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lunargrapejuice · 2 months

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family + loyalty

chapter one: mafia & mangoes | 9.1k+ words

satoru gojo x fem!reader | mafia au

chapter warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, explicit sexual content, illegal activies, alcohol drinking, profanity, jealousy, pet names

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the navy blue sky starts to brighten into an early morning azure, the sun's rays peeking from behind the city's buildings, just as you knock on the hollow metal door at the back entrance of the hanami ninth night club. the routine clicks of the locks follow shortly after and you're welcomed with a tired, if not slightly hung over, smile from shiro. even this early in the morning he’s dressed in a brown suit that’s a bit big on him, his dark brown hair slicked back and smoking a cigarette.

this was how he looked every time you came by, you swear his suit was the exact same too, but this morning in his slouched, bloodshot eyes, he looked particularly haggard.

“you’re one of my more demanding business partners, you know that?” he says, blowing smoke from his cigarette to his side before tossing the still burning bud on the ground and stomping it out with his shining designer shoes.

“you complain yet answer every time i come knocking,” you retort, holding back your smile, knowing this is just how he was with you.

the morning air that’s not quite warm enough for the t-shirt you’ve chosen to wear lingers on your exposed skin as he flips through the cash you hand him. he knows you’re good for it, you’ve been doing business with him for over a year now and you’re not about to ruin it nor are you dishonest by nature. but you know it’s just routine and wait patiently.

he pockets that cash and steps closer inside, leaving the door open so you can hear him while he grabs your things. “don’t get it wrong, i like doing business with you little lady,” his voice muffled as he moves further back into the club. “you may only be a small time customer but even still, your business is appreciated. even if it means gettin’ up this early on a saturday morning,” he return with the wooden crate full of goods. “here you are,” gently he places the box into your arms ensuring you can support the weight before letting go. “see ya next week?”

you smile and nod, shift the crate to sit more comfortably, “see you then. thanks again shiro.”

he waves goodbye as you turn around and begin to head back into the main street. it’s not far to your destination and you take your time enjoying the early saturday morning that brings a normally unseen beauty to this side of the city. the dozens of small locally owned shops around this area are at least an hour away from opening and the streets are almost empty aside from the handful of early risers taking leisurely walks and the coffee shop that has the sweet, nutty aroma of their specialty coffee lingering in the air. it wasn’t so bad getting up this early when you got to take your time enjoying the little things like this, if anything it helps you prepare for what would be another busy day. the calm before the not-so-bad storm.

and yet, a storm nonetheless.

as you round the street corner, you support the heavy box with one arm and your hip as you search through your bag for your keys. wallet, chipstick, receipts from the grocery store, loose change but no keys. you make a mental note of how messy your bag is since it’s nearly impossible to find what you’re looking for. just as you’re about to put down your things and dump out the contents of your purse on the sidewalk your fingers find the keyring-

“getting into trouble, are we?”

you nearly jump out of your skin at the sudden and unexpected voice from behind you, almost dropping the box and your found keys barely hooked onto your index finger in the process.

with a racing heart you try your best to think clearly, were you about to be caught? get arrested? god dammit, you knew you shouldn’t have gotten so comfortable with this dealing just in case you were caught in the open like you were right now.

“did i scare you? sorry about that, sweets.” his teasing tone doesn’t say he’s actually all that sorry.

in your hurry and the sudden fright you hadn’t registered the voice of the man behind you but the nickname is a dead give away. and now that you think more about it, who else would meet you here this early in this morning if not your number one customer?

“good morning satoru,” you greet, unable to hide the shakiness in your voice or the fact that your heart rate has not gone down since he made his appearance. you swore it was echoing in the quiet street, only growing louder when he comes into your view, his figure towering over you.

“what’s got you so jumpy?” his dark sunglasses may hide his playful eyes but you know it’s there and see that the smirk on his lips is devilish. “doin’ something you shouldn’t be?”

your breath hitches and slightly paranoid thought passes through your mind, making you fill with guilt and worry.. did he know?

“haha, i don’t know what you’re talking about,” you reply but god you barely even believe what you’re saying. “i’m just trying to get to work and you show up out of nowhere,” not that it’s an actual complaint and you don’t sound the least bit mad. you liked seeing satoru very much.

he's got the looks of a man chiseled by the delicate hands of the gods themselves and it doesn’t help that he wears gorgeous, perfectly fitted suits and ties that bring out his already breathtaking cerulean eyes from under his snowy, messy undercut. he may be the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen.

he lifts an eyebrow, no doubt questioning your odd behavior and a little convinced you really were doing something you shouldn’t be but when he smiles wider, almost like he knows your secret or knows he’ll pry it out of you, you think you would spill it if he asked.

“you’re a terrible liar,” satoru says through his smile and takes the box from you, standing behind you as you unlock the doors to your little bakery and follows you inside.

you don’t mind him coming in before the bakery is open, it's not the first time and you're sure it wouldn’t be the last. it was a few months ago he wandered in dressed in a similar black suit that he’s wearing today and ordered one of everything you were offering. he's come in almost every day since then and spent enough money that his funds alone could pay for the rent on the shop but truthfully, even if he didn’t spend a small fortune here, you enjoy his company more than you’d like to admit out loud.

satoru places the box down next to the cash register and leans against the counter, silently watching you tie your apron over your light blue jeans and black shirt, preparing for the weekend morning rush.

aside from miwa, who was god sent working the front of the bakery, you basically run this place by yourself. you baked, you bought supplies, you balanced the books and dedicated your life to this bakery. a dream you shared with your parents once, one you hope they could be proud of had they survived that fateful day.

“tell me, what were you up to this morning?” satoru questions when you come to open the box from the opposite side of the counter. you pretend the shimmer of his beautiful eyes don’t affect you as he pulls down his glasses and flashes his baby blues at you, batting light lashes to try to get it out of you.

you can feel the heat rising to your cheeks under his flirtatious gaze, your heart hammering under his attention and his playfully sweet tone that might get any person to spill their secrets. “i told you - nothing!”

your denials are not convincing even to your own ears and his devious expression, still partly hidden by his dark glasses, told you he wasn’t believing a word you were saying but he knew he was close to getting what he wanted.

he was right before, you are a terrible liar.

“you can trust me,” he adds and your heart lurches like it believes him. “i won't tell. i’m just curious about what kind of trouble you’re getting yourself into,” he smirks, pulling off his glasses entirely, leaning in closer to you.

you can feel the butterflies from your stomach in your throat as you find it hard to speak with his scent filling your nose, his warmth palpable but still so far away. it's not fair, you think, he knows just how to fluster you and ever since you met him he’s been shameless in doing so.

what started out as compliments you thought was just him being nice, or just enjoying your baking, had turned into intense flirting starting after he showed up as you were locking up one night about a month ago and pleaded with you that he’d pay anything for whatever you had left over from the day. just as you do now, you found it impossible back then to say no to his charm and ended up spending the whole night at the shop talking over cake and mochi.

“come on sugar, tell me.”

“fine!” you break your gaze away from his and focus on the box, hoping you're hiding your burning cheeks well. after you’ve opened the box you grab his hand, putting the contents he wanted to know so badly about in his palm.

his mouth opens slightly, eyebrows knitting. “a mango?” he questions, looking between you and the fruit in cute confusion.

“yes, a mango that could get me into some trouble. it’s imported from africa, but it’s against customs so i buy them and some other fruits and sugars.. illegally,” you whisper the last word as if someone might hear you even though the shop is empty besides the two of you.

satoru chuckles in amusement but to your surprise, he doesn’t tease you. “why all that trouble for a mango?”

“for someone who eats the goods i bake almost every day you should be able to tell the difference from the other fruits i use versus other places you’ve been,” you tease, taking the fruit from him. “these mangoes are sweeter and creamier than ones you would get here. i’m hurt you can’t tell the difference,” you clutch onto your chest dramatically.

without skipping a beat, he says in an oddly serious tone, “i thought it was because you make them that they taste like that.”

it’s as if your heart is doing somersaults in your chest as you stare at him. god dammit, why did he have to be so adorable and handsome? you might be more happy about it if you knew he wasn’t like this with every pretty girl and handsome man he sees. you’ve seen it first hand with some of your other customers. it didn’t stop you from indulging a bit. his attention is nice and harmless flirting never hurt anyone. right?

the chiming of the bell above the door breaks the trance he had put you in and you’re thankful for the interruption before he was able to poke fun at your flustered state or see the crush you had on him written all over your face.

“morning miwa,” he greets your assistant and only employee.

miwa has gotten quite used to satorus presence in the bakery as well. not long ago she insisted that you should go out with him despite his flirty nature. ‘he’s so beautiful. i bet he’s strong too,’ she sighed dreamily before going on about how she could never go after him, as her heart was already spoken for, and you have his attention so you must go for it.

easier said than done miwa.

“morning mr. gojo,” she replies, pumping her light blue eyebrows at you when she passes by, as if to say ‘go for it girl!’ before disappearing into the back to clock in and get ready to help with preparations for the morning rush.

you roll your eyes at her and turn around to return to your own preparations.

satoru watches intently as you cut mangoes, mix dough, run into the back to place things in the oven and get the display case ready simultaneously. he’s sat and watched you prepare for the morning rush a few times by now but you still find the time to talk with him, admire him as he texts on his phone but quickly pull your gaze away when his eyes find yours, and reply to the other questions he has about your illegal activities.

where are you getting them from? you sure they’re trustworthy? how much are you paying? is this the only dealer you’ve worked with? and the questions go on and on.

“i thought you said you were a businessman, not a cop.”

you try to play it off innocent but a part of you is worried that maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to tell him. you trusted shiro and whatever means he used to procure your imported goods and you know better than to tell anyone of him or what he does for you.

he hasn’t said it out loud but you’re not naive. your little deals are only small time compared to his normal business but he didn’t need anyone looking into him for any reason. you weren’t about to get in the middle of that or find out what the consequences might be if you did.

“i’m no cop,” he answers with a sneer. “just looking out for you, don’t want you to get ripped off.”

a small ‘oh’ comes from under your breath and you avoid his eyes. were you being too paranoid? maybe but you’d rather be safe than sorry in situations like this. after all the effort you put in for this bakery; all the money, sweat and tears you poured into this shop and your treats, losing them wasn’t an option.

truthfully you don’t believe he is a cop and feel the truth in his words when he says them, though you aren’t sure exactly what it is satoru does for a living but it’s better you not tell him of shiro.

“i appreciate that,” you mean it honestly despite your defensiveness before. “i shouldn’t say more though..” satoru may be attractive, easy to talk to and affecting your heart more than you want him to but indulging his curiosity to the full extent was not something you could do this time around.

the phone in his pocket begins to ring before he can reply. relief, you’re thankful to end this conversation quickly before he can press more.

he motions with his finger to give him a moment and turns the other way to stand closer to the door of the bakery. you focus your attention on the dough in front of you but it’s hard not to listen in when the shop is so quite.

“what is it? … this early? ... k, be there soon. … no, i’ll call him and we’ll meet you there.”

he doesn’t sound pleased when he hangs up and immediately goes to make another phone call but you don’t stay around to listen to what he’s saying. instead you slip into the back to get the pastries from the oven and put a couple in a to-go box for satoru.

he’s just getting off the phone when you return and searches his suit pockets for his car keys. “sorry sugar, duty calls.”

“as if i’d let you hang out here all day anyways,” you tease, coming around the counter to stand in front of him and hand him the togo box, stopping him when he reaches into the wallet. “it’s on the house today.”

his smile could melt your heart and it almost distracts you from the unreasonable amount of yen he drops into the tip jar; way more than what the treats you’ve packed for him cost.

“you don’t ha-”

“i’ll see ya later,” he gives you a wink before slipping his glasses back on and taking the bag from your with a brush of his fingers against yours, making his way out the door. “don’t get into too much trouble without me,” he calls behind him but doesn't look back.

you are trouble, you think, watching him leave and hating the disappointment you feel when his tall figure disappears into the distance as the bell chimes when it closes. you know you shouldn’t be falling for customers and especially ones such as satoru gojo at that- an undeniable flirt. you had your fair share of experiences with men like that in the past and normally stay far away from them but something about satoru has you unable to hold back and, even if it’s to your dismay, he knows just how to pull you in more.

honestly, he seemed rather shallow at first. nothing more than good looks, sweet words and money but the more time he spends around you the more mysterious and deeper he becomes, even still. you can tell he’s really dedicated to his work and works hard. he’s never said exactly what he did besides being a ‘businessman’ but plenty of times it called him away and each time he went without question, not without his dilly dallying. more than that, just today his comment about how he wanted to look out for you didn’t seem like the man you had first thought he was. he didn’t seem like the type to care about other people's business and if they’re being taken advantage of but you could tell he was honest when he said that, none of his normally teasing and playfulness behind his words.

“i don’t understand why you two haven’t gone out yet,” miwa breaks you from your thoughts, coming from the back with two large trays of jelly filled donuts, melon pan and other goodies to fill the display case with.

you sigh, overthinking about what could be if this were more than a little crush between a baker and her handsome customer with an insatiable sweet tooth.

would you say no if he asked? probably not. you doubt anyone says no to gojo. is it a good idea to go out with him though? you honestly couldn’t say.

it’s not that you were looking for commitment, being a small business owner took up most of your life and you were fine with that; living the dream you had since you were a child, fulfilling what you shared with your once complete family, meant more to you than falling in love. baking was the only love you needed; it didn’t leave and came in all sorts of different comforts.

you could always make something delicious that made people smile, that was a reminder of a bitter sweet past or a brighter future. like the first taste of a comforting treat after a long day or the familiar scent of a pastry shared by two lovers long ago. seeing those moments and more unfold because of what you baked was enough for you, it brought you happiness in its own way after so much of your own loss.

you aren’t even sure if you could handle a relationship, if it was in the cards for you, but maybe going out and sleeping with him, getting it out of your system would be the way to go. just maybe it would quiet or stop the bubbling feelings instead of you. or maybe it would make it worse.

but you’d be lying if you said you haven’t thought about what lies underneath those designer suits and you know satoru thinks he plays it cool when you wear small summer dresses or plunging necklines and tight pants but you’ve caught those cerulean eyes lingering on your figure more than once.

the other side of this dating coin was going out with him and ending up falling for him; getting yourself caught in something you didn’t particularly want to be a part of. it’s not that you couldn’t put in the hard work that relationships require, though it may be hard to find the time but for the right person you would give it your all. but was it worth the potential loss? could you even handle any more loss?

satoru didn’t seem like the type to settle down and you weren’t interested in playing games with a man who liked to play them exclusively. putting your heart out there for more than just baking was easier said than done but there was always the possibility your heart didn’t need to get involved, despite how unlike you that was.

a part of you wonders if your heart is already wading deeper than the ankle deep waters of those unbelieve blue eyes.

none of it even matters though because he hadn’t asked you out and it would be inappropriate for you to ask him out as the owner of an establishment he visits frequently... or maybe it’s the thought that the rejection would hurt just too bad and then you’d likely never see him in your little bakery again, which seems much worse than the rejection, that stops you. your little flirtatious moments when he dropped by were enough, it didn’t need to be more. for your sake and his.

but a girl can still dream.

“i can’t believe we’re doing this shit right now. doesn’t he know it’s only eight in the fucking morning?”

“what the hells gotten into you this morning?” geto questions, tossing the black duffle bag into the back of the cadillac with a loud clunk and a slam of the door. there were no off hours with a job like this, both of the men knew that and accepted it, not that it stopped either of them from bitching every now and again but satoru was unusually irritated today. “you know the boss likes these things dealt with quickly.”

both men slide into the car, gojo behind the wheel and geto stuck with all the items left in the front seat by his companion. he tosses what he can in the back or sticks it in the center counsel but satoru can feel sugurus eyes on him the entire time.

he doesn’t look back at his partner as he turns on the car and puts it in drive. “there’s nothing quick about this.”

he knew suguru couldn’t argue about that. there was absolutely nothing quick about chasing someone that was already a full 12 hours ahead of you, even if you have good intel on where this problem may be. countless things could go wrong and there would be hell to pay if they couldn’t finish the job and bring back what was taken. not that he or geto are worried about that. they were chosen for this job because only they could see it through better than anyone else.

it makes gojo a little less sour knowing they asked him and geto to fix this little problem together since no one else was capable of handling it but he hadn’t had nearly his fill of asking about whoever it was his pretty little baker did illegal business with.

before he can think about his subconscious calling you ‘his’, satoru catches his companion opening up his white togo box full of an assortment of goodies and immediately puts the car back into park after not moving an inch. he wasn’t going to get a chance to stop for more treats while on this mission so he’d have to make them last and he wasn’t planning on sharing anyways.

“these are mine,” satoru reaches over and shuts the lid over sugurus fingers, moving the box to his lap aggressively.

“what? are you five years old all of the sudden?”

“shut up. she made these for me and i’m not sharing,” he reaches into the box not caring what he grabs out because no matter what it was it was bound to satisfy his craving.

bite sized mango turn over, and damn were these illegal mangoes good.

he can’t help but smile at the memory of you all sweet and guilty. worried over illegal mangoes. your innocence is so cute. he didn't know what kind of trouble to expect you to get into but that was not it.

gojo knows suguru recognizes the mochi and sakura leaf logo of your bakery, various boxes and containers were always in his apartment or car and gojos raved about your cakes and mochi like it was made of gold. he made geto try it so could he understand the craze from his best friend who has no impulse control and a sweet tooth from hell but satoru also knows he’s dropped plenty of hints he thinks you’re attractive as well so it’s no wonder he keeps going back.

“she makes them for everyone, dumbass. that’s her job.”

“i’m still not sharing.”

“a paloma and extra shot of tequila, please,” you order before your butt even hits the cushion of the bar stool.

slumping into the seat you close your eyes and let out a long exhale. it’s been a long and exhausting few days with miwa on vacation with her boyfriend, kokichi, and you running the bakery by yourself. she works so hard, puts in so much effort for your little shop so how could you say no when she asked for a few days off for a get away with her beloved? she was sweet enough to plan her vacation on weekdays instead of the weekend too so that you didn’t have to suffer the weekend rush by yourself.

you don’t remember the days before miwa being this busy and exhausting but business had grown a lot since then. it might be time to look for additional help but that would have to wait for another day when you could go through the shop's finances and see if you could even afford it on top of paying miwa what she deserves.

tonight, all you want is something stiff to help let all that stress slip away before you head home and get ready for another solo day.

the bartender puts your peach colored drink and shot glass in front of you without a word and walks to the other side of the island to attend to a couple who arrived right before you. you don’t come to the bar often, never really finding the time and not really having anyone to go with but when you do decide to come out by yourself, you always come to the light ox bar. it’s quiet and modern, playing all your favorite songs over the speakers and the bartenders are generous with their drinks, lowkey enough to wind down after a long day and it’s right in between your apartment and the bakery.

you quickly take the shot, the clear liquid burning your throat, though not unpleasantly, on the way down. oh yes, this was exactly what you needed before getting back to grind tomorrow.

“haven’t seen you here in a while,” a familiar deep voice comes from behind you after a few minutes of nursing your drink in silence, stewing over issues that you wish you could have left at work.

toji fushiguro, a man you met at this bar two years ago and have only ever seen at this bar. very handsome and equally mysterious. you know only 2 things about the man; his name and that he loves to drink whiskey.

at least those are the only things he’s confirmed about himself, you’ve speculated other things plenty. you don’t know his age; he’s older than you for sure but not quite old enough to be the age your father would have been and not quite young enough to be your brother. the scar on his face and his muscular build had you guessing he’s ex military or police but his personality doesn’t quite fit either occupation.

he’s not married or if he is he doesn’t wear a ring or say anything about his spouse. he ‘s hardly told you a thing. you don’t mind not knowing much about him though. he may say otherwise but you know he’s a decent guy. he’s been good company on some hard and good nights; scaring away a few unwanted suitors and listening to you rant or talk about whatever's on your mind but never judging you for it.

he’s been one of the only people you’ve opened up to about your past, your parents demise, why baking even matters so much to you.

“yeah.. the shop’s been keeping me pretty busy,” you admit, sitting up straight in your seat but not turning to face him. you stare into your drink, stirring the ice with the small black straw, watching the droplets of condensation soak into the coaster as he takes a seat next to you.

out of the corner of your eye you see him sip on the golden liquid in his glass and smile. “means business is good then, yeah?”

“it’s good,” you reply, though your tone doesn’t sound like you’re happy about it and toji quickly catches on.

he lets out a quiet huf, moving in his chair to rest his elbows on the glass counter top of the bar and looks over at you with dark emerald eyes. “you don’t sound too happy about that.”

i am happy about it.. right? you ask yourself while taking another sip of your drink. yes, successful business was what every business owner hoped for, what your parents hoped for. you had to be happy about that. what you weren’t happy about was the exhaustion, the long nights, the loneliness despite being around customers all day, the fact all you think and worry about is your business. baking was the way to get out of reality but it’s hard to feel like that on days like today when you didn’t have enough hands, money or time.

you force a half hearted laugh. “i am.. it’s tiring living and breathing business.. if i was able to just bake i’d love that but it’s everything else i don’t like. i don’t like having to worry about hiring people or about making rent on the shop or how to advertise or bring new customers in.. all that stuff, it’s not me.. not what i’m passionate about but there’s no one else to do it for me.”

you only ever do it because you have to in order to keep your bakery dream alive and normally you wouldn’t complain. responsibilities weren’t always things you were passionate about or loved to do, it was what you had to do no matter how you felt but it gets hard to put on a brave face when all you do is worry and stress about responsibilities, when it feels like it’s you against the world. you didn’t have anyone to lean on, no one to reach out to for help that didn’t require you to pay first.

you were.. alone.

as much as you don’t want to admit it to yourself, satoru provided you a small relief from all of this. he may not be able to help with the books and workload overwhelming you but he made you smile, made you laugh and loves your treats more than anyone else. it was a breath of fresh air in your busy work life to have him stop by, like a rest stop on a steep upwards hike where you can catch your breath and enjoy the view instead of worrying about getting to the top. he hadn’t been by the past few days though, not since saturday morning and, a little begrudgingly, you find yourself wishing to see him walk through the door and tease you to his heart's content. perhaps that’s got you in a bad mood too.

“too much responsibility for such a little girl?”

finally you turn to look at him with narrow eyes that shoot daggers into his side but it’s hard to stay too mad when you’re met with a smug ass look on his face. you playfully shove him in the arm and continue trying your hardest to glare at him but he’s got one of those smiles that rubs off on others and your toughness is broken though almost instantly.

“i’m an adult, alright?” a fact he already knows about you. “not some little girl who's too far in over my head.” though you're starting to doubt that slightly tonight. your business may be successful for now but maybe it was more than you could handle, more than you wanted to handle. were you ever meant to do this alone?

“anyone would feel like it’s too much if all they thought about was work,” he acknowledges and downs the rest of his drink. “sounds like you could use a break.”

“a break.. hell i’d even take a distraction just so i don’t have to think about it for a little while.”

you follow suit and drink the rest of your paloma in a few gulps, finally feeling the warmth from your first shot helping your body relax. a break, a distraction.. neither of those options seemed possible at a time like this. if you take time off you have to close the shop and then you don’t make money and then you can’t pay rent on the shop or your apartment or buy items you need or pay miwa. you want to cry just thinking about it. so many things relied on you working and trying to figure this all out. a few drinks before bed was the most of a distinction you could afford.

toji calls for the bartender and doesn’t say anything before he’s pouring tojis brand of choice whiskey and two shots of tequila. you sit in silence, feeling the alcohol warm your insides, and watch the bartender pour your drinks. you’ve always known toji came here a lot, every random time you’ve shown up he’s usually here but you’re still not used to how he doesn’t even have to order because they know him so well.

he slides you one of the shots and takes the other for himself, clinking them together before you drink them and put the glasses down in tandem. your worried, tired eyes don’t go unnoticed by him when you reach up to play with the ice from your paloma with a straw once more.

he leans back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other, his ankle on his opposite thigh, and washes away the taste of tequila with his whiskey. you can tell by the look on his face he’s not a fan of tequila and whiskey was not a great chaser but one shot wasn’t going to kill him.

“i could distract you,” he says too casually but implying too much for your liking.

your cheeks burn and you find yourself speechless under the gaze of his narrow green eyes through dark lashes.

“what? scared of me all the sudden?” he raises an eyebrow and the corner of his lips turn up ever so slightly at the embarrassment on your face. like he was enjoying this embarrassed side of you.

“no!” you say probably too defensively and definitely too loudly but somehow you get your voice to quiet and slow. “it’s not that..”

you aren’t even sure what it is, what’s got you tongue tied and excited at the same time. you know toji to be cool and straight forward, he radiates the confidence of a man who gets what he wants, does what he wants and doesn’t let anyone stand in his way. so it shouldn’t surprise you that he’d say something as bold as this, as casually as he did. maybe it's the fact you can’t believe you’re actually considering taking him up on his offer.

“then what is it?” he doesn’t wait for you to answer before he uncrosses his legs and leans in closer to you, one hand on the back of your chair, the other still holding onto his glass. he’s giving you space to get away, tell him no but you don’t. he smells of cedar and whiskey; and right now you find it more intoxicating than the liquor in your system. “worried i wont be nice? you should know by now, i’m not a nice guy.”

✧˚ · .

you don’t even make it past the entryway of your apartment before toji's lips, hungry and primal latch onto yours, traveling down your jaw and to your neck, his black hair tickling below your ear. the weight of his chest pins you against the door, his strong hands grabbing onto your ass and lifting your feet off the ground in the process. you take the opportunity to encase him between your thighs, feeling his hardening cock against your clothed core.

it’s impossible not to grind against his length but toji is having none of it, using his forceful grip to still your eager hips.

the cold air on your neck when he pulls away from your supple, reddening skin has goosebumps littering your body. his eyes are dark and focused on your every moment, down to the heaving of your chest and the hot air escaping your lips; a predator locked onto its prey.

“eagerness will get you nowhere with me kitten, you’d better behave.”

you nod in agreement, unable to get the words out of your mouth as you fight for breath. you’d listen perfectly if it meant he’d distract you.

his lips find yours once more and your hands make their way into his hair, tangling in the soft black locks more and more with each deepening of your kiss. with ease he supports your weight and carries you from the front entryway to your bedroom, following your breathless instructions between devouring kisses.

your body meets the mattress with force, your hair scattering behind you, your legs remaining open for him. you stare up at tojis face in the moonlight coming from your window. he doesn’t look like the man you thought him to be under the dark, silvery night; his figure towering over your much smaller body and his intense gaze sends a shiver down your spine and wet warmth between your legs.

his defined core and arm muscles ripple and flex as he lifts his shirt off of himself, relieving the unexpected mural that is spread across his entire chest and arms; tattoos of black clouds and flowers and in the center of it all, a large red snake baring its bloody fangs.

your eyes widen, your mind thinking of all the times in media you had seen art like this on others and you can feel your palms getting sweaty. what had you gotten yourself into? swallowing the saliva caught in your throat, you ask, “a-are you in the yakuza.. or something like that?”

“something like that,” he admits, looking down at his tattooed body and then back to you. “have you changed your mind? i warned you i wasn’t a good guy.”

despite talking and drinking at the same bar with him for a few years, you may not know much about him personally but you never thought or got the impression he’s put you or would put you in danger. it’s not like you were planning to date toji anyways, dating a mafia member was out of the question but fucking one didn’t seem like the worst idea you’ve had. who even knew if you’d even see him again after this and truthfully you aren’t sure it’s worth overthinking.

no, you hadn’t changed your mind.

3 months ago

“you wanna stay for dinner?” yuki asks gojo as they both find their discarded clothes on the ground and redress.

annoyance immediately fills satoru. she always asks and the answer is always no. why must she persist each time he comes over? he had meant to stop this little fling they had going on a while ago but each time after a hard time at work he found himself at her doorstep and in her bed; he just needed something to take the edge off, something to remind him he’s more than a man who’s only use is to eradicate problems and people for this family. more than a tool.

yuki had been apart of the family for years since her father is a higher up in the organization. she knows about his and satorus way of life and was happy to provide satoru some kind of release; after all she benefited just as much while in between boyfriends and lounging around until she was needed by her father.

and even when they did fuck, satoru wasn’t in a relationship with her and he never would be so why play pretend and sit together for a meal like a normal couple?

he looks behind him at her, watching her tie up her long hair into a ponytail from the other side of her queen sized bed. she raises an eyebrow at him when he doesn’t answer.

truthfully he is starving but whatever yuki could cook, or order because she doubt she does her own cooking, was not what he was craving. he needed something much sweeter after the day he had.

“not really,” he grumbles and returns back to buttoning up his shirt.

“well i guess i better tell you now then,” she smooths out her baggy sweater and looks at him with an expression that makes him wonder if she’s happy or upset.

god, if we were together you’d think she was getting ready to dump me, satoru thinks to himself, trying to anticipate what news she might be breaking to him.

“my father is discussing an arranged marriage to help strengthen the ties with the kusakabe clan so.. we should probably stop whatever this is,” she motions between them with her hand.

perfect timing. it’s much easier on him for her to put a stop to it anyways. it doesn’t come as a surprise that she’d be married off either. the relationship between the kusakabe clan and the gojo clan are in the beginning stages of a conflict that could stop their business together entirely. they’re getting more and more fed up with the treatment from the gojos but satoru knows it would be quite a loss if they were to cut ties entirely.

“fine by me.”

she walks him to the front door, giving him a smile when she looks between his legs and then back up to his face, as if to say goodbye to his dick because he highly doubts she’ll miss him all that much and he can say the feeling is mutual.

“know of any good bakeries nearby?” he asks with cold indifference.

she gives him a deadpan look.

“are sweets really the only thing on your mind right now? right after denying having dinner with me too?”

sure, things were supposed to be casual with him and gojo could admit she never tried to make it anything more than that, offering dinner was supposed to be casual he’s sure. satoru isn’t the kind of guy who you wanted to date anyways, she had to have known that upon first meeting him and since then he has no doubt her opinion on that has only grown stronger since they started this thing.

she punches him in the arm, “you ass. i thought you were going to give me some sweet goodbye.”

there’s only silence as gojo awaits the answer to his question. it’s not like he was never going to see her again, he’d probably be at her wedding along with the rest of the family.

she sneers in response to his silence, crossing her arms and rolling her eyes. “there's one on the corner up the road. take a right when you get out of here and go up a bit, it’s by the park.”

unexpectedly to even him, he pulls her into him, blonde hair brushing against his ear with her tall height. a friendly hug and one that's reciprocated, though it may even be the first one they’ve ever shared.

“thanks for all you’ve done for me,” he says quietly, giving her a squeeze. “take care yuki.”

normally satorus body feels a little lighter after leaving yukis place but that isn’t the case tonight. even when he found himself balls deep he couldn’t shake the thoughts that plagued his mind. very rarely did he question his choices but tonight he wonders if he’s doing the right thing sticking with the family, following orders - albeit on his own terms - and doing everyone else's dirty work. did he even deserve a better life after all he’s done? at what point are you in too far and there’s no turning back, no second chance at happiness? since when did he even care? and most of all, had he doomed the others he brought into it thinking he was protecting them?

he doesn’t even know what happiness looks like at this point. he thought it was the money, power and rising through the ranks until he could have it all but the deeper he gets the more he dislikes it and is convinced this isn’t happiness and that no one, not even the boss, ‘has it all’.

it hadn’t always felt this bad and he’s sure tomorrow he might feel differently but for tonight, it keeps his shoulder slumped, hands bunched in his pockets and snowy hair covering his eyes as he walks down the street kicking rocks as he goes.

just like yuki said, on the corner of a strip of shops across from the park is a small bakery; pink sakura leaves and a small mochi emblem on the door leading inside. when another customer exits, the smell of vanilla and sugar fills the air around satoru and his stomach grumbles. he just might die if he doesn’t eat something sweet soon.

“welcome!” the blue haired girl behind the counter greets him before turning to help an elderly lady standing at the cash register.

it’s a cute little shop; small but manageable and easy to get in and out of. there are two tables and some chairs sitting by the big window with the shades pulled up, bringing in the lights in the street and from surrounding shops. a big display case is at the end of the counter white counter, some smaller display cases on both sides of the cash register, only a few more things of bread left in each.

gojo heads straight to the main display, not nearly as empty as the others but still telling of the good day you must have had. his eyes sparkle and his mouth waters at the tasty looking treats still inside. the purin looks beyond perfect; caramel glaze dripping off the top of the custard and onto the little plate like it was about to be a part of a magazine. assorted cookies, strawberry shortcake, dango and a little sign saying ask at the counter for mochi, with the flavors of the day listed.

“what can i get you?”

the friendly voice tears satorus attention from the baked goods and he’s met with the face of a woman that looks just as sweet as any of one of these treats. your sparkling eyes are illuminated by the lights of the display case, they are the most beautiful eyes he’s ever seen and your beaming smile is a sight for sore eyes; honest and kind. it helps him throw all his worries out the window, all that’s on his mind now is the pretty girl and sugary sweets in front of him.

everything looks so delicious, including you, how could he possibly pick?

“one of everything, please,” he says. he doesn’t have to say much to lay on the charm, he lets his eyes do most of that and it seems to be working.

your pink cheeks and surprised eyes only makes you look that much more adorable. oh, was satoru glad he made his way here tonight.

“e-everything?”

“everything,” he smirks. ✧˚ · .

satorus mouth waters just thinking about all the treats he ate that night while he makes his way to the bakery. he may buy one of everything again today since gas station candies were not cutting it for him these past couple of days while he was gone for work. nothing was the same as your pastries, no gas station clerk was as pretty as you or made him smile the way you did.

he couldn’t get to the bakery fast enough.

he also couldn’t be more disappointed about the line out the door once he arrives. this busy on a thursday in the early afternoon? he’s come by at this time before and it’s never been like this but he supposes he has no choice but to wait. as the line moves forward and he’s able to peek through the window he notices the shop is missing its blue haired cashier. you come from the back with a tray full of freshly baked cookies and an aura satoru swears he’s never seen from you before.

coming in as often as he did, probably overstaying more than he should but he couldn’t help and you never complained, meant that satoru got to see some sides of you most customers didn’t. he’s seen you frustrated and overworked, he’s also seen you in relief, amusement and content happiness. but even through all his flirting with you he’s never once seen the pleased smile that’s on your face today or the glow behind it; not even a little stressed with how busy it is and the fact you’re running things by yourself.

he’s seen this glow, this smile before - he himself has provided it to others - but he’s never seen it on you and it lights an unfamiliar, uncomfortable, feeling in his chest that he can’t swallow down.

it’s not necessarily that he was hoping you’d be sad in his absence. okay maybe he was, knowing you were missing him would boost his ego quite a bit. but he never thought he’d come back to see you basically illuminating the bakery in your after sex glow or that he would be annoyed about it.

you’re a grown ass woman. so what if you were having sex? why should that matter to him? you aren’t his girlfriend or even anyone he’s dating at all. it shouldn’t matter that he’s wondered before what you would look like underneath him or how pretty your face would be after he makes a mess of you. he made himself hold back because he wanted to keep coming back here and he knew if he fucked you and never asked you out again that would have to stop.

you haven't had sex yet because he made it so but that didn’t mean he wanted to see you like this because of somebody else. plus, he knows he could make you feel a million times better than whoever this guy was.

the line dies down as he walks in and he wonders if you spot him near the door behind others. either way, you are unable to give him your attention with the last dozen or so customers that remain in the shop waiting to be taken care of, himself being the last one. he approaches the counter just as the couple sitting at one of the tables near the window walks out, the door bell jingling behind them.

“hey satoru!” you greet with a smile that was somehow brighter than the one you had worn when he first saw you today. “it’s been a few days, i was starting to worry about you.”

so you were thinking of him in his absence? good.

normally he’d take off his glasses, showcase his ocean eyes but today he keeps them on, thankful the dark lenses would hide his deep stare that he’s trying to keep from you entirely.

like you were unsure if he heard your welcome, you try again and he catches the unsteadiness in your voice. “i’ve got some new cake i’ve been trying to perfect, it's german chocolate. want a piece?”

“you must have been getting lonely trying new recipes by yourself.” he can hear the hostility behind his words.

“i don’t really mind baking by myself,” you say and he watches you bite your bottom lip and look down before trying to meet his gaze again with more confidence, a flirty lace to your tone. “but having a taste tester is always better.”

a very unwelcomed image of someone else tasting you pops into his head.

“i’m sure,” he replies through a clenched jaw.

hurt is painted all over your face and he feels his chest tighten knowing he was the one that made it so but your expression, dropping down to his tie instead of his face, is quickly morphing into something more akin to shame and then confusion.

if he’s being honest, he’s feeling just as confused as you look.

satoru didn’t get jealous, he’d swear up and down he’s not even now and yet, the thought of you with someone else has his blood boiling. the thought that while he was gone another had your attention made him beyond irritated, left his heart beating out of sync.

what were you doing to him?

it’s not too late, he decides in the awkward silence permeating between you. after all he was satoru gojo; handsome, charming, funny and he already had you on his hook. he may have to stop coming by after making you scream his name in bed, he’s not one for second dates or these particular attachments, but it was worth it to satisfy this annoying sting in his chest and finally give into his desire.

he calls your name, bringing you from your own thoughts and when he finally looks at you without his glasses on, the way your eyes light up, a complete 360 from your previous expression when you were deep in thought, brings him to smile and leaves a comforting warmth pooling in his chest.

you were too cute and he couldn’t wait to eat you up, show you there’s no one better than him.

“may i take you out on a date this weekend?”

✧˚ · .

main masterlist | chapter two: maybe not so lonely ➮➮➮

#satoru gojo #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x you #satoru gojo x you #jjk gojo #jujutsu kaisen gojo #gojou saturo #gojou satoru x reader #family + loyalty au

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puppy-steve · 2 months

Text

february fic rec

a monthly fic rec series where i try to read every fic on my tbr

▸ january fic rec ▸ more fic recs

steve has nightmares - M, 2.3k, complete @hitlikehammers

tags: established relationship, panic attacks, 54321 grounding method

It’s not like the nightmares are, y’know: something new. What’s new is the way he wakes up from them. It’s still a gasping thing, with his heart shot up past the base of his throat more near his tonsils or some shit, somewhere he can almost taste it like metal and the sour tang of fear as it rattles and shakes and pounds, like his chest’s caving in on itself and that’s all normal, that’s all stuff he knows and— “-ve you,” but now there’s a sound on the periphery of his awareness, sneaking in the almost-nonexistent space between his hammering pulse but he grabs for it, because something in him knows it’s important: the most important. He follows it in between the beating, risks getting crushed if he fails here, too, and— “Love you,” Steve hears more clearly, all of a sudden, and he feels hands on him, running smooth and swift courses up and down his arms; then he also feels lips, he can feel the words as motion against his body almost more than he can pick out the sound: “love you, love you, love you,” and now he knows it, now that his vision clears as it adjusts to the darkness and he sees him: Eddie. - Or: Steve has nightmares. Eddie talks him through.

Stolen - T, 2.7k, complete @penny00dreadful

tags: secret relationship, hospital heist, protective steve harrington

When Steve arrives back at Eddie's hospital room, only to be met by a doctor telling him that Eddie had suddenly died within the last ten minutes, Steve finds that very hard to believe. OR Steve steals Eddie back.

eternity - T, 2k, complete @oh-stars

tags: love confessions, fluff

“I need to come over tonight,” he whispers to Robin. “Eddie wants to talk.” “Oh,” Robin says, cupping the back of Steve’s head briefly. “I’ll have all your favorites ready for you when you get to my house.” Steve doesn’t have to say anything or force a smile. She gets it.

Love Is What Makes You Brave - G, 3.1k, complete @penny00dreadful

tags: break-up/make-up, getting back together, exes to lovers, hurt/comfort

Should he be here? No. Was he going to continue to be here for as long as he could take it? Hell yeah. OR Eddie found out Steve is getting married. And now he's idling in the church car park.

Safe Haven - M, 2/2, complete @sidekick-hero

tags: werewolf steve, hurt/comfort, getting together

Eddie finds a hurt wolf in the woods and takes him home. He has no idea that there is more to this particular wolf than it seems.

In Sickness and Health - G, complete @steviewashere

tags: established relationship, older steddie, hurt/comfort, discussions of seizures

Eddie has learned to revel in quiet afternoons, even when he’s alone. The way the sunshine bathes the apartment’s living room carpet—his and Steve’s apartment. Their cat, Poncho, settled heavy and warm in his lap. A chilled glass of southern iced tea and a plate of crackers and sliced cheese. The television volume on low. Book open and set on the arm of the couch. It’s good, the quiet. Yet, it breaks the moment the front door opens. He didn’t hear Steve stick his key in the lock. But he definitely hears his annoyed groans and huffs. The slam of the door, most likely shut with his hip. A muffled, “Damnit”, when he drops his keyring on the floor.

City of Stars (Are You Shining Just For Me?) - T, complete @steviewashere

tags: coming out, love confessions, hurt/comfort

Steve and Eddie’s hang outs tend to land them on their asses at one another’s houses. But tonight, the sky is clear and the moon is out and everything seems to be painted by the soft glow of stars. Because Steve’s parents are home. And Wayne’s got the day off, so he’s asleep early in the living room at the Munson’s. Neither of that will stop them, though. Steve picks Eddie up thirty minutes before the sun has to set, a little Melvald’s bag in the backseat filled with food and a soft throw blanket.

Perfect Timing - G, complete @steviewashere

tags: established relationship, domestic fluff, future fic

It’s funny, Steve thinks, that he knows the way in which Eddie’s emotions express when he comes through the front door of their shared space. They began renting an apartment in Chicago just a year or so after getting together. Tail end of 1986 meant sharing a bed and house by August of 1987. And it’s theirs. Filled with miscellaneous clutter—a bookshelf brimmed with books, coffee table layered with Sports Illustrated and Heavy Metal magazines, dice and keys and Topps baseball cards, and picture frames they dust and drawings from Eddie’s sketchbooks and ‘failed’ art projects of Steve’s that Eddie thought were masterpieces. Point is, they’ve made it their home. And they started their lives with a breath of fresh air. And now it’s 1995, depending on one another’s reactions, this all may just crumble at their feet.

feel the bigger thing - T, complete @hitlikehammers

tags: established relationship, married steddie, domestic fluff, rockstar eddie

“We don’t need a second house,” Steve points out, smooshed against Eddie’s sternum. “We can get the pool,” Eddie added with the audible equivalent of his brow-wiggle and okay, fine, that’s a good point, because Steve may not have really used the one at his parents’ after, well, everything, but he…does kinda miss having one. Now that the memories are distant enough in both time and miles that he doesn’t see standing water deeper than four feet and start fucking hyperventilating anymore. So…yeah. Compelling argument regarding a pool.

fever - E, 3.8k, complete @maxinemaxmayfield

tags: transmasc eddie, first time, virgin eddie, strap-ons, top eddie, bottom steve

“Shit,” Eddie groans, teeth pressing into his bottom lip. His hips buck up, and his imagination runs away with that, thinking about Steve, balancing over Eddie’s hips, riding him as hard and fast as he can manage, delicious thighs shaking while Eddie thrusts up into him. God, he wants it more than anything. There’s just one problem. Eddie currently lacks the, uh… Equipment.

so glad i found you - T, 1.4k, complete @steddieas-shegoes

tags: established relationship, steddie dads, modern au

Eddie blinked at Steve, lips parted as he tried to remember how to breathe. He’d been with Steve for just over a year, and while he didn’t technically live with them, he spent more time at their apartment than his own. He was on Sarah’s emergency pick-up list, took her with him to run errands when Steve had to work late, bought her things when the budget allowed just because he wanted to, and would read to her most nights that he stayed over. In many ways, he was her dad.

An Extra Hand - E, 5.2k, complete proprioception

tags: blow jobs, dick piercings, smoke buddies, steve being a slut for eddie's dick

"You have a dick piercing?" Steve finally sputters. "Oh," Eddie says. "Yeah." Steve thinks he recovers pretty quickly from that. (That's the only thing he has going for him in Hawkins: he gets back up.)

take the call - T, complete @hitlikehammers

tags: established relationship, married steddie, rockstar eddie, future fic

“Eddie?” He rolls his eyes kinda automatically, kinda thoughtlessly at the cut of the audio track to let the mic system override from outside the booth. “Okay, so, like, don’t freak out.” “This lady called, and she said she found Lainie’s card inside the case of a phone she picked up,” and okay, okay, that’s…that’s random but maybe it’s about their assistance manger, who just got her contract confirmed and got fancy new business cards for it and has been handing them out to everybody she sees, even gave Eddie extras to pass on to Steve, maybe he can share them at the school as if anyone at even a hoity-toity private 6-through-12 school would have a reason for a card from a record label but she’s excited, and Eddie’s excited for her, and Steve loves the people Eddie works with, and not just because they’re attached to Eddie and he loves the things that come with Eddie as a given—but that’s also true, and always has been, but— “She found the phone at a car crash?” So: the more-to-it. The thing his body already knew. Eddie…Eddie doesn’t even need to know what comes next to know he cannot fucking breathe.

Angel - E, complete @steviewashere

tags: established relationship, hurt/comfort, insecurities, handjobs

His eyes track different spots in the room. The lines on the wall. Bowling pin. Car picture. Dresser with the drawers haphazardly still open. Eddie saunters over and gently closes them, even stops by Steve’s hamper and picks up the other thrown down clothes. And then he notices it out of the corner of his eye, Steve’s full length mirror. It breaks his heart. The sheet covering what would be his reflection. And on the top right corner? A little sticky note, reading: You’ll hate what you see. Everybody does. Don’t remove.

Dream Come True - G, complete @steviewashere

tags: married steddie, future fic, steddie dads

He may have got the quiet life. And Eddie may have lived out his simple dream. He’d been a rockstar for a little bit in the late nineties and early two-thousands, retiring before they got married. But…Steve hasn’t lived his dream. Eddie hates that he thinks it’s being held back from him. Eddie’s determined to heal that hurt inside him.

Have You Done Your Homework? - E, 7/7, complete SameShipDifferentFont

tags: first time bottoming, daddy kink, bottom steve, virgin steve, sex toys

“I…I want to.” Steve admitted. “You want to?” “I-Yeah, I do, I just…I don’t know how.” he flushed furiously, snatching his hand away to rest at Eddie’s open inner thigh. Eddie caught his ducking head before he could hide against his shoulder, smiling softly as Steve met his eyes in embarrassment, but Eddie looked mischievous. “Just treat it like a pussy, baby, can’t go far wrong.” Or...Famous ladies man, Steve Harrington, is reduced to a blushing virgin when it comes to sex with Eddie. He struggles with the anxiety of trying something new, but Eddie is patient, and gives him...assignments. Steve explores his own body, learns what he likes, ways he can please Eddie, until he can attempt his main goal...giving his virginity to Eddie Munson. If he has the nerve to go through with it.

Honey and Tea. - E, 5.7k, complete daggerandrosie

tags: omegaverse, accidental voyeurism, masturbation, omega steve, alpha eddie

It was all just a innocent silly joke, nothing much, Steve just wanted a good easy laugh. It was late, dark and silent at the trailer park, no one in sight and Eddie's nightstand light was on. Steve would just pop he's head up the window and, hopefully, scare the shit out of his friend. But he's the one that ended up being spooked. Maybe you shouldn't be peeping through people's privacy after dark.

fallen king - T, complete @sp0o0kylights

tags: post s2, pre steddie, eddie munson's tabletop sermons, valentines day

With a startling amount of clarity, Steve realized he was done. With his so called friends, with the girls who’d tried corning him all morning, with Hargrove and just--everything. He was over it. If Billy wanted the crown so bad he could fucking have it. (If Tommy wanted to pretend he was tougher than he was by mimicking the dick, then he could have that too.) “This is stupid.” Steve announced, dropping the masks he so carefully wore. The ones he kept having to fix, because the Upside Down and its related demons (human and non) kept taking chunks out of it.

soothed - G, complete @steviewashere

tags: injury, hurt/comfort, pre steddie, protective steve

Steve moves to drag Eddie inside, but drops his hands when Eddie flinches away, nearly stumbling down to the concrete. He lets go of his elbows, which are now decorated with fine small crescents, and shields himself. There’s a couple smaller, red bruises decorating his wrists. As if somebody grabbed him. Steve fumes at the sight. “Eddie,” Steve breathes, “why don’t you come inside?” He steps away from the door, letting it sit open and waiting. On shuffled, hesitant feet, Eddie comes in. His eyes dart around the room before they land back on Steve. Immediately, some of the tension and fear in his big brown eyes falls away. Instead, a layer of relief and gratitude seems to fill him. Enough that his eyes brim with tears. “Oh, Eds,” Steve can only coo.

pretty pets once were wild - E, 5k, complete kravioli

tags: werewolf steve, vampire eddie, monsterfucking, sub top steve, dom bottom eddie, puppy play, breeding kink

The annual Munson ball has been a celebration of all monsterkind living in Hawkins for nearly 600 years. When Steve is dragged along to this year’s celebration during the full moon, he gets a lot more than he signed up for. or werewolf!steve and vampire!eddie’s mating

i'm keeping you in sight - T, 2.2k, complete teiresias

tags: fluff, pining, taller eddie, getting together

When there’s no immediate reply, he pauses for a moment, seemingly taking in the situation. “D’you want help with that, Stevie?” -- Eddie has the gall to get taller.

The Boy Who Swallowed a Star - M, 9.9k, complete @hitlikehammers

tags: howl's moving castle au, getting together, hurt/comfort, domestic fluff, platonic stobin, robin as calcifer (bc that deserves its own tag)

The Wizard Munson is supposed to inspire fear and awe. A trickster, a devil, a power unmatched. Blah blah blah; Steve only sees the gangly boy who almost fell off the roof of the Harrington’s tailoring shop, trying and failing to be stealthy and mysterious when Steve was not yet ten—so where whispers follow down alleyways about the dreaded terrors of the Wizard? Steve really just sees the goofball. His Eddie. “Come with me, Stevie,” Eddie doesn’t even pause for pleading, dives right in and begs him as if Steve needs convincing; "if nothing else, come with me so I know you’re safe, so I can do what needs doing without splitting half of me always just worrying. Save me from scrying out endlessly, to make sure you’re okay.” Steve’s heart thumps painful, pathetic: pure and unvarnished in a way he thinks is only possible when Eddie’s nearby. Only possible for Eddie, at all. Which means the answer’s wholly obvious—the war’s getting worse, this is his Eddie—only one response was ever really on the table: “Alright.”

crawl home to you - E, 5.2k, complete @steddieas-shegoes

tags: temporary character death, kas eddie, vampire eddie, soulmates, getting together, blood drinking

Steve should never have kissed him. He knew that now. While Eddie was dying, bleeding out on the ground of their version of Hell, the only thing Steve felt he could do to help him was kiss him. It was quick, just a peck on the lips, lingering only for a moment. Their eyes never even closed. Steve wanted to take in every remaining moment that Eddie had. There was nothing else he could do, just hold him, try to whisper comfort that may not have even been heard.

it's not ever what it looks like - M, 3.2k, complete @steddieas-shegoes

tags: modern au, rockstar eddie, established relationship, angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, implied/suspected cheating (nobody is actually cheating on anybody don't worry)

There was a picture of Eddie standing with his arm around some guy who was taller than him, both of them laughing, looking at each other like…well. Steve knew that look because it’d only ever been pointed at him, but now he was seeing it pointed at just some guy. The headline read EDDIE MUNSON GIVING UP HIGH SCHOOL SWEETHEART FOR SUPERMODEL SUPERSTAR?

Feels Good (Oh To Be Alone With You) - E, 1.3k, complete @theheadlessphilosopher | th3d3adboy

tags: transmasc eddie, cock warming, light dom/sub, cunnilingus, handjobs

Steve had never felt the way he did when he and Eddie were together. He'd always considered himself a pretty experienced guy, sexually speaking, but with Eddie things were different.

if devotion is a river, then i'm floating away - E, 6.4k, complete @starryeyedjanai

tags: post-s4, getting together, drummer steve, corroded coffin, semi-public sex

“So when you said someone was paying you to get lessons for the past six months, you weren't talking about some middle schooler interested in doing marching band?” Eddie asks, slamming the fridge door harder than necessary. Sorry, Gareth’s mom. “Nope,” Gareth says, popping the ‘p’ sound. “You’re pure evil,” he says. “Why is Gareth evil and why is Steve Harrington in the garage?” Jeff asks, coming into the kitchen. or, Eddie has feelings about Steve filling in as their drummer

i'm a man (without conviction) - T, 2.1k, complete lateralparallel

tags: hopper pov, established steddie, protective hopper, character study, eddie antagonizes hopper on purpose

Steve Harrington is not his kid. Hopper already has three, and he’s not looking to add any more. He’s sure of this fact about ninety nine percent of the time, the remaining one percent being when he’s faced by Harrington’s big, clear eyes and his perpetually quivering laugh. Hopper is not a great dad. He knows this, and he knows he should remember this, but Steve Harrington has a way of making him think highly of himself in the paternal department.

Drunk Dialing - E, series, WIP FinalMoondragon

tags: drunk bootycall, phone sex, light dom/sub, bratty steve, semi-public masturbation

Steve was drunk. Very drunk. He knew it. Robin definitely knew it. That’s why she was sitting on his back, pinning him to the floor, trying to pry his hands out from under his body. Her pajama pants were bunched up around her knees, her sock clad foot near his face. “Steve! Give-It-To-Me!” she said through gritted teeth. Or: Steve Harrington has a brilliant idea and Robin fails at stopping him.

cassette tapes and ticket stubs. - M, 5.2k, complete @thefreakandthehair | througheden

tags: modern au, mutual pining, fluff, coffee shops, record stores, baseball fan steve, getting together, accidental dates

“Well, you said you’re 90% sure you’re getting stood up. And I’m 100% sure that I’ve already been stood up. I know baseball isn’t really your thing but,” Steve wiggles the tickets between his fingers. “Road-rip?” “One condition,” Eddie says, pursing his lips. “I’m giving you a free ticket and day in Chicago but sure, let’s negotiate,” Steve teases. Grabbing his empty cup, Steve follows his lead as he tosses it in the trash. Eddie spins back around, heart clattering in his chest as he comes almost literally face to face with Steve who’s close enough that Eddie can smell the cologne he’d dabbed on for his date. Warm, spicy, Steve’s signature scent. Eddie hates that he knows that. When he finds his tongue again, he shakes his head and smiles, signing his own fucking death warrant for the day. “If we’re doing your date, we’ve gotta do mine, too.” Or, Eddie and Steve are set up on blind dates by Robin and Chrissy. They both get stood up. Or, do they?

wednesdays - G, complete @steddiealltheway

tags: rockstar eddie, pining, fluff, getting together

Steve stops in his tracks, all thoughts gone from his head as he does a double take at the magazine rack near the checkout. And yeah, he knows that Corroded Coffin is popular. Hell, he’s seen Eddie’s face on the same rack at least five times before. But never like this. The picture on the front page is taken at a lower angle, with Eddie clad in leather pants and a tight mesh black shirt that might be a crop top, but Steve can’t tell with the way Eddie’s guitar is covering his midriff, hands flying over the frets, showing off silver rings glimmering under the stage lights including the one that Steve helped Dustin pick out for him as a celebratory gift. But as Steve’s eyes trace over Eddie’s bare arms and the stark black tattoos, he’s led to wild curls perfectly framing Eddie’s face which stares down at the cords, mouth parted in an ‘o’ shape and eyebrows knitted together in concentration in a way that makes Steve feel weak in the knees. And Steve’s suddenly hit with the question: Why didn’t anyone tell him that Eddie was hot???

to die by your side (is such a heavenly way to die) - T, complete @hitlikehammers

tags: limbo/near death experiences, light angst, they're in el's mind palace, getting together, fluff, happy ending

“Oh fuck, not you, too.” Steve looks up—when did he sit down, he doesn’t remember sitting down, he doesn’t remember how even got here, and hey, actually, where is here— “What?” Steve looks toward the voice; familiar. See the wreath of curls around a pale face. “This is death, right?” Eddie’s crossing over to him, crouching just beside; “I’m dead, like, I am very sure I’m dead, but you’re here, so—“ “I don’t,” Steve breathes in sharp—tries to get his bearings, tries to see but it’s just black in every direction, his lungs feel like they’re halved in size all of sudden, everything feels tight and painful and hard like inhaling isn’t something guaranteed, and his heartbeat feels like it’s dragging the carcass of something with it when it pumps, laborious and— He’s is breathing, though, even if it’s kinda half-assed; he’s got a heartbeat, even if it feels like it’s about to fucking give out. That doesn’t…that doesn’t sound like death.

if devotion is a river, then i'm floating away - E, 6.4k, complete @starryeyedjanai

tags: drummer steve, post-s4, corroded coffin, getting together, handjobs, blowjobs

Tearing the Buttons Right off Your Dress - E, 5k, complete @solarmorrigan

tags: babygirl steve, roleplay, steve in panties and lingerie, established relationship

After spending the day celebrating with friends, Steve has one final birthday gift for Eddie Eddie's pretty sure this just became his favorite birthday ever

#cj talks #steddie #fic rec #steddie fic rec #steddie fic

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tatsumi-rin · 11 months

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Looking for new goodies this pride month???? owo

How about something from a trans man? Here at YawningCatCrafts, fun little shinies come and go as I make and repurpose all kinds of funny little items for jewellery and keyrings.

Most importantly this June though, I'd like to shine the spotlight on my Pridesicles!!! Handmade and assembled by me in the UK, Pridesicles are just fun little things that can be placed on anything and are shipped discretely to anywhere in the world (marked on customs as "keychain") with some little extra goodies in every package! Production is nonbinary-, asexual-, and kink-friendly - I will work with buyers to make any flag they want happen!*

2023 has been a rough year, and it would mean the world to me if I could sell a few of these or even just get the word out more!

If you reblog this post, leave a link for me with your order and I'll add a mystery item to sweeten the deal - I have so much more I want to make and share!

EXCLUSIVE 10% EVERYTHING - USE CODE "TUMBLRJUNE" AT CHECKOUT

*with minor exceptions such as "MAP" flags - your order will be cancelled and refunded for such requests

#husbandothings #sumikko gurashi #hamtaro #sylvanian families #pride #lgbtq #gay #trans #lgbtqia #nonbinary

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dreadsuitsamus · 6 months

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Ruin | Suguru Getō x Reader |

author's note: i opened a doc and then this happened, ask no questions bc i have no answers!!

pairing: suguru geto x fem!reader

warnings: minor violence, reader has a gun, nsfw but not particularly explicit, unprotected sex, angst

Lounging in bed, it's a chill evening that draws towards midnight. Your pajamas are minimal, an equally thin tank top and pair of shorts that cover little skin as you rest amongst your several blankets and plush stuffed animals. Boredly, your gaze focuses in and out on the video playing on your television.

The boredom doesn't last long.

The gun kept securely under your pillow is quickly and decisively in your hand, the safety clicked off as you aim right at your bedroom door, just as it opens to reveal your intruder.

"You're far too eager to use that thing, sweetheart." His face reveals no emotion, but with that telltale lilt in his voice he may as well wear a smile full of teeth.

"Stop breaking into my house." Your hand is steady, still aiming at Suguru's head.

A glimpse of silver shines between his fingers. That bastard must've slipped it off of your keyring and copied it at some point. Your eyes narrow as your finger moves to the trigger. "It's still breaking in, Sugu."

"Semantics, really." Geto slips the key back into his pocket and eyes the glock in your hand as he waves his nonchalantly. "Go ahead, if you must."

The words have hardly any breath of life before you're firing off the shot, the bullet aiming directly between his eyes. Sighing with a lazy roll of the eyes, one of the many curses he carries swiftly takes the shot. "Do you feel better?"

"No." You do relent, though, as a wave of relaxation does settle in your bones despite your verbal response, and set the gun on your nightstand. "What do you want?"

"What happened to the kind woman that was always willing to help, hm?" Geto vacates his spot in your doorway, his shoes already slipped off by the front door as he slinks closer to your bed.

"A few near-death experiences." You grouch, unmoving as your mattress sinks under Geto's weight combining with yours, the man settling between your legs and coming to lay chest to chest with you. His face is mere inches from yours, and his dark eyes glitter with amusement— for all the violence and shit talk you provide him during each visit or encounter, you sure have no issue with the physical, touchy and even intimate parts of his appearances.

"You can't give an old friend a place to stay, just for a night?"

"If only it would actually be just a night." You scoff, shaking your head as your eyes roll. "Fine. Just add it to the neverending list of shit you owe me for."

Geto plucks his hair from its bun easily, the raven locks pouring out to frame his face and rest on his shoulders. He leans in then, pressing his smooth, cold lips to yours in a kiss you eagerly accept turning into something much more than something so innocent.

Panting as his hips roll into yours, Suguru's hand holds your cheek as carefully as any fine glassware. "I'm sorry…"

One of your legs hooks around his waist, urging him deeper inside of you. "Shut up." Your lips mash with his, burying any further attempts of confessions or apologies from your rogue former lover.

When you come to at just past dawn, there's a morning after pill that was almost certainly purchased with money snagged from your purse, and you sigh in defeat as your eyes close again.

He's got far too much to be sorry for, and your poor little heart just won't stop forgiving him.

#geto x reader #geto x you #suguru geto x you #suguru geto x reader #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru x you #jjk imagine #fic #x reader #reader insert #im nervous posting this ahehakdneje fuck

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markhoffmanstits · 7 months

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WE DON’T HAVE TO FIX EACH OTHER.

Fandom: Saw/Spiral: From The Book of Saw

Pairing: Spiralshipping // Zeke Banks x William Schenk

Time Taken: Approximately 5 - 6 Hours

Word Count: 3,437

Warnings: Spiral Spoilers, Flashbacks, Fight Scenes, Not Proofread

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

The watch sounding in the quiet room was almost deafening. Dark eyes staring at the wall, blankly. There’s a storm, a flurry, of thoughts going around in the head of the detective.

Zeke turns his head, leaning back in the recliner he’s sat in, his feet kicked up on the coffee table as he stares out the window, now. Something to satisfy his mind, maybe.

Nothing does that, though. Not anymore.

The flurry in his mind is nothing more than memories, coming in quick flashes, sometimes too fast for him to ever process; despite that, he knows exactly what he’s seeing behind his eyelids.

The warm eyes that he had come to see as kind, once upon a time. A familiar voice, though it sounds faint, almost muffled and underwater in his memories.

That horrible texture of the skin under his fingers. Everything is always simple visual and auditory memory, until this moment. The realization of whose skin that was — whose skin that should have been — always brings a new sensation.

That same feeling of raw, fresh fear, mixed with a dreaded sense of misery and hopelessness. Despite their short time together, they seemed to click. Everything was a perfect fit. It all seemed to work.

Zeke raises his hands to his face, immediately placing his palms over his eyes as he grits his teeth.

Why — why must his brain torture him with the constantly replays, the constant want and need to see him? None of this was ethical.

His life was nowhere near normal — nor ethical — anymore. So, why should he care?

The detective stands up, letting out a groan as his back pops. He thinks about it long enough to wonder if he’s really getting that old. He knows he isn’t.

Grabbing his coat, Zeke slips on arm through a sleeve as he grabs his keys off of the table near his door, walking out. He’s not planning on going far, but he carefully secures the door, anyway.

Bounding down the hallway, he manages to fight his right arm into its sleeve, pulling the coat up over his shoulders. It feels looser than usual, no shoulder holster to take up space.

Zeke notes that he feels a bit naked without it, but he’s only going downstairs. He should be fine. William — no, he refuses to think of him by name — that monster should be nowhere near his apartment. He’s not that stupid. Is he?

No, this cat-and-mouse game has gone on for months, reaching a year by the end of the next month. He isn’t anywhere near that stupid.

In his train of thought, Zeke doesn’t realize how fast he’s made it to the lobby, his destination. He slips past a small group of neighbors having a friendly, even joyful, conversation, with a barely muttered “excuse me.”

His keys jingle in his hand as he shakes the keyring, trying to shuffle through them to the key of his mailbox. He manages to select the correct one, fixing his grasp on it between his fingers as he unlocks the mailbox.

Such a simple action puts him on edge. The ‘gifts’ left for him still haunt him. They always will, he thinks, though he hates to imagine it.

Zeke’s breath catches in his throat as he sees a small package in his mailbox. He hasn’t ordered anything. He started to reach for his phone, but what’s he going to do? Call for help?

They’d laugh. Call him paranoid. Tell him that Schenk was gone, moved away, not to be seen or heard from again.

In that moment, Zeke felt completely and utterly alone.

Chest tight, he struggles to take a few breaths, and slowly glances around. It feels as if time is slowed; but just on the other side of the lobby windows, the sun is shining, the cars passing by as if everything is normal.

Zeke wonders for a brief moment if Schenk is inside one of those cars. Maybe he’s inside the white Chevrolet Suburban that just drove westbound, or he could be in that midnight blue Mazda 3 that was going eastbound.

Or maybe he isn’t here at all, right, Zeke?

Why would Schenk be here, again? Why would he be near the one person who saw him for what he is?

A blonde female in the small group of neighbors turns her head to look at the detective, a quizzical look in her bright eyes. She seems to want to ask him if he’s okay, and such a sentiment is enough to snap Zeke out of his thoughts.

He grabs the package, the action too quick for him to talk himself out of it, practically slamming the mailbox shut before pulling his keys out and walking past the group once again.

This time, they fall silent, a few stepping away to give him space. He does brush arms with the blonde, who still looks to him as if she wants to say something, but Zeke runs up the stairs to his floor before she can.

He needs to open this package. Suddenly, it feels as if his life depends on it. He stares at it, noting that there is no return address, no postage stamp or label.

Just a handwritten name;

Detective Banks.

Looking up from the package, Zeke notes that the numbers before him, on the door, are not his apartment, but rather the apartment of his late father, and he ducks away. His feet are moving on their own, down the hall.

Struggling with his keys as he very carefully tucks the package under his left arm, as carefully as someone may handle a live bomb, the detective lets out a frustrated hiss as his keychain slips from his grasp, landing on the floor.

“God damnit-“ He crouches down, reaching for the keychain, but movement spotted out of the corner of his eye catches his attention.

Zeke instinctively jumps up, and he scrambles for his firearm, realizing that it’s not on his person. Again, the feeling of being vulnerable, exposed, is back.

His sidearm is in his apartment. His has no weapon to defend himself, only his fists.

Does he retreat inside his apartment with the package, or does he follow the person he saw?

He debates, knowing that there is no guarantee that what he thought he saw, just out of the corner of his eye, was really there.

After a moment, Zeke picks up his keys, and slowly, stepping very gingerly, walks down the hall, towards the location of the movement. It’s another stairwell, he knows.

He doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath, his grasp on the package under his arm suddenly much tighter, as he steps out to look at the stairwell leading to the next floor.

Nothing. There was no one there.

Zeke wonders if he’s going crazy. Maybe his paranoia, his lack of sleep, and everything else in his life is finally catching up.

He retreats back to his apartment, walking quickly as he finally manages to select his apartment key from his keyring. He slides the key into the lock, turning it and pushing the door open before pulling the key from the lock and shutting the door.

He, once again, is sure to secure the door behind him. His keys are dropped back onto the table, and he picks up his sidearm, holding the pistol in his right hand as he walks to his counter, setting the package down.

Zeke sets his pistol on the counter next to the package, carefully and hesitantly. Maybe this will, quite literally, blow up in his face. Would it be worth it?

In the back of his mind, if this is from Schenk, maybe it would be. Part of him feels as if he’d do anything to hear from that man, at least one more time.

He has the passing thought that he wishes he had taken Schenk up on the offer to be partners. He was going to, before his emotions clouded his judgement.

He grabs the sealed fold-over flap at the top of the packaging, slowly ripping it open. He tenses, pausing mid-tear to feel for any threads, any wires.

Zeke comes to the realization that the package is, likely, not rigged. None of the others had been.

William only wanted to kill the bad cops. He didn’t consider Zeke to be one, and Zeke knew that.

I have been loyal to you since the day we met; fifteen years ago.

… Is this a show of loyalty? To show that William hadn’t forgotten him?

Zeke, once more, grabs the fold-over flap, and completely tears it from the package, spilling the contents out onto the kitchen counter.

His breath catches as a badge falls from the package, skidding across the counter surface, a horrible sound of metal against faux marble.

Has it started again?

Pure fear courses through Zeke’s veins, and he grabs the badge as quickly as he can, raising it to peer at the badge number. It’s not one he’s familiar with, but he memorizes it. He needs to remember it.

He picks up the disc, in it’s own small sleeve, to protect it from scratches during transportation. There’s another handwritten message on the sleeve, though it’s not a name.

Miss me?

Zeke doesn’t notice as a faint, whispered “yes” escapes his lips, carefully removing the disc from the protective sleeve. He feels like a ghost as he walks towards his small, almost pathetic looking, television set.

His footsteps don’t sound out in his mind. He isn’t hearing himself. His feet feel as if he is floating, hovering just barely above the floor. All of this feels surreal.

He’s suddenly hopeful. Hopeful that William has come back for him.

He opens his DVD player, slipping the disc inside and closing it, focusing on the television screen, as it his entire life hinged on what he was shown.

His stomach twisted as the screen came to life, a smiling, thinner build man, dressed in a black coat, with that familiar red hood, seemed to peer at him, unseeing.

“William,” Zeke mutters, and his fingers twitch as if he wants to reach out, but there’s no one to touch, no one to hold. He is alone in this room.

The smile falters, and Zeke notices a hint of sadness in William’s eyes, which would possibly be hidden by the slight distortion of the video, if not for the fact that the man’s shoulders were down, almost as if he were slumping.

“Ezekiel… Zeke.” The video distorts, just a bit, and then clears up. “Oh, how long it has been. You’re still with the department, but they’ve turned their backs on you, even more than before, haven’t they?”

The detective casts his gaze downward, as if avoiding eye contact with a man who isn’t there.

“You’re loyal, you believe you can make a difference from where you are. I know that’s what you’re reaching for. Your goal.”

A small, bitter chuckle resounds from the man on the disc, and the recording once again distorts for a moment.

“I want to play a game, Zeke. I want you to find me. It shouldn’t be too hard. You still stop by the place sometimes, despite the vacancy of it and the memories that follow.”

Zeke’s head perks up, and he immediately stands, rushing to his coatrack to grab his shoulder holster, slipping it on under his coat.

“Come find me, Detective Banks.”

The detective rushes to the door, grabbing his keys and wallet, along with his badge, off of the table in his small makeshift foyer. Nothing can stop him, not now.

He rushes out the door, slamming it shut behind him. When he reaches the stairs, he hops on the railing, sliding down the side of the staircase.

The small group that was previously gathered in the lobby are now dispersed, though Zeke makes little notice of that fact as he exits the building.

Constantine Trains. It has to be that building, right? He stopped revisiting four months after William had vanished. He didn’t see a point in returning, but his trips there, he didn’t doubt that was what William was speaking of in the recording.

Zeke hops in his car, scrambling to put the key in the ignition and start the engine. When he does, he grabs his sunglasses from the overhead visor and slips them on before pulling out of the parking lot, peeling out onto the street as fast as he can.

It only takes a few minutes for Zeke to pull into the empty parking spaces that sit before the butcher shop that was previously known as Constantine Trains. It takes all his strength to not jump out of the running vehicle.

It feels like it takes ages for Zeke to put the vehicle out of gear and into neutral, pulling up the parking brake and shutting off the engine, pulling his keys from the ignition.

He opens the door and climbs out of the car. In his excitement, he never put on his seatbelt. Slamming the door shut, Zeke takes off running into the building, barely conscious of his sidearm hitting his ribs in its holster as he does.

Pulling off his sunglasses and hooking them on his shirt, Zeke rushes to the exact place that brings him so many memories, and so many overwhelming emotions.

Despite the vacancy of it and the memories that follow.

Pulling his pistol from the holster, the detective bursts into the room, and he has almost a wave of deja vu wash over him as he points his pistol in front of him, “Hands up-“ He commands.

But the room is empty.

A wave of disappointment and dread washes over Zeke, and he lets out a frustrated sigh, holstering his firearm before pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.

Is this really just a game? Is William toying with him? Why?

Didn’t William want to see him, too? The man had looked so sad in the recording, the thought that this all was a game of manipulation never crossed Zeke’s mind, despite knowing William’s true natures.

Hanging his head, Zeke leaves the building, now walking much slower than before. In all his excitement, he now felt let down. Not only did he feel let down, but he felt *embarrassed.*

He takes his time driving back to the apartment complex. There’s no rush this time, no excitement; the feeling of the tires on the asphalt as Zeke drives circles around the city are the only thing keeping his dread at bay.

He doesn’t make it home until eleven o’clock that night, his watch quietly ticking along the hours that he stayed away.

He enters the empty lobby, and then pauses, standing in the doorway as he stares at the mailbox, his eyes narrowing into a squint.

The package. His name, having been handwritten. No address, no shipping information.

Zeke stands straight up, suddenly, and his eyes widen. “Fuck.” He whispers. “You sneaky son of a bitch-“

William couldn’t have shipped the package, not without any postal stamps or addresses. He had to deliver it himself.

He was here.

The memories that follow.

Zeke’s head snaps to look at the staircase. Before he knows it, he’s running up the steps, pulling his pistol from the holster as he finds himself standing in the hallway, staring at the door to his father’s apartment.

Earlier today, he was standing in front of this very door, before he ever opened the package.

So close, and yet so far, this entire time.

William was right under his nose.

Zeke raises his left foot, letting out a grunt as he kicks the door next to the doorframe. He feels the wood immediately give way, and gives it another kick, falling forward into a crouched position as it opens, pointing the pistol into the room.

“William!” The detective shouts, raising an eyebrow. This is it, this should be it. But William isn’t before him. The room is empty, even bare of most furniture, only filled with barebones like the old recliner and loveseat.

Zeke brings himself to an upright position, slowly walking into the room, keeping his sidearm held tight in both hands. He hasn’t been here in months, but he notes the fact that there’s a trash bag in the garbage can near the doorway of the kitchen.

He walks into the living room, scanning the apartment. He goes to take a step, and as his foot hovers over the floorboards, he hears a familiar sound behind him.

Click.

The safety of a gun.

“Hands up, Zeke.”

Panic surges through Zeke’s veins, sent out by every nerve in his body. His urge is to fight, and before he can fight it, he drops his own firearm, turning around and grabbing the barrel of William’s nine millimeter, pointing it up towards the ceiling.

He was a brief moment to note that William’s finger was never on the trigger before the male gives him a sharp kick in the stomach. Zeke falls backwards, gasping for the air that’s been forced from his lungs.

“I don’t want to hurt you, damnit.” William states, and his voice is objective, almost emotionless, but there’s a small frown on his lips as Zeke lunges for him.

The man attempts to step to the side, the detective grabbing the hood of his jacket. A cough escapes William’s throat as Zeke smashes his head into the other’s nose, effectively cracking it to the side and conjuring a cloud of crimson from his nostrils.

“Shit-“ William hisses, hooking his leg behind Zeke’s and pulling back, causing the older to trip and fall backwards, his side hitting the arm of the couch. “Zeke, stop fucking fighting!”

William’s voice is raised, and for a moment they both freeze, staring at each other as they hold their breath. The last thing either of them needed was another resident of the complex hearing the commotion.

For once, the cops arriving here would not be the best idea.

Zeke stares up at William, bringing himself back to an upright position as he watches William wipe his hand under his nose.

The younger is breathing through his mouth, and Zeke realizes that in the struggle, of which William never even wanted, Zeke had broken his nose.

Pulling his sleeve over his hand, William presses the fabric to his bleeding nostrils, peering at Zeke through narrowed eyes.

He manages to let out a grim chuckle despite the pain coming in waves from his broken nose.

“Miss me?” He asks, and Zeke immediately thinks back to the exact words written on the sleeve of the disc.

There’s a moment of silence, and then Zeke approaches the younger man, grabbing William’s arm when he starts to step backwards.

“Don’t move, idiot.” Zeke says, grabbing the bridge of William’s nose. A small yelp escapes William’s lips as the detective snaps his nose back into place, but the rush of air to his lungs through his nostrils is something he’s thankful for.

The silence is awkward, but also somewhat comforting, after so long apart, not knowing what happened to the other.

When Zeke lets him go, William goes to the kitchen and walks back out with a wet washcloth, wiping the drying blood off of his face.

When William enters the room, he notes Zeke sitting on the recliner, leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. He peers up at William, who smiles at him, now as warm as it was when they first met.

“So, partner, where should we start?”

“Before we start, we need to talk.” Zeke says, in a hushed tone, as if he’s hesitant. This makes the younger tilt his head, and he walks over to the recliner, perching a seat on the arm.

“What’s on your mind, Zeke? Do you not want to do this?” William asks, a tone of apprehension in his voice.

Zeke shakes his head, and wraps an arm around William’s waist, conjuring a yelp from him as he’s pulled down from the recliner’s arm and into Zeke’s lap.

“I just think we should do this first.” Zeke says, his free hand gently grasping William’s chin before leaning in, barely brushing their lips together.

The action is a shock, a surprise, and William almost melts like butter in the elder’s grasp, one hand landing on Zeke’s chest as the other grasps the arm holding his chin.

Zeke lets out a hum as they pull away from each other, his stomach flipping a little.

So much for ethics.

“So, who’s first?”

#mark writes #fanfic #fanfiction #sawposting #spiralposting #spiral from the book of saw #spiral #spiralshipping #saw #saw movies #jigsaw #zeke banks #ezekiel banks #detective banks #william schenk #saw fandom #saw fanfic #spiral fanfic #please reblog

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mushpotaeto · 8 months

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˗ˏˋ 𝑺𝒉𝒐𝒑 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 ˎˊ˗

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 11 months

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not allowed, interlude | breathe

drabble: ‘not allowed’ series (myg+jjk), idol!BTS, based on real time pairing(s): yoongi x reader, mentions of jungkook x reader

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; all the serious feels heart eyes and super soft and so suga sweet you might get diabetes, sorry; occurs around the time of Japan dates of Yoongi's solo tour (when he's coughing and still giving the best performances of his life)

Min Yoongi, the man outside of SUGA and Agust D, calls you to tell you he's fed up and wants to break company rules. But mostly he calls you to confess and make you fall even more in love with him.

You could see him in the phone screen. Busying about in his hotel room, getting unready, not saying anything because all the basic pleasantries had already been said and, besides, Min Yoongi didn’t call you to tell you shit he could hear from anyone else. You heard him pour himself some water and sigh tiredly, the elation of the brightest smiles and shining eyes finally slipping away when all the adrenaline was now being processed and broken down.

Yoongi was glancing at your image on his phone every chance he got.

You didn’t say anything.

Just kept typing away until he was done and ready to say what he wanted to say. Occasionally, you would tilt your head and your eyes would connect at the exact same time, through miles and pixels and the magic of technology, and you could see the small smile touch Yoongi’s lips, just for a moment, and that expression would be mirrored by you, a moment as concrete as it was fleeting. Even after hours of pushing himself to the physical brink, Min Yoongi still looked perfect.

Samsung made good cameras.

Also, you were biased, so there was that.

It wasn’t like Yoongi to ask for a video call though. You didn��t ask for them either – you could simply do a quick search on Twitter and see how he was doing on show days. Everywhere he went, if it was public, you could see him, so there was no need to bug him about seeing his face. And Yoongi was used to closing his eyes and only seeing you that way when you couldn’t physically be there. That was usually enough.

Had to be enough.

Already not allowed to have you number, be your boyfriend, and all that shit.

You halted your typing and rested your chin in your palms as Yoongi sat down on the couch, puffing out air as if he was decades older than he was.

There was reasons Yoongi always booked himself so full when he was working, after all. You were the same way.

Better to be busy than to feel alone.

He looked up at you.

Pushed back his long, damp, black hair that was definitely slick with dried sweat and half a can of hairspray, but you weren’t there to scold him and drag him to the shower. All the hard work of the makeup artist had been sweat off or splashed off, not that it mattered when Yoongi had such a good dermatologist. You smiled at him and there was a flicker in those dark brown orbs, noting your expression. He could read you like you could read him.

The warm lamplight made his cheekbones glow.

Yoongi sat back and sipped his water.

You waited, patiently impatient.

“How’s Jungkook?”

…

Right. Caring about anyone else before himself. A signature Min SUGA move. “He’s working hard. Got tired of loafing around,” you hummed, bouncing the Shooky pancake plush keyring on your desk offscreen. “We all knew he would eventually suddenly go running off doing whatever he wants, when he wants. He’s in his own world.”

Yoongi coughed into the sleeve of his oversized grey t-shirt. “And we’re just living in it.”

“You have to admit, it’s nice here.”

He was chewing on his lip now. Breathing deeply. His voice had a rougher rasp to it due to the cough. Pretty awesome if it wasn’t for the visible wear of the edges of his demeanor. You could see the slump in his shoulders, the darkness under his eyes. His right hand wandered and rubbed up his left collarbone, up to his shoulder, and Yoongi was not quite looking at you but you could tell that he was seeing you just fine.

You didn’t need to tell him to take care of himself. He had plenty of staff that loved him enough to scold and care for him. He was still doing the concerts because he felt he could push though and because he didn’t want to disappoint ARMY that had paid their hard-earned money and blocked out their precious time to see him. He didn’t call you to be nagged at. He could call his parents for that. Still, you almost wondered, maybe, if that was what he wanted right now. Maybe he just wanted a moment of typical ordinary in his very special life.

He placed his glass on the table and looked into the image of you.

And then at the lens.

“Sometimes I forget,” Yoongi whispered softly.

You removed your palms from your chin, staring into dark brown orbs that held an ocean of emotions along with secrets he only told you. In these hotel lights, those eyes still held points of light, dancing ARMY bombs gleaming in the dark. Fresh and old memories.

“It’s only the stage, me, and the fans, and I forget everything else.”

There was a ruefulness in his honesty.

“I forget I’m tired,” he breathed out, elbows on his knees, looking down and away from the screen but you knew he was telling you because he wanted to. There was no one else he wanted to know things like this. “I forget I’ve got this annoying cough. I forget the worries I had before stepping on stage. I forget that I come back to an empty hotel room and I forget that I’m seriously considering breaking company rules, even if the only reason is so that I don’t have to turn on the lights myself.”

The way Yoongi looked into the lens, and you found yourself biting your lower lip.

A small sting of pain rather than saying anything before he was done, doing everything you could to listen because he wanted you to listen.

“I forget everything else and I think, I need to do everything I can to be here again.”

You knew your eyes were telling him so.

You can.

And his eyes were telling you something else.

I’m sorry I love this so much.

You exhaled and it came out in a light chuckle. Stupid. That’s why I love you. You shook your head, small smile ghosting your lips.

"The place you hold in their world is more special than you or I can even imagine. ARMY saved you as much as you saved them."

The shadows of black strands framed his dark eyes. You watched him and he watched you, saying the things he always said with his gaze alone. BTS couldn’t exist without ARMY. He wasn’t who he was without BTS. He couldn’t stand on stage confidently without ARMY and without BTS. He could find the strength to walk forward because of them. No questions asked.

“But, when I look at you,” Yoongi murmured, staring at your image on his screen. “It’s like I can breathe again.”

Fuck.

You hated it when Yoongi did stuff like that because you could feel the heat rush to your cheeks and no good reply was coming to mind.

His expression softened.

“I’m doing everything I can to prepare.”

Yeah, I know, you wanted to say, but Yoongi kept gazing at you like that, with faded lights in those dark brown orbs. It must have been the angle or the lamps in the hotel room or something like that. He coughed slightly, hiding behind the back of his hand. The side of his mouth ticked upwards and you knew he read your reply from your expression.

“I just wanted to see your face so I could finally breathe.”

There was a tightness in your throat and it was not connected to any physical ailment.

“Don’t make me love you only to miss you,” you managed to get out.

The smirk was playful. His usual self.

“Sorry.”

Some (n)-ice guy.

Your eyes followed the length of his black hair, the angle of his jaw, and you wanted to hold him in your hands. Maybe shake some sense into him until he played dead. Maybe press your forehead to his and not say anything at all. Anything but… Yoongi could tell you now when he cried. He admitted it to remind everyone he was human.

You breathed in and you saw the tension in his features lessen as you do so.

“I can’t believe you,” you scoffed.

The tip of his pink tongue darted across his lower lip as he smirked, tucking into his cheek. “Hm?”

You still couldn’t tell Yoongi when you cried.

You also knew he appreciated it. Yes, it was selfish of him and selfish of you, and maybe that would change one day, but for now there were moments like this, despite the miles and pixels and with the magic of technology, and you, too, could finally breathe, really breathe, a feeling that was past physical constraints.

Nothing like this.

“A soul drawing a breath is different,” you sighed, placing your chin in your palms again, fanning your fingers over your cheeks, seeing him on your phone. Right beside you, always there.

Yoongi smiled softly, the way he always did but people always forgot.

“I’m lucky to have you.”

You flicked you head as if to say, I know, and he laughed, the action mixing with coughs, but it was a fun intermission, not a worrying one.

“Ah, can you ghostwrite my songs?” he snickered. “A ghost taking my place so I can zone out.”

You stuck out your tongue. “You made those promises, Min Yoongi. You. Just do it.”

He let out an aggravated sigh that sounded a bit too much like Jeon Jungkook.

Hm.

Might explain the rise of duck-face photos.

I just wanted to see your face so I could finally breathe.

You thinned your mouth into a line, puffing your cheeks.

Eyes shifting and found his at the same moment his head lowered from flinging it back to be dramatically childish. You smiled and he mirrored you and it was so stupid that it was so simple but it was so simple that it was so stupidly right. You act like I don’t know, Yoongi. Like I didn’t watch you from fearing the stage to loving it. Like I don’t want you to love it with your whole heart. Isn’t anything worth doing worth your whole heart, my love?

He said your name, only that, and it meant a million things.

There was more than one way to say I love you.

You said his name back to him, in the same tone, and he knew.

Min Yoongi, I would give up on loving you if it meant that you would stay this happy on stage with BTS and ARMY for the rest of your life.

He hummed thoughtfully, shrugging. “Should I break company rules and fly you over here using the company card?”

You laughed. “Just so I can turn on the lights before you get back to the hotel? Will you list me as most valuable light master?”

“Can’t list you as most valuable dick sucker or they would get quite mad.”

It was not going to happen but you found Yoongi said these kinds of things more often lately. Maybe you and him were now at that stage where you could joke about it freely without feeling any pressure. Maybe he was getting older and noticed how fast time was moving. Maybe he had no more fucks to give.

Probably the latter.

“You know it’s not that impossible for us to meet, right? Since you’re on this side of the world again.”

Yoongi turned his head and half-frowned, carelessly ruffling up the back of his hair with one hand. Casually sexy with his unintentional intentional cough and raspy reply.

“Yeah, but I feel like causing trouble.”

That was your Min Yoongi, all right.

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#yoongi x reader #bts drabble #yoongi x you #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi x you #yoonkook x reader #yoonkook x you

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