I’m fine,” you say, giving a smile that’s less than believable. “Sorry, just… thinking. Lots going on for the holidays, y’know?”

“Yeah,” Jonathan says, squeezing your shoulder as if to let you know he’s here for you.

He gives you that look he always gives you when he knows there’s something you aren’t telling him, he knows you too well. You feel bad lying to him, but you don’t want to bring up Eddie in front of the whole group right now. Robin was telling a funny story. Your friends deserve to laugh, to be happy. They don’t need your anguish. Saving face is the easiest option.

To your appreciation, they simply ease back into the conversation at hand. Your hand reflexively reaches up to your chest, grabbing at the small pendant that rests there. Your thumb runs over the engraving that you know is the letter E, your breath leaving you shakily. You take one final look out the window, the van from before now gone — much like the man it reminded you of.

You end up making an excuse to leave your friends early that day, no longer feeling able to force a positive attitude. You know they must be worried, know that they see through your facade, and guilt gnaws at your insides. All they’ve done is try and try to keep your spirits up, to help you move past everything, and you’re just stuck in the past. You haven’t exactly been easy to help, either. You miss Eddie, but every time he’s called you decline speaking to him. You can’t — certain that you wouldn’t even know what to say and that you’d just cry helplessly into the phone. And nevertheless your friends persist, always there when you need them and always willing to cheer you up. Plans are made with Nancy and Robin to bake Christmas cookies sometime soon — an offer you couldn’t possibly refuse at the way they so excitedly ask you to join them — before you bid everyone goodbye and part ways.

You stomp your snow-covered boots on the doormat just inside of your apartment, kicking them off haphazardly as the icy sludge begins to melt on the ground. You float around the space as you hang up your coat and remove your gloves, hat, and scarf, your body physically completing the actions but your brain residing somewhere else entirely. You curl up on your couch, wrapping yourself in your favorite blanket as you stare blankly at the black screen of your tiny television. The glow of your Christmas tree does nothing to soothe you — where it used to be a comfort, it now feels like a headache. You have half a mind to tear down all of your decorations, but you know it wouldn’t truly make you feel any better.

As if you weren’t sad enough already, as if the past eleven months haven’t been torturous enough, you really can’t get Eddie out of your head now. Seeing a lookalike van to his shouldn’t bother you, nearly a year later. Something so commonplace shouldn’t phase you. You press the heels of your palms to your closed eyes, willing your tears not to fall, willing yourself to forget him and forget it all and leave him in your past. You know it’s hopeless, you know you can’t possibly forget him, and it only makes you more frustrated.

One hand grips the pendant of your necklace, pulling roughly on the chain and making it snap. You toss it onto your coffee table, sobs wracking through your entire body now. Your fingers rest where the necklace once was, feeling the loss of him, something tangible. Laying down on the worn cushions, tears blur your vision as you cry, left alone to remember. And you remember everything.

Christmas Eve, 1988.

Your brows furrow, your brain not comprehending what he’s saying. “I don’t.. I don’t understand. What do you mean you’re leaving?”

“I found a place in Chicago. I can’t be in Hawkins anymore, Sunny, I’m sorry. I don’t… I don’t belong here. I need to go out on my own and make something of myself,” he says, wincing as if it pains him to speak about. You don’t have the grace in this moment to see that it does pain him. More than he can say.

“No…” you say, tears welling up in your eyes as you shake your head furiously. “No, this is a joke. This has to be a joke,” you try to convince yourself, moving to stand. Your chest feels tight, like all the air has been stolen from your lungs.

“Sweetheart—” Eddie says, standing with you, reaching an arm out to steady you when your boot slips on the icy dock.

“Don’t touch me!” you shout, louder than you’d ever wanted to be with him. “You can’t—” your voice breaks, your lip wobbling. “You can’t leave me.”

“I have to. You’ll be better off without me, okay? You have Nance and Robin, and Jonathan and Steve.”

“What about them?” you ask, voice quiet.

“What?”

“What about them? Did you tell them that you’re leaving? Did you tell the kids?”

“I… no. I need you to explain everything, okay? I didn’t want to ruin the Christmas party,” Eddie says, his eyes averting your gaze, shifting on his feet.

“Oh, but it’s okay to ruin my night? It’s okay to ruin my life?” you hiss. Eddie’s visibly taken aback by this, his eyes impossibly sad. You know the last part may have been too much, but you don’t care.

“You’re going to be fine without me,” he says, puffs of fog leaving his mouth with each word against the cold wind.

“What about us, Eddie!?” you cry, your throat raw with the way you scream it. “You’re going to act like this is nothing? Like we have nothing!?”

He doesn’t know what to say. He stands maybe two feet away from you, silent, his figure illuminated only by the string lights wound around the railings to the dock. His silence rings in your ears.

“So that’s it. You’re just going to go away, leave me here and forget about me,” your voice trembles, your feet stepping backwards as you start to distance yourself from him.

“I could never forget about you, I don’t want to forget about you!” he emphasizes, moving towards you. “You’re the only person I’ve told this to besides Wayne! Because I care about you far too much to just go,” he says, his voice breaking as he steps closer still.

“Oh, my hero,” you scoff, shaking your head as you wipe tears from your cheeks.

You turn on your heel and start running towards the van, your heart feeling like it’s being wrung out in your chest. The wind hurts your face, every snowflake that hits your skin pricking you like a needle.

“Sunny. Sunny!” he shouts after you, his shoes crunching on the frozen ground as he tracks you down. Hearing the nickname he’d so fondly given you ages ago — because you’re always ‘a ray of sunshine’ in his words — simply feels like he’s driving a knife through your heart now. “Please, I need you to understand—”

“How could I? How could you ask this of me!?” you sob, your defenses raised high. “I could’ve gone with you!”

“No! You need to be here, you’re happy here! You have friends and family and a job that you love — here.”

“You have friends here. You have Wayne, and you have me,” you say through gritted teeth, sniffling hard.

“I need to go. I need to get away from this town,” he says softly, mournfully. “Please…”

“Take me home, Eddie.”

“Baby—”

“Take me home! I don’t want to be near you any more, take me the fuck home!” you grit, pushing him away when he tries to hold you.

“Okay,” he sighs, defeated. “I’ll take you home.”

The ride to your place is alarmingly silent, your mind hazy as you stare blankly out the window. The happy hugging families and Christmas lights and snowmen mock you as you drive past, every joyful scrap of the holiday feeling like a sick joke now. Your stomach is in knots, your heart breaking inside of your chest with every passing second. You feel like you’re in a daze, like you aren’t even real.

His van finally pulls into the parking lot to your apartment, the snow swirling harder now in the glow of his headlights. It doesn’t look light and delicate as it had before, it doesn’t shimmer the way it used to. It looks foreboding, plummeting to the ground in fast, aggressive streaks.

“Sweetheart—” Eddie starts, and you scoff before he can keep going. Tears slide down your face as you shake your head, your lip wobbling.

“Don’t call me that. Don’t you dare call me that if you’re really about to leave me,” you say, voice thick with the bile that rises to your throat.

“I have to go. I’m so sorry. You’ll be better without me, I’m so sorry.”

“Goodbye, Eddie,” you say, so quiet he almost doesn’t hear it.

You open the passenger door, hopping out of his van for the last time. You’d climbed into this van a mere hour ago so hopeful that tonight he’d make you his, and instead he’s ripping it all away. You chance one final glance at his face, the defeated and empty expression that sits on it. It makes you want to crumble, fall to your knees right there on the snowy concrete and wail until your throat is raw. But you don’t give him the satisfaction, and you slam the door shut instead. The sound of it reverberates in your ears, making your head throb. The little velvet box sits in your coat pocket, your hand clutching it as you walk quickly to your building.

You barely process the fact that you reach your door, that you unlock it and step inside. You only process the hard floor beneath you as you sink down onto it on your knees. Sobs wrack through your body as you hunch over, gasping breaths making your chest shudder. Taking the little necklace box out of your pocket, you stare at it for a moment. Chest heaving, tears streaming down your face, you open the box. You take the necklace out, fumbling with it through your blurred vision. It somehow feels right to put it on, it feels like you need to put it on. It’s the only piece of Eddie that you have.

The pendant rests above your heart, your hand grasping it and clutching it tight. Through all of your anger and your hurt, there’s an unspoken love for Eddie, and there’s a part of you that clings to his gift like it’s a lifeline. Like maybe wearing the necklace could make him change his mind, like you could summon him. And so you sit, still in your coat and your scarf and your hat, curled in on yourself on the floor of your apartment as you cry. Letting yourself feel every ounce of emotion, cursing Eddie’s name for how alive he made you feel and how he’s taking it away in the blink of an eye.

Present Day: December 18th, 1989.

The next morning comes with a blanket of heavy snow, the sun rising over the sleepy streets of Hawkins and making the white powder sparkle. You’d hoped, nearly taken up some faith and prayed that after some sleep you’d feel better. That your problems could be washed away with the morning’s light.

Naïve? Maybe. Probably.

Because as soon as your alarm clock blared in your ears and you opened your tired eyes, you felt honestly worse than you had the night before. You feel as though someone has scooped up your insides, tossing them out and leaving you hollow as you lie in bed and stare at the ceiling.

The promise of coffee and the obligation of work is what gets you out of bed, your head instantly pounding when you stand up. Your feet slide into your cozy slippers as you trudge down the hallway to your kitchen, getting a pot of coffee started before moving to your living room. You go to pick up the television remote when something shiny catches your eye. The light reflects off of a gold pendant, making it sparkle.

Eddie’s necklace. Your necklace.

At least in your sleep you’d been able to forget that you had taken the necklace off. And in your post-sleep still-tired haze you’d been able to remain unaware, if even for a short while. You stare at it for a moment, tempted to put it back on. But then your puffy, sore eyes from last night’s sob-fest and the snot-covered tissues that litter the floor encourage you to leave it off.

All Eddie’s done in the last year is make you cry, so why should you wear his necklace every day? He doesn’t deserve it.

Or that’s what you try to convince yourself, at least, as you stomp into your room and hide the necklace away in your jewelry box. You can’t stomach looking at it for too long, desperately trying not to cry again. You’re not even sure if you have any tears left, or if the reservoirs have run completely dry. Shaking it off, you return to your living area, clicking the TV on and turning it to the news station.

“We sure got quite a bit of snow last night, and we’re definitely not the only ones!” the weatherman says, too perky for this early in the morning. “I was just recently in Chicago and, let me just say, be thankful that’s not us. Talk about a lot of snow!”

Chicago. Your eye twitches at the mention, and then the TV is promptly clicked off. Way to start your day strong.

You were hoping things would improve when you got to work, as your current job could barely even be called a job. Your front-desk position at the school was on hold for the winter break, but this year Hawkins Middle was sponsoring an ice skating event. A temporary ice rink was installed in downtown Hawkins, and you had offered to help run it. You’d mainly been in charge of skate rentals and serving up hot chocolate or coffee, and it was actually really fun most days. Chief Hopper had even been convinced to dress up as Santa, showing up on Fridays and Saturdays to greet the eager children.

Today, though, of course the world has to test you. You can hear kids shrieking and throwing tantrums before you can even fully see them, and as you walk in to the worker’s trailer you hear Vickie, one of the teachers at the middle school, getting royally bitched at by an impatient mother. Wincing, you put a hand on her shoulder when the woman leaves, signaling that you’re here to take over and rid her of misery.

“I’m warning you,” she says. “It’s crazy out there today.”

To make matters worse, on your drive here the first song you found on the radio was one of Eddie’s favorites. You had changed the station only to find another one of his favorites before turning the damn thing off entirely. Then, on the short walk from your car to the ice rink, you’d been walking behind someone who looked exactly like Eddie. The curly hair, leather jacket, white sneakers… it made your stomach turn. You were more disappointed than you wanted to admit when you saw his face and it, of course, wasn’t actually him.

It’s like Eddie was everywhere you went, an inescapable constant.

You just wanted to not be sad anymore. Your heart was tired of hurting, and you truly felt as though Christmas couldn’t be over and done with fast enough.

You try to put on a chipper attitude as you greet families, politely helping them get their skates and giving the kiddos your best tips and tricks for the ice. There’s a larger crowd than you’d expected today, everyone in town seemingly flocking over to grab some hot cocoa and go skating. You expertly maneuver between skate rentals and drink-making, insisting your other helper keeps an eye on the ice rink itself. It keeps you busy, at least, your brain pleasantly distracted by the chaos. In brief moments of downtime, you watch as wobbly children try to stay upright on the slippery rink, parents following close behind with outstretched hands, ready to steady them.

You’re putting skates back in their respective places when the door to the little trailer opens and shuts, a strawberry blonde head of hair lingering in your peripheral vision.

“Hey, Chrissy!” you greet her, setting out cups for the next round of cocoa orders. “How’s break been going for you?” you ask, smiling at her as she pulls off her earmuffs.

Chrissy was one of the cheer coaches for both the middle and high school, and you’d become friendly with her through school events and the like.

“Oh, you know, it’s going fine I guess….” she says, biting back a smirk as she stretches her arms out, hands splayed flat where she holds them in front of her.

You glance down, instantly clocking the sparkly diamond ring on her left ring finger. Eyes widening, you gasp, taking her perfectly-manicured hand in yours.

“No way. Jason proposed!?” you ask, watching as a pink lipgloss smile breaks out on her face and she nods.

Her and Jason had been the it couple for the majority of your high school career, and they’d still been going strong since graduation a few years back.

“Yes!! Can you believe it!? I had no. idea. he had this planned!” she squeals, her ponytail bobbing as she bounces slightly on her feet.

For some reason, it makes your heart feel like it’s about to crack beneath your rib cage. It shouldn’t, this isn’t about you, but the air is whisked from your lungs regardless.

“I— I’m so happy for you,” you say, stammering a little as you try to feign happiness. “Congratulations.”

“You okay?” she worries, her brows furrowing as she tilts her head at you. Her perky demeanor is gone, concern taking over her features.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine, sorry, I just feel a little weird. Haven’t eaten much today,” you lie, forcing a smile on your face. “Seriously, congratulations,” you say again, sighing in relief when she thanks you and walks back out of the trailer, going to check on everyone skating.

You slump against the counter, a lump forming in your throat. As much as you wish it didn’t, this only makes you think of Eddie. Again.

You can’t help but let your mind wander to what could’ve been if Eddie had stayed, if maybe in a couple short years he could be proposing to you. Last December you’d been so hopeful that the two of you would make things official soon, and when Eddie gave you that necklace you were nearly certain of it — for a moment, at least. What if he had been here, in Hawkins, this entire year? Surely you’d be spending Christmas together, decorating together and baking together and simply existing together. It feels like you’ve been robbed. All of your feelings for him have had no place to go, the adoration you boxed away clawing at your heartstrings desperately.

There’s a part of you that’s so envious of what Chrissy has, and there’s another part of you that feels guilty for that. It’s not her fault you’re broken, not her fault you’ve been a shell of your former self for months now. You’re too in your head, and before you know it you’re turning away from the service window, furiously wiping at the tears that have started to fall down your cheeks.

The rest of your day is spent the same way it started — the same way all of your previous days had been spent; thinking about Eddie Munson, and what could have been. If only you could change what happened last Christmas.

taglist: @hellfirenacht @writethrough @littledemondani @prettyboyeddiemunson @trashmouth-richie @succubusmunson @likedovesinthewnd @tlclick73 @mrsjellymunson @idkitsem

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson angst #support banner by cafekitsune #i’ll be home for christmas

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strawberrystepmom · 4 months

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gojo x f!reader. reader is referred to as my girl. a little fluffy christmas moment bc i will give the me whatever she wants. wc 989

divider thanks to @/saradika-graphics

“I told you not to get me anything,” you whine with a pout when Satoru passes you a wrapped gift box.

Sitting cross legged in front of the tree the two of you decorated together, he has just finished opening the things you gifted him. Weeks ago, you vowed to keep it simple this year but then you sat down and started purchasing and the history is now unwrapped and sitting in his lap. A new scarf in a lovely light purple you will love seeing him wear and a handmade book you drew the illustrations for yourself to match the others you’ve given him over the years are the two hits this Christmas but he thanked you exuberantly for every other gift in the pile surrounding him with a kiss each time.

Now he lays on his belly on the ground and cups his face in his palms, staring up at you with furrowed brows. You’re gazing at the box so tenderly he wonders if you think that it’s the gift itself and he sighs.

“Just open it, you’re killing me here.”

The paper is so intricate and beautiful you feel bad even considering ripping into it, pink with delicate white and gold glitter snowflakes and a matching white ribbon. Thumbing at the tape keeping the edge closed, he groans and moves to grab it out of your lap but you pluck it from atop your thigh and whine. Patience has never been his strong suit, it is why there is paper strewn across the floor around the two of you, but he can wait given you didn’t ask for anything to open in the first place.

“It’s my gift! Let me open it at my own pace.”

Gently tugging the tape away from the paper, you stick your tongue out of the corner of your mouth while lifting each of the paper flaps and a box slides out. It’s white, nondescript, something you could get anywhere. A childlike urge in you makes you want to shake it to hear what’s inside but you refrain. You take your time opening the box while Satoru kicks his legs out impatiently behind him.

“Now you’re doing it on purpose.”

You giggle because you are, it’s always a pleasure to make him wait given how overindulged he is, but you are just as eager to see what’s inside as he is for your reaction. Opening the box, you furrow your brows and gasp when the shiny glass dome of a snow globe comes into view. They’re your favorite of all the holiday decorations and he knows it just as he knows everything else about you. There’s no hiding anything from him.

“Oh baby,” you coo and he beams, grin as sparkly as the snowflakes on the wrapping paper shedding glitter into your lap. Pulling the globe out you grunt dramatically over the weight of the thing and gasp again when it’s in your full view.

The two of you, a pair of tiny ice skaters, permanently encased in a globe depicting a scene of a frozen pond. The base of the globe is silver and heavy and there’s an engraving in the metal your eyes are too blurry to read, tears filling them while capturing the small details of the little couple inside the bubble.

“Why did you do this?”

Your beloved shimmies across the floor on his elbows to deposit his head in your lap and you carefully stroke his hair with your free hand. Looking up at you, his cheeks pink and warm from the heat in your living room, your heart stills for a moment. He is your everything and not just on Christmas. Sniffling, you continue petting his soft white strands and set the snow globe down on the floor by the two of you.

“Because I love you, obviously.” You grin down at him and giggle. “And I got a little jealous of the way you looked at the guy in the snow globe on the dresser. Is there something I should know?”

Your giggle becomes a full blown laugh and you lean down to kiss him, cupping his face in your hands like always.

“The way I look at Santa?”

“Yeah. What’s that all about?”

Shaking your head, you kiss him again and a satisfied sigh leaves him. Santa is surely not any competitor he needs to plan to get rid of but at least you can replace that old bag with someone a lot more handsome who is holding your little sculpted hand on glistening ice.

“Turn the knob, play the song too.”

You tip your head to the side quizzically and he reaches to turn the key himself, the notes of your holiday favorite song playing while the two of you turn around and around inside a world of his own making. Sniffling, you lean down to kiss him again and he stops you before you can adjust yourself to sitting upward.

“You like it?”

“I love it.”

He smiles and smacks his lips.

“Not as much as I love you.”

Leaning back down, you pepper his face with kisses and he considers it your attempt to get the last word, something he simply cannot allow.

“Merry Christmas, my girl.”

“Merry.”

A wet snack on his cheek from your lips.

“Christmas.”

Another kiss on the tip of his nose.

“Satoru.”

And finally, blissfully, a kiss to his forehead straight from the one he loves the most.

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #kendall writes #satoken

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tteokdoroki · 1 year

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*ੈ🌩️‧₊˚— count to five + mirio togata.

૮˶ᵕ ༝ᵕ˶ა synopsis — when your job as your teacher takes you halfway across japan, you don’t expect a little boy and his father to change your life nearly as much as they do. or the five times in which you encounter mirio togata and his son, yoshi.

⭑ warnings — please read + mdni ! characters aged up to 20s, fluff, smut, strangers to lovers, single-parenthood, mention of hospitals, mentions of reader being smaller than mirio, unprotected sex, rough sex, exhibitionism, choking, dacryphilia, auralism, scratching, biting, creampie, squirting, fingering ( f!receiving ), praise!kink, daddy!kink, size!kink - fem!reader, teacher!reader, single-dad!mirio.

⭑ words — 6.3K.

⭑ notes — hi !!! it’s been a while! thank your being patient with me! here’s a little commission written for the lovely @roses-and-whisky who has given me permission to post. i hope you all enjoy !! - m.list ✩

the first time you meet mirio togata, it’s oddly warm for the season— the usual bite to a late autumn’s day nowhere to be found. sunshine beats down on your back, only adding to the heat simmering and rushing through your body as you work to unload moving boxes from the van you’d hired. though, you’re sweaty, and tired from hours of travelling across the cities of Japan, you’re excited for your fresh start. a degree hanging from your belt, plenty of experience behind you— the world is now your oyster.

cardboard filled with knickknacks and memories from your parents, childhood and all your school years sits heavy in your palms before you place it on the sidewalk— knowing that your host in this city will help you move into the gated community nearby, a room with your name painted into the blank white walls already set up for you.

“thas’a cool snow globe!” a childish, boy-ish voice squeaks from beside you once you’ve set the box down— daring to tug your gaze upwards to meet a child who perhaps embodies the same sunshine that’s giving you warmth today. his eyes are a brilliant blue, gaps in his teeth where his adult ones just about break through the gums. the boy points a finger tip covered in blue marker, no doubt, towards the trinket in your box with glimmering matching eyes.

smiling softly, you take it out of your box, thumbing the embossed logo of your university before shaking it and handing it to the tiny blonde. “isn’t it?” you whisper to him like you’re sharing a secret, leaning in real close and cupping his hands in your own. they’re warm. “if you hold it up to the sky, just right…” you add, pushing your hands upward with his to hold the snow globe under the sun. “the light catches on the glitter inside, making a snowy little rainbow!”

“woaaaah! that’s even cooler!”

the boy grins, eyes scintillating like the pearlescent flecks mixed into the water of your snow globe— little bits of white covering the two happy caricatures stuck inside.

“yoshi! how many times do i have to tell you not to run ahead, buddy?” the little boy, that you now know as yoshi, freezes in place— candescent azure eyes shooting over to his father as if he’s been caught in the act. he knows they’ll be late for swimming if they don’t keep walking…but your snow globe is just so cool. if you thought the kid was bright, the man before you is even brighter…the centre of your solar system, a warm heart lodged between his two juicy pecs and a chiselled jaw. he looks like he’s walked straight out of a movie, sending your brain into a tizzy.

he’s stunning and your words come out jumbled as you address him. “is he yours?” you ask, body struck with the heat of the pro hero before you, the sun above you too.

you feel a bit silly for asking the question, the uncanny resemblance between the two becoming even more obvious— as with the fact that it’s lemillion you’re talking to. the elder blonde’s hearty laughter echoing between you both on the side of the street. “yes, he’s mine. all my own flesh and blood,” mirio responds proudly. you’ve always loved children, but you never thought the pro hero would have one of his own.

and you never thought you’d wanted to mother someone’s children as much as you did his. mirio togata, desirable, handsome and good with kids.

“introduce yourself buddy, be polite.”

the little boy nods eagerly, bowing to you with respect after beaming at you warmly. “i-i’m yoshi togata! nice ta’meet you ma’am!”

you giggle and mirio grins. you’re cute, endearing almost— and he finds himself laughing with you.

“it’s lovely to meet you too, yoshi,” you reply, sticking your hand out to shake his tinier one as you give them both your name kindly.

sweet, just like you. mirio likes the way you interact with his son. he likes you, so far.

before mirio can introduce himself back, the driver in your mover’s van honks loudly. “move it lady! i’m not waitin’ out here for you all day or i’m uppin’ the price of your service.” you give the pair an apologetic look in response, offering a high five to yoshi and a shy wave to his dad, scurrying off to finish unloading the van.

and mirio watches you go, for more than one reason.

the second time you encounter mirio togata, is after a disaster— his very reason for existence, his sunshine, little yoshi, nearly loses his light.

you had always wanted to teach. nurturing children into the faces of tomorrow was your calling— guiding them to be good and help others without question…and as it turns out, the graduate teaching position you’d been hired for took in a lot of students who were the children of pro heroes, and the little blonde raised by his almost identical father just so happened to be a student in your kindergarten class. yoshi togata had taken an instant liking to you as his teacher, a child-like wonder akin to magic from fairy tales emitting from the little boy whenever you looked at him, helped him along in reading and solving calculations in the dreaded maths classes.

yoshi absolutely adored you.

he wanted to sit with you at lunch time, tucked himself into your side during nap time and screamed your name the first time his quirk ever activated. as much as the darling boy looked like pro hero lemillion— his quirk was scarily similar to it as well.

yoshi wails the whole way to the hospital, the lack of air he received after slipping through the concrete in the school yard while scraping his knee, a little beyond the school nurse’s jurisdiction. you’d already gotten someone to cover your class, speeding to the nearest emergency room with hope that someone had alerted his father of the situation.

when mirio arrives, yoshi’s cheeks are luckily smeared with chocolate pudding cups instead of saltine tears and he’s surprisingly cheerful for a kid attached to a small IV drip— dressed in his own red-riot themed hospital gown, with you resting beside the bed in his ward.

“how ya feelin’ buddy?” lemillion whispers, tone on the edge of worry as he slips off the cape to his hero costume. “heard you got your quirk today.”

the bouncing baby boy with sunshine in his eyes shuffles onto his knees, wobbling over the edge of his bed before being snatched up by his dad, bright laughter bubbling on his lips when he nearly slips through the beefy man’s arms. “uh huh! an’ miss got me puddin’ cups! said i was real brave.”

“you were kid, but we gotta get this quirk under control! dad’s gonna have to teach ya!”

togata turns to you next, appreciation evident on his matured features— radiating around you warmly. “h-he really was brave,” you say sincerely, sitting up and a little more awake now the pro hero of your dreams is looking deep into your soul. “i was so worried! but yoshi behaved just like a pro.” you cringe a little at your choice of words, but the strapping blonde before you only takes your hand, lips brushing across the back of your knuckles in such a way that tingles run down your spine.

sapphire orbs flick upwards to make yours as you feel the heat of the sun simmering underneath your cheeks.

“thank you for looking out for him,” he says, voice cheerful and like honey in your ears. “i never got to properly introduce myself, even after all this time. i’m—“

“lemillion, i-i know.”

“mirio. togata, actually. and it’s a pleasure to meet you.” mirio cuts you off but the gentle smile never leaves his handsome face, and you’re sure you might pass out— embarrassed by his forwardness and flirting in front of his son, your student ( who’s too occupied by pudding cups and old cartoon reruns to actually care. )

there’s a knock to the door before it opens as the two of you share a moment. “mrs…togata and lemillion, sir! i have an update on your son’s vitals and quirk—“ suddenly, the doctor enters the room like a hurricane disrupting a quaint little farm.

and you jump back from the pro hero, bashful and shy. “o-oh! no. i’m not…we’re not!” gesturing between yourself and mirio, you shake your head— trying to dispel any wedded-couple vibes the pair of you might give off. “i’m just the teacher.”

the doctor raises a brow, looking up from his sheets on the young togata’s vitals and then hums. “my apologies then,” he turns to mirio. “your son seems to be doing extremely well— considering the circumstances and shock to his body he must’ve experienced….”

the doctor’s words fade into nothing but static as you attempt to calm your beating heart— sending reassuring smiles in yoshi’s direction from time to time while his father and the medical expert discuss the next steps to take regarding his quirk.

but you don’t think you’ll get your heart to calm down tonight… not with the way mirio still holds your hand, thumb brushing over the back of it fondly.

your third memorable encounter with mirio togata falls on the day of your school’s winter fundraiser.

lemillion had made himself a permanent fixture in your humble little life as a teacher—somehow acquiring your number from the school offices to constantly text you throughout the day. you knew that the pair of you were crossing the boundaries of professionalism, parent and teacher, but it couldn’t be helped. your heart fluttered at every message you exchanged, pictures of yoshi enjoying himself at school and some of mirio on patrol being sent back and forth.

and so, you were beyond excited when the winter fate rolled around, the children of your class volunteering with their parents to help out at different stalls— yoshi had been sure to sign up to help you with the bake sale, roping in his dad as well. the two stayed up all night prior, baking pro hero themed cupcakes decorated with hundreds and thousands and dollops of tubed colourful frosting to sell, though messy, it only warmed your heart having their company.

“remember yoshi, i don’t want you phasing through the tables to steal the merchandise from the bake sale!” you remind the younger togata sweetly as he helps you set up the various baked goods for display. he shakes his head in affirmation, golden curls bouncing over ocean eyes and freckled cheeks despite the crumbs residing on them— evidence of his crimes. “though, i’m sure your dad will boost our donations! since he’s a pro hero and all.” not to mention all the mothers and single teachers are ogling the hell out him right now, you’re sure that they’re plotting your murder too.

wiping yoshi’s mouth, you shift your attention to his father— rolling your eyes amusedly at the bags under his own from staying up late to bake. “i certainly must be givin’ you an ego boost helping out too, having a pro hero do all your dirty work.” lemillion teases, voice lowered and husky— though grateful when you pass him a hot coffee.

“oh please mister togata,” turning on your own flirty charm, you send a wink the pro hero’s way. “you adore being my little helper, i’m sure you’ve missed having a woman boss you about like you need.” the second half of your words are whispered, almost sultry as you cross more boundaries in your unique and blossoming relationship.

mirio flushes, and in the tight space of your bakesale booth— presses his broad and molten-warm chest against your back, coffee in one hand while the other sits in a calculated manor on your hip.

“oh, i do love a woman in charge, miss.” the way he utters your name, sounds like and is as sweet as melted chocolate— far too risqué for a school fundraiser, and it’s your turn to shy away from the heat of the moment.

you allow yourself to be distracted by the children, yoshi included — who must have snuck off using his quirk— playing dangerously close to a heavily decorated Christmas tree that threatens to topple over as they weave around beneath it, and rush off to stop them— leaving the darling lemillion to deal with a swarm of hungry mothers and staff, desperate for a slice of his pie and not the cake your booth has to offer. he can’t help but watch you longingly, the way you bend down to speak soft to the children, holding their chubby little hands while giving them a gentle reprimand.

you’re so good with kids, good with yoshi— and mirio would be lying if he didn’t say you were good with him too.

you didn’t judge him for having a child before marriage, when he was still making a name for himself— you were kind to him, sweet and oh so understanding.

and perhaps he’d come to like you for reasons more than just being good with his son.

though his fantasises of having you close, having you to himself and making you a part of his family are promptly cut short by the intrusion of his long time friend…izuku midoriya. when the number one, his competion from way back when, seems to appear from nowhere— joining you with the now squealing children, giving them a lesson ( no doubt ) on how to be a good hero. or some mushy crap like that.

you seem impressed, smitten at how good deku is with your students, ruffling their hair and holding them up high above the green ringlets that make everyone go crazy…including you. mirio doesn’t miss the way your eyes light up brighter than those on the Christmas tree as izuku plays with your kids, puts his hand on the small of your back and whispers way too damn close to your ear.

since when did that shrimp have moves? the blonde can’t help but wonder. why do you like him so much?

your smile is near blinding when you return back to the bake sale booth with izuku on your arm— rambling about how much it took to get him to come, how good for the school it will be… as if togata hadn’t been standing right there the entire time. it bothers mirio a little bit, just how bright you shine when this other man is around, despite the budding romance you both might be sharing.

so he really can’t help himself, jealousy boiling over, when he blurts out. “are you two dating? am i missing something, number one?” in a strained, faux happy voice.

“o-oh! god no!”

“w-what? mirio no! midoriya is my cousin.” you’re quick to dismiss the idea, shaking your head while the number one hero turns bright red. “i invited him along today because he’s obviously a hit amongst single parents— freckles like this are sure to bring in the big bucks.” you cheer, punching your relatives star spotted cheeks.

izuku is rendered embarrassed for the remainder of the fundraiser, mirio absolutely mortified and you extremely amused but the rest of the bake sale goes without a hitch until closing and clean up time. yoshi sleeps on a bench behind your booth ( ultimately crashing from a sugar high ) as your cousin serves the very last of your eager customers trying to tempt him with their cookies instead of buying the ones izuku‘s girlfriend makes for a living.

as though not to disturb his sleeping son, the elder blonde shoots you a quick text.

mister togata - 5:45PM : I definitely was not jealous earlier.

mister togata - 5:46PM : So pls disregard me making a fool out of myself in front of your cousin.

you stifle a breathless chuckle like music to mirio’s ears, before looking back to see if yoshi is still resting peacefully and shoot another text in response.

yoshi’s pretty teacher lady - 5:49PM : oh i dunno, don’t think i can forget you mistaking my cousin for my boyfriend.

yoshi’s pretty teacher lady - 5:49PM : but maybe i can make an exception for you.

that familiar crack of heat flitters in the air when you both look up from your phones and catch one another’s gaze— suddenly aware of how small the space in booth is, how close you both are…how if you stood on your tiptoes you might be able to…

to kiss him.

to kiss one another.

but the moment is soon lost, wanting energy dissipating within the air as yoshi stirs to mumble tiredly. “don’ get too close to daddy miss!” the baby boy utters your name once, rubbing his eyes. “he’s got cooties.”

it’s only then that you truly realise how close you to the man…to this pro hero whose son is someone that you teach. it’s wrong, unprofessional… and losing your career isn’t worth kissing togata, no matter how much you want it.

so you back away— treating mirio togata as if he really does have cooties, putting up a wall between you both.

the fourth time you cross paths with mirio togata, you’re wet.

and not because of him.

the rain from an unexpected storm after work soaks you to the bone as you desperately call out to deku from your shared front porch— pleading and begging with the gods for him to be home since you’d forgotten your house keys back at your office on campus.

neither of you had realised it at the time, but when you’d first met mirio on your move-in date— you’d made arrangements to bunk with your cousin, izuku, in the same gated community that mirio lived in. the one where he just so happened to be neighbours with the top hero too.

the sunshine-like pro hero had spotted you shivering like a purse dog outside while home with a sickly little yoshi and despite the frosty awkwardness that built up between you both after the bake-sale, mirio knew it would be cruel of him to just leave you outside like that. “come inside,” he frowns, as if to scold you the same way you’d do with your students. “you’ll catch a cold like this if you don’t. and i’m not taking no for an answer, deku is on patrol, won’t be home until late.”

you look defeated, like a kicked puppy as you trudge into the togata household, clothes heavy with water. “i’m sorry,” you pout, as cute as ever— stealing mirio’s heart right from where it beats in his chest.

“don’t be, head upstairs and take the first right into my room. you can grab a change of clothes and stay here until your cousin comes home. i’ll fix you something to eat.”

it has the man’s stomach in knots how easily you follow his command, how beautiful you look with raindrops clinging to your skin. you’re even more so when you come back down dressed in an old sir night-eye shirt of his, heading over to join a pleased yoshi on the couch who can’t stop talking about how how he hated missing school and being sick and how glad he is that you came to visit.

yoshi trusts you so much, and that’s more than enough to drive mirio insane…but seeing you in his shirt too? it’s icing on the cake.

the rest of the evening is spent with you making funny shaped homemade pizzas with the younger togata and picking a book for him while his father and lemillion draws him a bubble bath. after washing up, you read yoshi the story until his eyes droop… and you can’t help but be a little jealous of how long his golden lashes are as they brush the freckles on his chubby cheeks. mirio spends that time avoiding eye contact, staring at your bottom when it peeks out from under his shirt and thinking of you in the most unholy ways.

when the time comes, you tuck the darling yoshi into his dinosaur and suneater themed sheets alongside his father before letting the elder togata guide you to the guest bedroom just one floor up and two doors down from his own. “sleep tight,” you murmur to the man, just a breath’s width apart in the doorway. “i-i’ll head back to midoriya’s in the morning. s-so thank you for tonight…”

he wants to say thank you back, for spending time with his son and teaching him so well, but lemillion’s words are lost on the way you look up at him with such bright doe eyes and a sleepy sweet smile. you chuckle breathlessly and slip away into the room, leaving mirio a flustered statue in place.

neither of your nights end there, however.

crossing the lines of professionalism once more, surrounded by all of his scents— hazelnuts and burning wood…you’re overcome with desire, there’s a familiar twitch between your thighs and a throb at your clit that you have to soothe. every neuron in your brain screams at you to stop, though your fingers circle your nub from over the crotch of your panties and thoughts of mirio above you, inside of of you and all over you ebb at your moral judgement.

it’s wrong, to moan mirio’s name into his sheets that smell like him…for you cunt to drool selfishly through your night clothes against the warm blanket he’d provided you with. the blonde hears you through the paper thin walls, cock swelling more and more with every mewl you let out. ones that are promised to him and him alone.

mirio chokes on groans, fists his cock and spreads his precum all over his expensive bed linen, humping his duvet as he imagines your supple, heated flesh beneath him. you’re like the sun, pulling him into your orbit and incinerating him from the inside out. he calls your name like it’s a prayer, half hoping you can hear his wanton for you echo across the hall, too busy jacking off to burst into your room and pump you full. make you a mother to his second and third child.

it’s far from appropriate, the pair of you getting off to one another in the middle of the night like this— but neither of you can think to stop, minds clouded by lust and orgasms that breach the horizon of the early morning… the tastes of each other’s names like sins on your tongues.

the filth and final time you encounter mirio togata like this, you’re like a lamb being sent to the slaughter.

pretty prey walking into the lion’s den.

you learn from yoshi during pick-up time that his father had fallen sick with the winter’s cold…explaining why you hadn’t seen him much between the special encounters after your night of sin. suneater— or mister amajiki, a close friend of the togatas, picks up yoshi under the guise of a play date while mirio recovers from a particularly serious cold and flu he caught on patrol.

“you should go see daddy!” yoshi babbles before bounding down to his uncle’s car. “he calls out for you a lot!” the cluelessness yet enthusiasm of a child will never cease to amaze you, and you have to control your stutter when hesitantly agreeing with your student. you know why mirio calls your name so much, that night hadn’t been the only time you’d gotten off to one another, nor would it be the last. you’d even walked in on the pro hero fisting his cock with your name wet on his tongue but neither of you had said a word at the time.

once all of your students have been sent off with their parents and carers, you make sure to swing by the closest mart to make somewhat of a care package for mister togata. some cough drops, cold medicine, heating pads for his hands and several tins of soup— all with the hope of helping him feel better.

you’re not nearly prepared for the sight you’re given when knocking on mirio’s door later on.

he says your name as soon as he opens up, hoarse and almost sultry,, and the man is half naked too— golden skin radiating with heat, coruscating with sweat and a slight flush from the fever. “fuck, pretty girl. you’ve come t’take care of me, hm?” mirio slurs in a slow and sexy way, swaying on his feet and collapsing onto you right on the front porch. “wha’d’are ya doin’ here gorgeous?”

embarrassment floods your veins, tangling with the heat burning from mirio against you. “l-lets get you inside, you’re sick.”

“lovesick, baby, been missin’ you all week.”

his words shouldn’t send your brain into a flurry as you push the pro hero back into his house but they do. you struggle with avoiding how he slobbers all over you like a horny dog, how he smirks cockily while you push him to sit against the livingroom couch. “we need to bring down this fever,” dismissing the blonde, you rush to his kitchen for a tall glass of water and boil the kettle to make him one of those medicated hot drinks. “you’ll be better soon, mister togata.”

blinking over at you with reddened lined eyes, lemillion keeps a predatory gaze on you despite how ill he is. “using formalities with me, sunshine?” he coos in response, distracted when you return by attempting to tug off more of his clothes…or his pants, rather. “that’s not what you were calling me the other night when you phoned to let me watch you shove your tiny fingers into that tight…pretty pussy…moaning my name—“

“mirio!”

“just like that gorgeous… fuck, say it again, baby.” you know that the man is delirious with his flu, but the low voice he drops deep, dripping with honey, filling you with that familiar lust you got off on whenever the two of you met up in secret. “‘mirio, m-mirio…oh fuck! mirio!’ you get so cute when you whine for me like that.” he’s playing you for a fool and you’re falling for it— like an easy game of cat and mouse, mirio coyly flirting with you as you desperately try to keep his sweatpants on. bundling him up in blankets and filling him up with cold water to calm down his fever.

you’re about to check his temperature again while pressing the back of your hand to his forehead when large and calloused hands grip the fat at your hips— tugging you straight into mirio’s lap like a lion dragging around its prey before the kill. “d-doesn’t look like you’re hot anymore…” you squeak, quivering in his grip and feeling every ripple of his thighs and abs beneath your fingertips as you steady yourself against him.

“fever went down ages ago baby,” he grins, all toothy and pearly white— pinching your waist, slender fingers cupping the curve of your ass to pull you back and forth over the growing bulge in his lap. “you’re just so fucking cute, dotin’ all over me, sunshine.” biting your lip, you fall apart easily— bearing witness to tousled golden locks and a smirk that sets a fire alight in your lower belly. “you wanna kiss me, don’t you?”

then you’re nodding your head, any logical thought cleared from your mind ( even the ones about not spreading germs that you usually tell to your students )— you want to know what the sun tastes like, if it’s as warm or as hot as science makes it seem. a heavy hand cups your throat without squeezing and brings you down for a passionate lip lock, your own finding the thick tresses of light and fiery hair as mirio’s tongue glides over the seam of your lips after pressing against yours. you moan at the sweet taste of honey and ginger on his lips, whimper in the form of begging for the man to let you in and consume you whole until you’re nothing but stardust.

neither of you part, lungs burning for oxygen like you’re lost in space with no air to breathe— grinding and kissing like your lives depend on it. everything is sloppy, spit-slicked and full of the admissions of feelings— you like each other. need each other like the earth needs its light and the sun needs something to shine down on. mirio sucks on your bottom lip, takes it between his teeth and slowly pulls away from you, but you follow him, chasing your own personal ecstasy.

“so needy, sunshine,” mirio coos, a certain deep rasp caught in the ridges of his throat. “so pretty like this too, so cute, all small in my lap. with my hands around your darlin’ little neck.” cobalt eyes, as luminous as the skies on a clear day flicker up to meet yours, swimming with tears of desperation— a craving for more of mirio togata carved into each fleck, drowning your dilated pupils. “do you want me to fuck you?”

you nod again, the world around you spinning and your thoughts intoxicated with the golden boy hero beneath your thighs that tremble with each compliment he feeds to you. “yes— god, please.”

“please, what?” togata asks you, voice stern as he works on pulling you out of the layers of your clothes— blouse and bra gone before you can even register it.

pouting, you whisper a needy. “m-mirio?”

shaking his head as if chastising a child, the man tuts and mocks your pout all while working on plucking off your skirt next, leaving you in nothing but your innocent cotton panties. “that’s daddy when i’m with you,” he tells you like it’s a promise with his fingers once again fumbling between your bodies and underwear to toy with the pearl between your puffy pussy lips, dragging the newfound wetness over your clit. clear strings of your arousal seep through your panties and leave a dark spot on his sweats. “daddy, when i have you like this, you got that?”

“y-yes,” you mewl eagerly, shifting on your knees so you’re better spread over mirio’s lap— giving him better access to prep your sweet hole as it flutters around his thick digits, earning a breathless chuckle from his wet lips. “yes, daddy.”

“good fucking girl,” he says proudly, gaze fixated on between your pretty thighs— watching you quiver from the praise before mirio relents, easing two fingers past your soaked entrance and scissoring them immediately. stretching you wide to take his girthy cock. “oh fuck, my little sunshine’s so warm, so wet for me.” he groans, drawing his name against your silken walls, thumb painting wide sloppy circles into your clit.

your face feels hot with tears, something that mirio enjoys seeing, especially when they clump in your eyelashes. “please…i want more,” i want you. is what you mean, nails lightly cutting into mirio’s shirtless shoulders as you ride the digits pumping in and out of your slick cunt, squeezing tight around them as you gush into the seat of his palm. “d-daddy!”

“shhh, i know little sunshine, daddy knows,” he hums softly after pressing down on your g-spot, carefully pulling his fingers out of you to push you onto your back on the couch. “be good f’me and don’t cum yet, kay? want you to hold onto that until i’ve got you on my cock. yeah?” mirio’s words are tender, though domineering, while he shifts to hover over you, hot tongue burning against your skin as he licks a trail from the hem of your panties, between your arching back, bare breasts and budding nipples until he meets your lips— drooling into your eager open mouth as you pant out for more. “so fucking perfect, sunshine.”

cool air rushes over your pulsating, glistening pussy— mirio having pulled your underwear aside, only causing you to cry out from the lack of stimulation. “don’t cry, pretty baby,” you manage to hear him over the blood pulsing through your ears, body tingling all over at the feeling of mirio’s girthy cock pressing against your inner thigh through layers of fabric. “‘m gonna fuck you now, don’t worry. daddy’s gotcha.”

he hikes a thigh of yours up over his hip, shoving down his boxers and sweats just enough to let his mushroomed and seedy cockhead press into the heat of your pussy. you dig your nails into mirio’s sweaty scalp, mouth hanging open and hips rising from the sticky leather of the couch covered in your juices. the man above you is the centre of your universe, you think. though your relationship may be somewhat taboo, you feel the care and affection he has for you in every single one of his touches. calloused hands moulding your body into the perfect shape to fuck, to make love to and makes you feel like jello as his fat, veiny dick pushes deeper into you— big for the slickness of your pussy to resist him.

“relax for daddy, sweetheart, let me in…c’mon, fuck. open up f’me,” mirio simpers, rolling his hips slow and sensual until your walls tremble around him— welcoming his dick home, bathing him in all of your arousal. he throbs inside you, finally sheathed in all your warmth as if you’re the core of his earth. “that’s it…my good girl, oh fuck. fuck, you feel better than i ever imagined. so fucking tight baby, gonna let daddy fuck you right, huh?” you can tell that he’s losing himself within you, now forcing your knees into your shoulders to put you into a mating press and wasting no more time setting a rough, feverish pace to his hips and pounding into your sweet cunt.

you cry and squeal and claw at togata, the world spinning on its axis around you while the blonde fucks you into a stupor— his tip smearing copious amounts of thick precum along your velveteen insides until there’s a white ring of your mixed arousals cuffed around the base of his blue veined cock. “d-daddy…s’good. so fuckin’ good,” your own juices splash up against the pro hero’s stomach and and every time his hips slam down against your own— wet skin slapping on skin in a rhythmic and sensual tune.

galaxies twinkle in your pretty eyes, your teeth sinking into mirio’s golden and broad shoulders while you scratch at his back. the sound of sex clinging to the air in the room is primal, animalistic as lemillion cups your throat again— tilting your head so that he can mark his claim into your sweat tainted flesh. the fabric of your panties pushed to the side rubs deliciously at his soaked, creamy shaft and the waistband of his pants rub your clit raw, the effect the clothing has on you both leading you to believe that neither of you will last much longer like this.

“‘m makin’ you see fuckin’ stars, aren’t i sunshine?” he asks you, each word punctuated by a harsh thrust—cum-loaded balls tapping against your ass, the sound mixing with your squeals to make a lustful song. “want this pretty pussy to cum for me. can you do that, my good girl?” mirio moans heartily above the couch squeaking beneath your bodies that dance together in rough and passionate movements.

he smiles again, nice and bright when you nod and start to circle your hips upwards as best as you can into his. “‘m close, can cum for daddy. wanna cum for daddy. please don’t stop, please—!”

“alright baby, i gotcha…look at you. so cute and needy for your daddy. for me.” mirio gunts back into your mouth, falling apart at the sight of your lovesick and teary face, crumbling at the way your cunt clamps down on him— refusing to let him pull out in an attempt to milk him for all his worth. you’re tight around him, practically choking mirio’s cock as his fat milky tip bullies your insides and harshly bares down on your g-spot— sending you headfirst into your orgasm. “that’s it…fuck look at that, pretty lil pussy cummin’ around daddy’s fat cock. s-shit.”

soft praises are expelled into the buzzing air between you both, with you gasping for breath and squirting on the blonde’s dick so hard that he’s forced out of your pulsing walls before he cums in hot waves over your raw mound— painting your ravaged pussy lips white with his hot and thick seed.

you’re both left panting and sticky messes on the couch as you come down from your highs— your mind running a mile a minute when you realise what’s just happened, what you’ve done with the father of your student. no less.

“m-mister togata, i-i’m—“ you start to apologise, coming too, heart rate spiking in your chest.

but mirio is quick to stop you, forehead and sweaty blonde locks pressed to your own with a dreamy and satisfied look on your face. “before you say anything more. i want you to know that this wasn’t just a hook up for me. nor were the times before that.” he explains,blinking up at you with unadulterated affection, perhaps even love. “i like you, a-and i like how you look out for my son. and i know our relationship has been far from appropriate, i’d like to take you out for a proper date— do things right instead of sleeping with you to work up my courage to ask you out.”

“mirio…” you smile, brushing back his hair. “i’d love that, a lot actually.”

“yeah?” he asks, timid for a man who just fucked you to the high heavens and back before linking your fingers. “say you mean it, or you’ll be breakin’ both mine and yoshi's hearts.”

“yeah…” you murmur through a laugh, leaning up for a sweet kiss to seal the deal.

the fifth time you encounter mirio togata, you walk into the lions den, but come out with him hand in hand— your hearts belonging to one another.

#mirio x reader #mirio smut #mirio togata smut #bnha smut #bnha x reader #mirio togata x reader #mirio imagines #mirio fluff #mirio x you #bnha imagines #mirio togata x you #mha smut #mha x reader #mha imagines #mirio togata fluff #tteokdoroki #✧ ₊˚੭ — writing

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 6 months

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OMG! I’m so happy for you, 5K is so exciting and you deserve it so much. I (live laugh) loveeeeeee your writing style so so so so much and I’ve just about read every fic you’ve made like 30 times over. I have an idea for a Soap nsfw fic that I’ve been wanting to submit since I found your account and I think this is the perfect time.

Rivals to lovers? Soap and reader were cadets together during their training/pre-selection days of the SAS, they were both top of their “class” and would often try to one up one another? Despite that, they would have one another’s backs. Eventually, after SAS selection, they parted ways and maybe a few years later (just after the events of MW2 2022) they reconnect as they’re both assigned to a mission. Sexual tensions high after years of not seeing each other? and goes sideways and they have to end up staying at a safe house (One bed trope?) and then things escalate from there?

Thank you for opening your requests for this momentous occasion! I’m so so happy for you and I’m so so excited for the next work you put out!

—Still The Same Fools

⇢ ˗ˏˋ 5k Drabble Masterlist ࿐ྂ

╰┈➤ ❝ [There was always a rivalry between you two - that hasn't changed even if both of you have. Years later, the boiling point is finally met.] ❞

“I told you it was a bad idea,” you tilt your head, tightly wrapping your left thigh; bandages you pull harder, grunting as the flow of blood slows.

The safehouse is cold—and it’s snowing outside worse than a shaken snow globe on a massage chair, flakes as big as your hand slapping the window.

Johnny’s trying to start a fire, shoulders all wound up as you stare at his tension-ridden back.

“MacTavish,” you call, glaring. “I’m talking to you.”

“Aye,” he grunts, flicking his lighter three times before the smallest of flames sparks up—he quickly moves it to the dry logs, letting it take to the kindling. “I have ears.”

You grimace, shaking your head.

The history between the two of you was long—dating back to the days when you’d both signed up. You’d bled together, failed, and won together, even if the tensions were visible in the air as much as the long glances were. SAS selection had been the point where your clashing attitudes had been put on pause; things were getting more serious now—there was no going back. Only a year in you’d both seen the last of each other.

Or, you thought that at least.

A mission—Norway during a blizzard. Full coverage and the means of a Capture-Or-Kill.

“You want to explain to me why you still decided to rush in like that?” You push, voice digging.

The room was weighed down by heat—not from the now sizzling fire itself but from the stiff look that’s passed your way. You blink, Soap’s blue eyes darker than they had been. With a low grunt, the usually sarcastic and blunt man stands, beginning to stalk over with hard steps. Bodies layered with sweat and grime, you release the shreds of the bandages around your bare thigh; pants half down your legs.

Frowning, you ignore the soar in your heart rate and let him move up to the rickety chair you sit in, his hands coming down to lean into the armrests on either side of you.

You hold back a gasp as his face is shoved into yours.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he utters, accent stiff, and both of your eyes battling one another for dominance that neither wants to give up. Two feral wolves at each other’s throats. “Maybe it was to make sure the old Hen of mine didn’t get herself killed.”

You snap back immediately, faces closer and breath puffing over skin. “You don’t trust me?”

“Never said that,” he grunts, stubble shifting into a frown.

You scoff, nose brushing against his as heads tilt. “Prove it. Because right now, I’m hearing a lot of bullshi—”

Lips smash into yours.

The affair that night was a rabid tangle of shed clothes and loose limbs, bare skin bloody and sweat-stained long before any action had even been taken. The wound at your thigh was of little concern as the fast shove of Johnny’s pelvis sent his cock dragging along the walls of your cunt.

“Fuck,” you gasp, head tilting back to connect with the floor as the fire spreads light over the safehouse. “God, right there. Right there, Johnny.”

Your legs tighten around his waist, a thin stream of crimson moving down your flesh as the sound of slapping wet skin echoes over and over again. Like a loyal dog, the man smirks into your neck as he bites, sucking and groaning all the more as you tighten around him with a shiver of electricity working its way down your spine straight to your core.

You whine as he grabs your chin, glaring weakly until your glossy eyes blur the space behind his head.

“Like that, do you?” He teases, hand firm and unyielding. “Tell me you like it, Dearie.”

“Go,” you pant, fingers digging into his mohawk and pulling. Johnny’s blown pupils widen even farther, hips thrusting harder and making you moan in his hold—him doing the same, with a more cut-off version that would make a pornstar blush. You force out, “screw yourself.”

He feels you tighten even farther around him, his jaw clenching as his abdomen bunches, trying to hold off his approaching orgasm.

“I think I’m enjoying this more, see,” he sloppily kisses the side of your mouth, licking at the skin. Everything about this was pent-up lust—messy sex in both the literal and metaphorical sense.

His tip caresses your womb, pulling almost all the way out of you before jerking forward and grinding moments after. His pelvis massages your clit, textured walls like a noose trying to keep him in. Your fluids leak out to coat his thighs a nice shiny clear. Muscles glide over yours, the dip and swell of flesh addictive.

A growl is sent into your face.

“Pull my hair again.” You do so, listening to the animalistic groans as your body moves up and down on the floor, cutting off exhalations of air puffing out from open mouths.

“Harder,” your gasp, “fuck me harder, Sergeant.”

A hand slams into the wood beside your head, the other moving to press into your stomach. You nearly cry when you can feel his cock hammering against the thin flesh of your abdomen.

You tighten around him and arch your back, lips brushing against his as you strangle down a loud plea for release. Your fingers latch and twist Johnny’s head to the side as the cord in your snaps.

“Fuck,” Johnny draws out the curse, eyes rolling back as you bare down on him ruthlessly, thighs tense and stained with blood and cum as your orgasm seeps violently down the swell of them.

He follows with a loud gasp, letting you feel the gush of his spend as it fills you to the brim, leaking out with every failing cant of his hips into yours.

The man loosens and lets his limp head hit your shoulder, body shaking as he stays above you only enough to keep his full weight from crushing you. It’s a long time before either of you find the words to speak.

“Round two?” Johnny asks.

You blink and feel the small sparks of pain in your thigh. It was nothing serious.

“Yeah,” you shrug, voice breathless and cunt spasming. “Why not.”

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steddieasitgoes · 1 year

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It’s Mother’s Day 1973 and Steve’s mom isn’t home.

Instead of spending the day with her only son, she’s left to follow her husband on his latest business trip. Steve doesn’t remember where she’s going, just that she promised to bring him back a snow globe for his collection. The one that sits on the highest shelf the bookcase in his room — collecting dust.

He’s been pawned off to his nanny again. Poor Ms. Anderson who has put her own middle-aged life on hold to raise a kid whose not hers. Steve’s not stupid. He knows his parents pay her well to take care of him, but he still wishes she’d tell them off. At least, put up a fight, so she didn’t have to spend all her weekends with him.

Usually the duo stay cooped up in the Harrington’s House. Ms. Anderson will cook him a nice meal and they’ll spend the afternoon playing games or watching movies. She’ll fall asleep early in the movie and Steve will disappear to play with his toys or snoop through his parents things to try to figure out where they’ve gone this time.

Today’s different though.

It’s Mother’s Day, after all.

Today, Ms. Anderson has taken him to Roane Hill Cemetery. She lets him hold a massive bouquet of pink carnations as she gathers a picnic blanket and basket from the back of her car.

“What are we doing here?” Steve asks, struggling to keep pace with Ms. Andersons determined steps.

“Visiting my mom.”

“But isn’t she…” Steve doesn’t finish the sentence.

“Yeah,” she says, spreading out the blanket next to a small gravestone. “But just because someone’s gone doesn’t mean they’re out of our lives. Coming here makes me feel connected to her.”

Steve doesn’t understand that.

How can Ms. Anderson feel connected to her dead mom if she can’t even look at her? He doesn’t even feel connected to his own mom when she’s in the same room as him.

Maybe it’s a girl thing, he thinks.

Steve sits down quietly, after that. Ms. Anderson clearly needs this visit and Steve’s not going to interfere with her plans. Not when said plans get him out of the house for the first time in a week. So he sits and listens to Ms. Anderson talk to the headstone. Watches as she digs out a small flower pot in the ground to place the flowers in.

It’s only when she ducks her head in a prayer that Steve decides to explore.

“Don’t go too far,” she warns. “And be mindful of others!”

The cemetery is full of older people. Some sit on blankets like Ms. Anderson with gorgeous flowers and picnic baskets full of food, ready to spend hours with their departed mothers. Others, stay for a few minutes. Set down flowers and tap headstones before ducking their heads while retreating to their cars.

There’s laughter and tears and Steve doesn’t know how to feel about all of it, except lonely.

He wishes there was someone his age around here.

Steve ventures deeper into the cemetery, where the trees are taller and fuller. Older, Steve thinks. It’s through a small clearing that he spots a boy about his age sitting in front of a headstone. An older man stands behind him, a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

He’s too far away to know for sure, but he’s pretty sure the boy is talking to the headstone. Head tilted forward, shoulders hiccuping up and down like the boy is crying. Steve wonders who he could be visiting. Certainly not his mom, right? He’s much too young to not have a mom — Steve should know.

He watches as the little boy leans forward and kisses the headstone and Steve realizes it must be.

Steve must make a sound, a gasp or a small cry because the boy and the older man’s head whip around in his direction. He’s still too far away to hear, but he can tell the man is telling the boy something. Whispering in his ear before nodding his head in Steve’s direction.

He should leave. Ms. Anderson is probably done with her prayer now and she’ll be worried if he’s not back soon, but he can’t leave. Not when he spots the little boy trudging through the tall grass towards him.

“Are you lost?” the boy asks.

Steve shakes his head.

“What are you doing all the way out here then?”

Steve shrugs. “Was that… were you talking to your mom?”

“Yeah,” Eddie nods, looking over his shoulder. “Uncle Wayne says it’s good to come talk to her ‘cause she gets lonely too. Are you here for your mom?”

“Oh no,” Steve says. “My mom is, well she’s not here but—”

“Do you want to help me?” Eddie asks, before Steve can finish it. “Wayne wants me to go find a yellow flower in the field over there. It’s so big I could use some help.”

“Sure!” Steve says, happy to finally have someone his age to talk to. “But why yellow?”

“It’s my mom’s favorite color!” Eddie smiles. “She said, she always felt like the sun was touching her when she wore it. It was her happy color.”

Years later, when Steve and Eddie have reconnected and they’re going through Steve’s closet to find items to donate, Eddie will ask Steve why he has so many yellow sweaters.

“It makes me feel like the sun, warm and happy,” Steve says, smiling softly. “I used to wrap myself in yellow whenever my parents left me home alone.”

And it’s then and only then do the two of them realize they met long before they crossed paths in the halls of Hawkins High and even longer before portals to hell-like dimensions open.

#this is dumb but the idea kept nagging me #steddie #steddie ficlet #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve harrington ficlet #eddie munson ficlet #stranger things ficlet #cw parental death #cw death #dani writes

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chibi-tsukiko · 5 months

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The Streets are Filled with Christmas Cheer 🎄

Once upon a time (3 years ago) I drew Malec as little chibi’s in an ornament bundled up in a scarf.

I used that as inspiration for this piece 🥰

Kicking off the holiday season, looking like they’re in a snow globe is the one and only Malec ♥️

I hope you like it!

More holiday TSC (malec) pics to come!

Characters owned by @cassandraclare

(Click below for a different version)

Tag list : @littleturtle95 @zfoxdraws @bookworm-jedi @magnus-the-maqnificent @beclynn-herondale @khaleesiofalicante @my-archerboy @youngreckless @thomaslightwood @runecarstairs @high-warlock-of-brooklyn @panicatwallmaria @banesbitch @alexandergideonslightwood @ofsandstonebodies @la-lune-chaotique @starlight-in-my-eyes @tamaraheartz @anarchistbitch @iightwoodbane @icycoolslushie @zemiraa @raziyekroos @radisv @elettralightwood @axoloteca @queenlilith43 @astriefer @thomastaircompassrose @ibrushmyteeth-donttellanyone @rinadragomir @carelessflower

#my art #malec #magnus bane #alec lightwood #tsc #shadowhunters #the shadowhunter chronicles #emsart

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lenoraah · 7 months

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𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘨𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴

pairing - dennis hauger x reader

summary - reader and Dennis decides that even though they’re not together, they can still surprise each other on Valentine’s Day + named best friend action

a/n - this man doesn’t get enough love

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“I am not letting you mope around on Valentine’s Day again, you understand-”

Olive pauses as she walks into the couple’s apartment. She thought that while Dennis was gone that Y/n would be moping around wearing one of his sweatshirts and scowling while eating a tub of ice cream.

“What is going on?” Olive is left with a dumbfounded look on her face as she sits down on the couch.

Y/n has a giant grin on her face as she grabs two cans of sparking juice out of the fridge while humming.

Olive holds in a breath as she looks around the living room. There is vase of roses on the counter and coffee table. The heart vintage heart shape snow globe that she had gotten the couple is sitting on the window sill next to the strawberry candle.

Y/n is wearing beige linen pants and a baby pink sweater with a heart on the middle. The expression on her face makes Olive open her mouth with no sound coming out.

“What?” Y/n asks as she reaches for the TV remote.

“Why are you so happy?” Olive replies as she squints Serendipity being turned on instead of 10 Things I Hate About You or The Notebook.

“Because it’s Valentine’s Day and I will not let it be ruined again just me and Dennis aren’t together.”

Oh wow.

“You know what, good for you.” Olive pats Y/n on the back before opening her drink.

“I know,” Y/n smiles as she leans against her best friend’s side with a sigh.

The two get the middle of the movie before Y/n’s phone starts ringing. The sound makes both of them scowl as Olive pauses the movie and Y/n answers.

“Hello?”

“Hi baby, where are you?”

The sound of Dennis’s voice makes Y/n smile like an idiot. She twirls a piece of hair around her finger and Olive rolls her eyes.

“Home, with Olive, watching a movie.” Y/n leans the couch as she watches her best friend eat popcorn whiling listening to their conversation.

“Okay, I left something for you in my nightstand drawer. I got it for you a couple-” Dennis gets cut off by someone speaking in Italian. “I got to go, love you. I’ll call you soon,”

“I love you too,”

Y/n looks at Olive with her mouth open just a little before the brunette shoos the y/h/c girl out of the living room and into the couple’s bedroom. Y/n waste no time running into her bedroom.

Olive unpauses the movie and keeps sipping her drink before hearing an excited shriek.

“What? What is it?” The brunette spins her head around as Y/n runs back into living room.

Y/n holds a stuffed bunny in her hands with a pout on her face. Olive squints to see the petite gold watch around the pink bunny’s arm.

“Olive, look.” Y/n shoves the bunny in Olive’s face and Olive nods.

“Yes, very romantic, now please stop reminding me that I’m single and that you and Dennis have one of the most cheesiest relationships I know of.” Olive teases as Y/n unclamps the watch and clasps it around her wrist.

“I know, I know, ugh he’s too sweet.” Y/n says as she notices the engraving on the inside of the watch. It’s her initials and his together. Oh, the cheesiness and sweetness at the same time.

“You did something for him right?” Olive ask as she watches Y/n admire the watch with the bunny cuddled against her chest.

“Um, duh.”

————————————————————————

“Delivery for- Dennis Hauger.”

“Uh, thank you.”

The delivery man raises an eyebrow as he hands the confused Norwegian a bouquet of white roses with a card attached.

“Long distance?”

“Yeah, something like that.” Dennis smiles as he thinks about Y/n.

He thanks the delivery man before closing the door and squinting at the roses.

What was happening.

Dennis leans against the counter as he gently lays the flowers in the marble countertop. He carefully takes out the card without untying the flowers.

He can’t keep but smiling like an idiot as he reads the letter.

Dennis sighs as he gently touches the petals of the roses.

Here he was, thousands of miles away from his girlfriend. Unable to be with her and hug her.

But you know what, they’re making it work and that was that. That was they needed. A little sprinkle of affection and love.

And they both know that they were going to have so many moments together. So many Valentine’s Day to spent together and so many holidays.

They both knew that.

Dennis smiles faintly as he reaches for his phone, just can’t wait to hear Y/n’s voice.

#dennis hauger #dennis hauger x reader #dennis hauger imagine #f2 #f2 x reader #f2 imagine #formula two #original post #original writing

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sterekfests · 6 months

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Welcome to our Winter round of Sterek Fests! Sterek Winter Fest will run from November 26 - January 6 in celebration of Winter, whether you are excited to begin decorating for Christmas, have last-minute shopping to do for the holidays, or just want to enjoy the cold weather and snow with your pack or family, there’s a little something for everyone!

Check out our Rules and FAQs.

We also have a Discord you can join.

How to Participate:

Participating in Sterek Winter Fest is easy and stress-free! This is a no-commitment fest where you can participate as little or as much as you want. Participate in one week and none of the others if you so fancy, or participate in all of them! We have an AO3 Collection for you to post all of your creations in! This fest is open to both Fic and Art, so create to your heart's content!

How to post:

You can post your creations to any website that you want, as long as they are viewable to the public, whether that’s Tumblr, LiveJournal, DreamWidth, or our AO3 Collection. @sterekfests so we see your creations to reblog them. Use the tags #sterekfestswinter2023, and #sterekfests for generic tags. For weekly tags: #sterekfestsbeginning, #sterekfestssnow, #sterekfestswonderland, #sterekfestswant, #sterekfestschristmas, #sterekfestsmidnight

Late Posting:

Late posting is always welcomed! The collection will stay open for late submissions. You can find our Summer and Fall collections also if you’d like to add to those collections.

If you have any questions, feel free to send us an ask!

- Liam (@sterekbros) & Dori (@evanesdust)

Keep reading to see all the awesome theme weeks ahead!

November 26 - December 2: “It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas.”

With Christmas music playing in the background, it’s time for Derek and Stiles to decorate for the holidays. Do they pull out old, familiar ornaments as they reminisce about past Christmases? Or are they building new traditions, weaving fresh memories into each tinsel and bell? Either way, it will be a perfect little Christmas moment.

December 3 - 9: “Let it snow.”

The weather outside might be frightful, but that won’t stop Derek and Stiles from enjoying the snow. Whether they’re building snowmen, throwing snowballs, or making snow angels, they’re bound to have a fun time.

December 10 - 16: “Winter Wonderland.”

This holiday season, Stiles and Derek can look forward to snow-covered landscapes, twinkling lights, and quaint little shops full of festive cheer. Maybe they wander through town, observing the festive decorations. Or perhaps they find joy in small moments, as they slide down a big, wintery hill. No matter how they choose to spend their day, laughter is guaranteed.

December 17 - 23: “All I want for Christmas.”

Christmas wishes are abundant this winter season, whether that means Eli wants the latest toy on the market, or Stiles wants to spend time with his family and pack during the holiday season. Perhaps Derek is spending his time shopping for the perfect present for his mate and pup, or Stiles is trying to create the perfect holiday atmosphere leading up to Christmas. Either way, Stiles and Derek spend the holiday together, sharing winter feelings and love this chilly season.

December 24 - 30: “Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays.”

It's Christmas time, whether that's in Beacon Hills, New York, or somewhere else around the globe where Stiles and Derek are celebrating Christmas. Maybe they're at home, sharing their first Christmas as a couple, or it's Eli's first Christmas with the Pack. Either way, the gifts and love they share will warm their hearts this Christmas season.

December 31 - January 6: “Kiss me at midnight.”

The countdown to midnight has begun! Are Derek and Stiles spending their New Year's in New York City watching the ball drop in Times Square? Perhaps they're spending time at home together while they watch the ball drop on TV while their kids sleep in the next room. Or maybe they're meeting for the first time at a New Year's party and kiss at midnight. Of course, they fall in love. Share their New Year's and resolutions with us this winter season!

@thebigbangblogproject @teenwolffandomevents @sterekevents

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wolfpackss · 9 months

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Sam Uley fic where reader moves in and helps with the pack and its just craziness

A/n: sorry it’s so short, this one was a little difficult because i had no idea where I wanted it to go! But thank you for requesting

———————————————————————-

“Be careful with that box!” You grasp the box out of Embry’s hand who’s shaking the box like it’s some kind of snow globe. Embry looks at you with widened eyes. “What does this say? Careful, fragile.. you can read can you? F-R-A-G-I-L-E!” You snap at him while still holding the box, eying the young wolf who’s looking at you like you’re crazy. “Out of my way, coming through!” You hear Jared yelling behind you, holding a couple of more boxes. You quickly step out of the way before Jared drops them all, giving Embry a small push. You feel two arms wrap around your waist as Sam rests his chin on your shoulder. “Calm down babe, you’re stressing” he kisses your neck as you let out a big sigh. “I know, but we have so much to do! We need to unpack and rearrange everything to how we want it to look like and I just want it to be perfect.” He rubs your arms and turns you around so you’re facing him. “Okay, let me handle this. I think Jacob and Quill should be back soon with the last couple of boxes and then me and the boys will bring them all upstairs to the guest room. Tomorrow we’ll have all the time to figure that stuff out but tonight after they all leave, I just want to spend my first night living together with my girlfriend. without having to think about unpacking.” You look up at Sam and wrap your arms around his waist as his hands lay still on your shoulder. You push yourself up against him and lay your head on his chest. “Go take a break baby, I’ll take care of this.”

As you step into the kitchen to make some tea for yourself, you hear Sam outside yelling instructions to the guys. You make your way to the couch and let your head rest against the cushions. Your peace is disturbed by a loud bang coming from outside and you can hear the glass shattering. You pinch the bridge of your nose and let out a big sigh. You pray to whatever god is out there that it was not the box with your grandmother’s mugs which were very dear to you. “It’s all good babe!” You hear Sam scream from outside, and you let out a little giggle. You hold your cup of tea in your hands and stand by the window overlooking the guys. It’s mayhem out there but you wouldn’t have it other way. They’re your guys, your pack, at least one you could say you belonged to.

#sam uley x reader #sam uley #sam uley angst #sam uley x female reader #sam uley smut #Sam Uley fluff #twilight wolf pack #twilight wolves #twilight imagines #twilight imagine #twilight

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honestlydarkprincess · 7 months

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Hiii I would love a buddie fic based on the "not what I came for" prompt :) love your fics so much

thank you sm! i hope you enjoy!

love is stored in the halloween decorations

buck x eddie || rated: t || wc: 1.2k

Buck hummed to himself happily as he walked into Target. He was picking up a few things for their weekly movie night, a Buckley-Diaz tradition that Buck loved more than anything. He was just about to go into the chip aisle when something caught his eye.

“Oooh,” Buck mumbled to himself, following the shiny thing that had caught his attention. He walked into the seasonal aisle and found himself amongst a whole bunch of Halloween decorations. Buck rubbed his hands together. “Oh, yes.”

Twenty minutes later, Buck’s phone rang and absentmindedly he answered it, still staring at a snow globe with a raven inside it. When he shook it, little bats flew around and he chuckled with childish glee.

“Buck?” Eddie’s voice came from his phone.

“Hi, yes, I’m here,” Buck tore his attention away from the snow globe and focused on the phone call. “What’s up?”

“Chris wanted me to make sure that you got gummy worms. They’re his choice of candy for this week,” Eddie said, fondness for his son clear in his voice.

“Yeah, I can get gummy worms,” Buck mumbled, getting distracted by a set of little ghost shaped salt and pepper shakers. “Hey, Eds, do you need salt and pepper shakers?”

“What?”

“Salt and pepper shakers. Y’know, for like, dinner and stuff.”

“Yes Buck, I’m aware of what to use salt and pepper for.” Eddie said, amused. “Why are you asking?”

“I just saw some really cool ones,” Buck admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “I thought maybe you would want some for Halloween.”

Eddie was quiet for a minute. “You’re in the Halloween decorations aisle, aren’t you?”

continue on ao3

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fic-over-cannon · 4 months

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every time jason travels for work he comes home with a souvenir for you. like a snow globe, or a piece of fine china, or a corny t-shirt. and even if he’s been to a place dozens of times he’ll still come back with something. you have shelves and shelves of miscellaneous items that to anyone else seem like knick knacks you can’t let go of. but really they’re just confirmations that jason thinks of you when you’re apart. (not that you had any doubt about that though)

oh you cannot do this to me ro. just the casual intimacy of letting someone know that you’re thinking about them. that you’re on their mind constantly enough that they make connections between you and the world around them.

jason sending you postcards when he’s away longer than a few days to let you know he’s okay and thinking of you. developing a game where the postcards hint at what your present is going to be. the fridge is covered in postcards from around the world, overlapping and forcing you to buy stronger magnets (the first time a postcard fell off the fridge from a weak magnet, jason brought back tacky tourist themed magnets on his next four trips. he replaces the magnetic backings with stronger ones so now they’re functional and memorable).

jason brings you back little figurines and china plates. these knick knacks don’t get stored away behind cold glass but incorporated into everyday life. your morning tea mug is a memory of a trip jason took to Croatia. the pasta serving dish a souvenir from Rome. a frog statue from Thailand holds your rings. a friend asks where you got the painting hanging in your living room and you get the joy of telling them that jason brought it back for you from a market in Tehran.

just jason constantly seeing traces of you in the world around him and bringing those pieces back home to you.

#sweet words for sunnie #very very sleep deprived so apologies if this is not the most coherent #I love this idea so much you don’t even know #jason todd my beloved

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cressthebest · 12 days

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AHHHHHHHHHHHH

while packing everything to move out my dorm, i had The Mischief Productions short films playing in the background. i was watching them all (again) and i am (once again) not okay

-A Night’s Tale (jegulus) is probably my favorite so far just because of the quality and also length. absolutely stunning

-THE WOLFSTAR ONE AHHHHH. it perfectly captures their volatile dynamic. remus and sirius DO argue and they DO fight, but they also mean the world to each other and wouldn’t trade a thing to have the other back safe. i love the way it displays their after school domesticity

-THE EVANS SISTERS RAAAAHHH. god, i love how it opens with james not able to use a phone. he’s so precious 😭😭 but also like, lily and petunia’s entire dynamic. you can see how hesitant both of them are to get close to the other. you can tell how badly they both want the other to care, but is too scared of getting close and getting hurt. ughhh that one was fantastic

-OMG OMG OMG i’ve watched the jily “The Lasg Christmas” one like eighteen times. it’s ridiculous how much i love it. omg everything from james and lily’s dynamic with each other, to seeing their little house, to knowing that harry is asleep in the room over. AHHHH. the way that LILY is the one who first splashes flour in james’ face to cause trouble. they belong with each other omg. AND WHEN PETER SHOWED UP HOLY SHIT I WAS NOT OKAY. god, they’re all besties. it shows that lily cared deeply for peter too. they were close. and the way they all sang along to queen, TOP TIER SHIT RIGHT THERE! you can see james-physical affection is how i show my love-potter was interacting with peter. AND THEN the gift exchange. i was not okay with the snow globe’s light going out. i think i cried all the way up until my eleventh or so watch of it. the snow globe going out absolutely destroys me. until the jegulus one came out, this one was my favorite. and quite honestly, i recommend watching this one more than watching the jegulus one, simply because i view this as heartbreaking canon, and the jegulus one is fanfic fluff.

-DORLENE MY BELOVED DORLENE MY BELOVED OMG. okay like so i’m at a loss for words over how fucking gorgeous this film is. dorcas and marlene are quite literally some of the prettiest people i’ve ever seen in my life. also, the scenery and the beautiful outside date they’re having <3 they had strawberries! and chess! and marlene was taking photos of dorcas! and they giggled and held each other!! AND THEY KISSED!! and they were in love! (and we’re gonna ignore marlene’s stresses about the war. cause yikes, i like to pretend that they all make it out okay)

1000/10 highly recommended any and everyone go and watch their short films. i view it as real cinema and THESE are my comfort films.

#marauders #regulus black #james potter #jegulus #mwpp era #sirius black #remus lupin #wolfstar #evans sisters #lily evans #petunia dursley #jily #peter pettigrew #dorlene #dorcas meadowes #marlene mckinnon #the mischief productions #short film

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maddymoreau · 3 months

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I always thought it was cute the Securitrons could make a siren sound and now I can’t stop thinking about Jane, Victor and Yes Man doing it.

Victor doing it while taking your injured body to Doc Mitchell.

When you bring Jane a snow globe her doing it as a little celebratory noise.

There’s so many funny moments you could add it to Yes Man’s dialogue.

Yes Man: “Did I just say “exploiting?” *siren noise* “that’s not a very nice world!”

I understand the Securitrons in the cutscene do it because they’re in police mode and the others doing it is unrealistic with their AIs but it’s fun to imagine!

#Fallout New Vegas #Yes Man #Victor #Jane #MadisonPlaysFalloutNewVegas

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tetsupeach · 2 years

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the contract - pantalone x f!reader smut

summary - in order to save your village, you make a deal with the devil.

cws - yan!pantalone, he’s actually kinda sweet in bed, dom!pantalone, sub character, he fucks you up against a window, sweet petnames, dub con, praise, degradation, riding crop impact play, he cares for you reluctantly. essentially reader trades her freedom to him, fem identifing and fem bodied reader, petplay if you really squint. reader is not a virgin. some yes sir but it’s not crazy sexual yet.

part one | part two | part three

please have an age in your bio and be 18+ before interacting with this fic. reblogs/comments appreciated, and encouraged.

His servants barely look at you, wrapped in your heavy coat and bright red scarf, skin chapped from the icy winds on the mountain. They open doors for you and ignore you when you thank them, one of them takes your scarf and gloves. They’re caked with snow, but they ignore your apologies as well, you catch the way they eye your dress, and you find yourself wishing you’d worn something less warm, but more fashionable.

The castle itself is warm in temperature, while cold in color palette. The stone is dark grey blue, in stark contrast to the bright light of the crackling torches, shackled to the wall. You rub your hands together, willing feeling to return to them as you’re led deeper into the building. You feel the sword at your hip, aware that it looks off, wrong, and far too large for you to carry. It bounces as you move, and the servants offer to take it, but you politely refuse. You stand in an antechamber, with high vaulting ceilings and a huge window that snow whips against. You pace nervously there for a few minutes. On a clearer day, you imagine you might be able to see the whole valley, down to your tiny village, and the towns beyond, represented currently by little smudges of light.

“He’ll see you.” One of them says, bowing his head and opening the heavy dark wood door on the right side of the room, you stride quickly across it, heart thrumming in your chest, aware of the stakes of this simple conversation. The room is an office, with walls of bookshelves, and a globe in the corner. There are huge tapestries of the night sky, constellations and directions carefully mapped out in glistening gold thread against the indigo cloth. The room is long and thin, with a desk at the far end, and a huge arched window behind it. The light from outside is bright and white, and it makes it hard to focus on the man’s facial features. He sits behind the desk, studying some paperwork, dressed entirely in black and dark blue, a pair of glasses low on his nose. He doesn’t give you any greeting, doesn’t agknowledge you as you walk across the stone floor, your footsteps echoing. You stop a few feet from his desk. He clears his throat, lifting his attention from his paperwork.

“Have a seat.” He says, gesturing to the two dark wood leather-backed chairs that are positioned in front of his desk.

“Thank you.” You manage, your voice sounding odd and soft in the large space, as if it’s swallowing it.

“You are here to buy something from me, correct?” He says, setting his pen down on the desk, folding his gloved hands in front of you. You nod. “You’re here for the hypericum perforatum.” He seems nearly cheerful, giving you a smile that sends shivers up your spine. You nod again. “I need to know, first of all, how you found out I have it.” He watches you choose your words carefully, allowing a moment of silence before you speak.

“In order to make the risk of the mountain roads worth it in this season you have to be transporting things of a certain importance or I suppose, ah, value,” your hands move in front of you as you speak, as if you’re carving the snow out of the way of his wagons with your palms, “And there are really only three regularly supplied marketplaces in the region, with shipments that, despite weather conditions are rarely delayed. Those shipments contain basic supplies, to a man like you I’m sure they’re hardly worth making the effort for generally during winter, unless you have other things coming and going throughout the region that you’d like to disguise under the pretense of supplying the local marketplaces so that people don’t starve.” You shrug. “There are three major political players in the region who could be making or using such channels, but out of all of them you’re the most likely.” He raises his eyebrows and adjusts his glasses

“So you hiked up a mountain, in the middle of a blizzard to meet with someone who almost certainly wouldn’t want to see you,” he squints at your outfit, “Wearing that, based on those deductions alone?”

“Ah, no sir.” You touch the back of your neck self-consciously, your eyes flick to the window behind his desk. “I was able to plot the coming and going of your caravans and estimate that yours were likely the ones being used to smuggle goods, given that rarely did the size of the caravan match a delivery. If ever. So I knew it was you who could get it for me.” He leans forward, studying you, still amused, his chin in his palm.

“And what would you like to give me, in return for my healing herbs?” He asks, a little smile on his lips, “Since you’re here, at my mercy after all that hard work.” You squirm uncomfortably.

“People in my village are dying.”

“Yes.” He says, waving that fact away. “I know.”

“It’s a terrible fever,” you say quickly, “You go to bed feeling fine then wake up in the morning far from your body.” He wrinkles his nose.

“I dislike metaphors for death.” He says, and you’re struck by just how little emotion his features telegraph. “I dislike metaphors generally.” You nod, noting the preference. “And I don’t care much for the day-to-day goings on of the local villages, it’s not my problem if people die of some mysterious illness.” He watches you nod. “What have you brought me?” You take the sword from your waist and set it on the desk, the jewels on the hilt sparkle in the low light.

“It was my grandfather’s.” You offer. He takes it, standing, holding it up to the light, running his fingers down the sheath. He hums softly.

“This is quite valuable,” he eyes you, setting it back on the desk, and you’re struck by how large he is when he stands up straight, how broad his shoulders are. “But unfortunately for you, I don’t want it.” He watches you wilt, delights in it, the way your shoulders curve a little inward, and your lips twitch in an attempt to hide your disappointment. “However,” he sits back down, “I am willing to give you what you want, in return for something.” You perk back, how easy, he thinks, how easy it is to move your body, like you’re on marionette strings, using only his words, his favor.

“Anything you want,” you blurt, “Anything at all.” A small smile plays on his lips.

“I will re-introduce this remedy to the trading route,” He says, writing something down quickly on a sheet of paper in front of him, “You cannot have my personal store of it because I need it in case there’s an outbreak in my home, I’m sure you understand.” You swallow, nodding. “And in return,” He pulls a sheet of paper from his desk and slides it over to you. “I want you.” You blink at him, not entirely sure you’d heard.

“Me?”

“Yes.” He takes his glasses off, cleans them, and then looks you up and down again. “I do, I want you. All of you.”

“F-for how long?” You get out, hands doing a nervous little dance in your lap. He shrugs.

“Call it a year.” He taps the paper in front of you. “Can you read?”

“Yes.” You say quickly, skimming the contract. “This is for the sale of goods, though, and I-”

“Here,” he taps the last line, a touch of impatience in his tone, “It makes an allowance for exchange of services. This would be open-ended, of course, as I would like your complete obedience and loyalty for one calendar year. To start.” You look nervous, as he expected, but a smart girl like you had to know that a year’s worth of your labor was certainly worth the lives of those you held so dearly. Perhaps, he considers, a valuable lesson for you about showing your cards too early in a negotiation. He could teach you to be better, though. He watches you decide, eyes on the way you flatten your hands in your lap, on the slope of your cheek, surprising himself with how much he cares what your response will be.

“Where do I sign?” You say after a long moment, and he makes some quick calculations, giving you one last out.

“If I own you it means I can do whatever I want with you, or your body.” The unspoken burns under the surface of your conversation. “You do understand that failure to obey or meet my demands will be followed by swift and appropriate punishment?” You nod, swallowing.

“Yes.” You whisper. He slides the paper across the desk and hands you the quill.

“No need for dramatics. Sign your full name here.” He notes that you do finish reading it before signing the contract, good girl, your hand trembling slightly. He takes it from you then, filing it in a drawer that you hear lock shut with a soft click. “Well,” he stands, smiling at you. “Let’s see what I’ve purchased, hm?” He scribbles something on parchment. “This is the order for the herb. I’ll have it sent out with my other missives before sundown.” He looks back up at you over his glasses. “Strip, please.” You look up at him sharply, surprise on your face. “Let’s try that again,” he says, faux kindness in his voice. “I gave you an order, and you say, yes sir.”

“Yes sir.” You blurt before he even has a chance to speak again and then you feel your face warm. He chuckles, it’s a deep, warm sound.

“Eager to please, are we?” He strides around the desk. “That’ll serve you well. Strip.”

“Yes sir.” You say, and this time you stand, unlacing the side of your robes with trembling hands, laying the fabric on the chair, standing for a moment in your plain white slip dress before pulling it over your head carefully.

“You may leave your stockings on,” his eyes flick to your thighs, where the high wool socks make the plush of your thigh squish around the top, “You’re of no use to me if you catch cold.”

“Yes sir.” You avoid eye contact as you pull your bra over your head, and then step out of your panties, covering yourself with your hands.

“That won’t do.” He murmurs, and he goes over to the bookshelf, leaving you nearly naked standing next to his desk. He takes something long and black down from a shelf and comes back to stand in front of you. He uses the thin, whippy riding crop to push your hands away from your breasts, “Don’t cover yourself.” He says, tone sharp. “I want to see what’s mine.” You nod, and he steps forward, delicately removing his black gloves and rings, and setting them on his desk. “These,” he murmurs, almost to himself, taking your breasts in his hands and massaging them, flicking his thumbs over your nipples as his cool fingers sink into your warm skin. “These are exceptional.” He pinches your nipples and you whimper, he smirks at the sharp expression of emotion. He notices your hands twitch at your sides, glancing down with momentary annoyance. “Behind your back.” He instructs, and you do, reaching for your opposite elbow, folding them behind you. “Good girl,” he says, radiating smugness. He takes you by the shoulders and spins you around, pushing you down over the chair so that your ass is in the air and your feet on the ground while your face pushes against the cushion.

“Oh,” you gasp, rocking onto the balls of your feet and then coming back down, stilling when you feel his palms on your ass, and hear him set the crop on his desk.

“This is nice too,” he murmurs, and it’s odd, to feel appraised in this way. “Let’s see what you can handle.” His hands withdraw and you cover your face, hiding in the chair. Normally, he supposes, he’d make you look at him, thank him, but there would be time for that. He picks the crop off the table, and you have time to hear it whistle through the air before it cracks against your ass. You inhale sharply, but he notices you don’t cry out, and don’t attempt to hide or protect yourself. He rubs the skin for a moment, humming something unintelligible. He draws it back and hits you again, and again, he counts in your head and it takes fifteen lashes before you let out a soft whimper. He stops, you hear him set it on the desk and you don’t dare move, feel him palm your bruised, warm skin.

“C’mere,” he grunts, suddenly the tone of his speech has gone from lilting and posh to something rougher, something more impatient, as he lifts you back up into a standing position and drags you to the window behind his desk, pressing your naked body up against the freezing glass and listening to you hiss with pain at the contact. “Shhh,” he breathes, fumbling with his pants, letting them fall to the floor. Logically, you know no one can see you - you know no one is outside for miles, that the weather is awful, and you’re far, far from civilization. Emotionally, you want to hide your face, there’s a burst of warmth on your cheeks when he pushes your legs apart and pushes one, then two fingers inside you. You whimper loudly and he chuckles. “There she is.” He murmurs, and you feel his breath on your skin, his lips on your neck, on your shoulder. “You’re not a virgin, are you?”

“N-no, sir.”

“Good.” You feel him scissor his fingers inside you and you gasp again, back arching as your breath fogs up the glass. “Going to be sweet,” he murmurs, and you feel his cock pressing up against your entrance, “Be a good girl for me, hm?” You open your mouth to respond in the affirmative but suck in a sharp breath instead, shivering as he pushes his length inside you. He moves more slowly and kindly than his demeanor would suggest, hands stilling your hips as he fills you. With a languid moan, he pushes your hips down onto him, and you feel the mushroom head of his cock nudge that bundle of nerves inside you. He deliberately angles you so that you’re fully pressed against the window when he bottoms out inside you, pulling a soft moan from your lips. His hips press against your ass as he stills inside you, the welts from his crop throb gently. “How does it feel?” He asks, his voice breathy, but you can hear it, hear that edge of cockiness. He knows how big he is, that he knows the way you’re struggling to focus on anything that isn’t his hands on your body, his cock buried inside you. He wants to hear the way you struggle to respond.

“I,” you hitch, leaning forward and pressing your face against the freezing glass. “It’s so much,” you whisper, your every breath depositing vapor on the glass next to you, little clouds making your ecstasy physical.

“I know,” he coos, “I know, you’ll get used to it.” He draws back a little and then refills you with a quick movement, “So warm,” he murmurs, setting a gentle pace, allowing your body time to adjust to him. He takes your forearms in one hand and uses it to fuck you just a little harder, letting out a soft hiss. “Anyone could see you right now,” he tightens his grip on your arms, “How does that feel, that anyone could watch me use you?” You mewl softly. “Oh,” he coos, and you feel him get closer to you, feel his breath on your ear, “She doesn’t like that, does she?” You shake your head, trembling, unable to focus on anything that isn’t him, that isn’t his cock nudging your cervix, that isn’t the slap of his hips against your bruised ass.

Your breath fogs up the glass, and then the condensation freezes, forming a delicate crystal structure that blurs in front of you as your eyes burn with tears.

“Oh, she’s crying,” he coos, fucking you harder, “Such a pretty girl, go on, cry for me,” he kisses your cheek, releasing your arms and taking a fistful of your hair, pulling your head back away from the window. “Should I be kind,” he says, “Should I let you cum?” You whine, a soft sad sound. “I like that,” he growls, voice taking on a darker undercurrent, “I don’t wanna hear you speak.” He slams his hips up against yours, burying himself to the hilt inside you with every thrust, “You wanna cum in front of the whole fucking valley,” he spits the words out, “Look down, look out there,” the snow swirls, as the day darkens you can make out the little sparkles of light in the blue twilight, the homes and farms, and small cities preparing for the night. “Go on,” he goads, “Go on, cum on my cock, I can feel you,” he’s interrupted midsentence by his own groan, a short, angry growl, “I can feel how close you are, cum for me.”

“Fuck,” you choke out, and your legs nearly give out from underneath you as you clench down on him, hands flying from around your back to brace yourself against the window as your knees give way and the white-hot pleasure rips through you.

“That’s it,” he coaches, his own thrusting becoming sporadic as he seeks his own high. “Just, just like that.” He groans loudly, and buries his face in your neck as he finishes deep inside you, essentially holding you upright as he cums deep inside you. He carries you back to his desk and then deposits you gently on the floor next to his chair. You shiver in the cool of the air. “Stay there for now,” he says quietly, adjusting his trousers and going back to work. “I want you to stay still and be sweet for me, can you manage that?” You nod on the ground, his cum dribbling out of your pussy onto the stone floor. He works for another few hours while you shiver, eventually, he sighs, standing and taking a throw blanket off of a nearby couch and tucking it around your body. “I suppose,” he murmurs, massaging your scalp softly for a moment before sitting back down, “It will be nice to have some company.”

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