Latest Posts by meanderingwistera - Page 2

So as I am writing Saint and while doing some looking into Kitsune folklore I came across the legend of Tamamo-no-Mae.

Tamamo-no-Mae was a nine tailed fox who seduced an Emperor and made him deathly ill before being found out and driven out of the palace. That is the bare bones of the myth and there is most likely more context to it. It is also believed that Tamamo-no-Mae was also related to two other incidents with royalty in both China and India.

As I was reading about it my brain went, Kitsune!Suguru would do that for fun. Now all I can think about is Suguru just messing with multiple countries for fun before meeting Saint!Reader.

Hello,

I hope you’re all doing well. 🌿

I need your help to share my family's story and raise awareness about our struggle. Every voice counts, and your support means the world. 🙏

💬 Please reblog my pinned post or, if you're able, consider donating just $5—it could be life-changing for those facing unimaginable hardship.

Your kindness and solidarity make a real difference. Thank you from the bottom of my heart! 🤍✨

@aboodfmly

…

🕊️ Please Take a Moment to Read Nadin’s Story

My name is Nadin. I never imagined I would write something like this. I’ve always been someone who kept her worries quiet, someone who believed that even the hardest days could be endured with patience and faith. But right now, I am reaching out — not because I want to, but because I need to.

I am a wife, a mother, and one of many women in Gaza trying to survive days that feel like they have no end. There was a short time — a brief ceasefire — where we thought things might start to heal. Where the sound of war faded for just long enough to let us breathe. But that moment is gone now, and the fear has returned louder than before.

My days are filled with uncertainty, and my nights with prayer. We have lost so much. Our home was damaged, our sense of safety taken from us. But through all of this, I try to keep going. I try to hold on to what little peace I can create with my hands, my words, and my love.

I am not asking for much. Just a little help to keep our lives from falling further apart. To fix the small things — a cracked wall, a leaking roof, the pieces of daily life that help us hold on to dignity.

This campaign isn’t just about survival. It’s about holding on to what makes us human in a place that keeps trying to take that away. It’s about showing my daughter — even though I won’t mention her name here — that the world didn’t forget us.

If you’ve ever felt powerless in the face of suffering, please know that even the smallest gesture can carry great meaning. A kind word. A shared post. A quiet donation. These things remind us that we’re not alone.

Chuffed

Help Nadin Keep Her Life Stitched Together

My name is Nadin I’m a mother, a wife, and just one of many women in Gaza who are trying to hold on — to hope, to our families, to any piece

I am still here. Still holding on. Still believing that people out there — people like you — still care.

Please, if you feel moved, consider supporting or sharing this campaign.

That post about death note being "everyone's first anime" (untrue statement) made me curious and now I want to gather data for science

Can you reblog this and tell me where are you from and what was your starter anime?

I keep staring at the Saint doc and it stares back at me, then nothing gets done 🫠

like he got a collar on, imma always know where my dog at!

ᯓᡣ𐭩 pairing — oyabun!gojo x secretary!reader

summary — your husband, the terrifying oyabun of the gojo-gumi, is as loyal as dog— and as bad as a pent-up border collie that’s been left home alone for too long and turned to destruction as a means of getting attention. after purchasing satoru a collar (that he’s always eager to wear), you put him on a brief sex ban to weed out any and all of his bad behavior. after all, only good puppies deserve treats— right?

word count — 21k (woops)

ᯓᡣ𐭩 content & warnings — mdni 18+, mlw, fem!reader, normal modern au, yakuza au, humor, smut, fluff, pet names (baby, sweets, sugar, princess, pretty, wifey, hubby), gojo and reader are married, whipped gojo, like absolute wife guy gojo, gojo is actually insane, mentions of murder and violence, submissive top gojo, sub!gojo, implied subspace, dom!reader, femdom, domestic & non-sexual domination, mommy kink, pet play / puppy play, dry humping, the tiniest sliver of foot action but not much cos I’m #not about that life, overstimulation, handjobs

author’s note — had to satiate the demon in me by writing this cos collaring gojo is my weakness 🙇🏽‍♀️ don’t let the summary and tags fool you this is somehow very fluffy and funny for the most part LMAO… until it gets freakay 🙂‍↕️ this is not necessary to read, but if you want a little more background on this au, you can find info here. enjoy 🫶🏽

writing © getouyuri. fanart © artofzolaida. dividers © sister-lucifer.

It starts as a drunken dig.

“You need to be tossed into a cage and locked up like a dog, Satoru.”

You can hear the way Suguru chokes around the tapioca that barrels down his throat. The oyabun of the Sutoraifu-gumi hacks his lungs up into a tissue that was discarded alongside their takeout, eyes watering, while Shoko looks torn between laughing at him and rubbing her temples over the depravity that just came out of her girlfriend’s mouth.

The stripper in question blinks, slow and innocent-like, like a cat that’s wondering why the mouse trapped beneath its paws stopped squirming and putting up a fight. On the other side of her, Suguru’s spouse groans at the direction that this conversation is sure to head in.

Stretching his long legs out on the massive couch with the carefree air of a man who owns the world, Satoru casts his attacker a sardonic smile. “A cage couldn’t contain all this man,” he crows, patting his chest as if he’s hot shit.

“Ew,” Shoko mutters.

Her girlfriend wrinkles her nose, equally as unimpressed. “Better yet, you should be collared. Maybe that’d get you to knock it off and shut you up, Fido.”

“Why on earth are we having this conversation?” Suguru gets out now that he’s not actively dying.

Everyone ignores him.

"If my wife wanted to do that, then sure. Cuffs, a goddamn straightjacket, a collar— I’d wear it all loud and proud for her.” Satoru glances up at you and wiggles his eyebrows. You pinch his cheek, a silent ‘hush,’ but you don’t contribute anything to the rapidly devolving conversation.

The three stooges (Satoru, Suguru, and Shoko) that have been friends since they were wearing light-up Sketchers and trading gachapon toys get together whenever Suguru travels to Tokyo for his monthly arms deals with Satoru, their respective partners typically included, for a weekend of tomfoolery. One time you nearly got arrested. Another time, the group got beyond faded and engaged in a lethal game of dare or dare (no truths were involved). It ended up with Shoko’s girlfriend taking up Satoru on his dare to get her nipples pierced and Satoru in the hospital after you tried to ride Suguru’s spouse’s motorcycle and ran over his foot.

More often than not, Shoko gets sloshed, the biker at Suguru’s side joining in and then calling their sister, Yuki, to drunkenly blubber that they miss her, and them all piling into the Gojo estate for a movie marathon. From there, it’s inevitable that someone gets tried at the stake.

Apparently, Satoru is today’s target— purely because he’s lying on his stomach and so shamelessly nestling his head into the divot of your thighs, pressing his lips there as if considering dragging them higher, arms wound around your middle and hands occasionally groping at your ass in front of all your mutual friends like the dog that he is. He has no qualms with feeling you up despite the eyes on you, getting a kick out of stepping over the line of propriety and showing that you're his and he’s yours all in the same breath.

That, and he just likes smothering you. Even though it’s a little embarrassing, he’s too cute to tell off and send to the pound like Shoko’s girlfriend thinks he (rightfully) deserves.

Long after everyone rags on Satoru— “what the hell, I don’t bark, Suguru. Baby, defend me!” He whined at some point, equal parts petulant and confident that you’d back him up, to which you muttered, “must’ve been the wind,” and turned the TV volume up, making him thrash— you and Satoru retire to your master bedroom. Shoko and her girl flounced off to the nearest guest room to ‘sleep’ (make out), while Suguru let his partner drag him out of the Gojo estate for a few more hours of fun with a cunning grin.

Satoru’s in the bathroom, so you’re indulging in a quiet moment and wiping your makeup off at the vanity, half of your attention on your face and the other half on the tab pulled up on your iPad.

You can hear the jaunty pad of your husband’s socked feet against the carpet right behind you as he saunters over. Before you can slap your hand over your tablet and throw it aside so hard in a fit of panic that it cracks, he’s nosily peeking over your shoulder and reaching out to tap at the screen so that it doesn’t darken. “Oh? What’s this?” Satoru murmurs in your ear, making you shiver despite yourself.

You hope a plane hits the Gojo estate and takes you out for good.

A wide selection of collars and leashes greets both of your gazes. There’s different style of leashes— chained, slip leads that require no collars, bungee-corded leashes— and even collars, ranging from classic leather collars to strict posture collars with other bondage elements attached to them (Satoru stares at the one with nipple clamps for far too long). There’s even an option for customizable tags to slide onto the o-rings of the collars. The whole nine yards.

Any and all thoughts of his fly out of the window.

You clear your throat, not so calmly plucking up your iPad and pressing it to your chest. “I’m just looking at these. For science,” you say, like a liar, with a killer poker face keeping your dignity intact.

Satoru doesn’t miss the filled in bookmark on the corner of the page.

“Okay,” he drops it way too easily. Suspiciously so. He points out a diamond-studded leather collar that you definitely weren’t eyeing the most before he swooped in. “That one is pretty. Objectively so.”

“Agreed.”

You’re beyond embarrassed, a shameful heat pooling in your face and leaving you lightheaded. The air is so thick with tension that you begin wondering if there’s a gas leak that’s about to make you start asphyxiating until Satoru abruptly hefts you up and away from the vanity to toss you over his shoulder, making you yelp.

“Let’s fuck.”

“Aht aht, try again.”

“Can we pleaaaase fuck?” He simpers, smacking your ass and earning him a pounded fist against his back.

“Yeah, sure.”

Thank god you didn’t question why he was already harder than a rock when he lowered you to your comfy shared bed, crawling over you to kiss you silly and lazily grind down against you. His cock started filling out in his pants the second he thought of wearing one of those collars, letting you parade him around and show off your pretty puppy before dragging him forward to demand that he buries his face between your thighs.

Neither of you stop to properly talk about The Incident (read: your moment of weakness), but you both sure as hell bring up the subject of collars like your lives depend on it.

When Satoru’s pacing his office at the Gojo-gumi headquarters while you lean against the door, listening to him rave on and on about packing a bunch big enough to put Ryomen, his rival, in the dirt: “Stop barking.” “Collar me and I will.”

Other times, he’s bounding off to chase his newest fixation— like his favorite bakery releasing a new line of pumpkin kikufuku to hail in the start of autumn: “don’t go too far or I’ll have to leash you!” “Ooh, promise?”

It’s safer this way— juggling the idea of it disguised as a joke, pushing and poking at each other with little quips to read the other’s reaction, making sure that there’s no disgust there. No aversion to the topic that shall not be named.

Admittedly, maybe you should’ve had a sit-down with Satoru to negotiate the realms of collars and kinks instead of muttering ‘fuck it,’ impulsively purchasing a collar, and having it delivered to the Gojo-gumi headquarters so that Satoru won’t see it at home and tear into the package before you can get to it, because what’s yours is his and vice versa. You and Satoru aren’t exactly new to freaky shit, having dabbled one too many times in shibari, sex toys like vibrators and strap-ons, food play, spanking, the list goes on. You’re always down to try new things with him.

But collars? For some reason, you can’t bring yourself to bite the bullet and flat-out admit to wanting to see him wear one. It’s too embarrassing. Too real. So you stuff the brand spanking new collar, leash, and its matching baggie into your purse, press it tight to your abdomen the entire ride home after work while Satoru chatters at your side, and try to sneak it beneath your bed.

Too bad that Satoru catches you.

“Not that I’m complaining, because really, I’m enjoying the view,” he muses behind you, and you’re instantly freezing up, shoulders hiked up to your ears, “but why are you on the floor with your ass in the air?”

“I dropped one of my rings,” you say, popping right back up and brushing your dress down with rigid hands. You step in front of the bag pushed halfway under the bed and glance at him. He’s lingering in the doorway, suit jacket slung over one shoulder and his eyebrows slanted upwards in question. Satoru blinks his big blue eyes at you. “I got it, though.”

“That doesn’t really look like a ring, though,” he points out, exaggeratedly leaning to the side to flicker his gaze down to your spoils. “Is that an early birthday present or something? That’s a shitty hiding place. No offense.”

“No, it’s—“ you grumble out a frustrated noise and ruffle your hand through your hair, pursing your lips and weighing the pros and cons of… well, everything. “Can we sit down and talk?”

If he’s thrown off by the serious tone you suddenly take, he doesn’t show it. “Sure thing, sugar.”

Satoru fully slinks into the room as you quickly bend down to snatch the bag back up and perch yourself on the edge of the bed. Before you can even ask, he’s kneeling at your feet, cushioning his chin in the divot between your thighs and soothingly rubbing your calves.

He's close enough that he could push himself further up on his knees and easily feel the warmth of your breath on his skin, your mouth against his, and it takes every ounce of his self-control not to close the distance.

Instead, he waits, head pillowed on your lap and his heart pounding in his chest as he stares deep into your brilliant eyes, searching for any sign of what you’re thinking, then at the little gift bag perched further up your lap, pressed lightly to your stomach. He knows you well enough to know that you’ve got something up your sleeve, some clever scheme plan that you’re just dying to put into action despite your apparent apprehension.

Satoru’s always been a sucker for your brand of trouble, and he has a feeling that this time is going to be no less exciting.

"Well?" he prompts, rhythmically tapping the sides of your calves. "Stop staring at me— I know I’m gorgeous, really— and just get to your point.”

“You and your bigass head,” you mutter, but you don’t deny his claim.

Looking for all the world like you’re about to set off a bomb and then dart off, you finally address the elephant in the room. You hold open the bag in his direction. “Just grab it.”

Satoru obliges. He reaches his hand in and startles when his fingers brush against something leathery. He pulls it out and inhales sharply.

It’s a beautiful black collar with six genuine diamonds the color of his eyes that wink in the light when Satoru turns it over in his hands. The diamonds are small enough that it isn’t overly gaudy and flashy, but it’s still more intricate than most run-of-the-mill collars. A similarly blue, frilly bow sits at what he assumes is the front of the collar and there’s a small ring that dangles just underneath it, a matching black leash already clipped to it.

The exact one that he pointed out on the website that you were browsing. He never in a million years thought you would actually go ahead and buy it.

Satoru rubs his thumb along the outside of the collar before tugging at it gently, testing the stretch, then changes his grip so he can feel the inside. It’s soft and almost velvety, clearly tailored to avoid chafing— it’s almost an exact replica of the material of the sheets on yours and his bed, which he’s very particular about.

His mouth and throat suddenly run dry, his body an hourglass full of sand that’s just been tilted. Swallowing does nothing to remedy it.

He feels— he doesn’t know what he feels. He doesn’t think there’s even a word for this.

Satoru thinks he senses a hint of nervousness in the sideways glance you direct at the wall, a far cry from your usual assured intensity. You crumple the bag up and set it to the side and your hands tightly curl in your lap when you finally look at him again. “What do you think?”

By the look in your eyes, you have something to say. Maybe you’re about to take it back, laugh it off and say, ‘late April fools prank, ignore me,’ but he jumps to speak before you can. “You know I’m far from opposed.”

And truly, he isn’t. Collars are something you had discussed before, but with how it kept getting brought up time and time again with nothing to actually come of it, he had considered the idea scrapped. That hadn’t stopped Satoru from thinking about it, though.

There was a certain appeal in his wife’s hands around his throat, a gentle one-hand hold when he’s being a nuisance to tug him down to your level before you kiss away his quips or fix his hair, a bruising two-handed one when you’re bodily pinning him down and riding him, but a collar…

“What do you think?” Satoru asks, eyeing you carefully and trying to gauge what you’re feeling.

“I think it’s lovely,” you offer, finally unclenching your fingers and reaching down to stroke over the shell of his ear. Those same ticklish fingers slide down and skim the side of his neck as if mapping out the placement of the collar. You’re smiling a little. “It’d be even lovelier around your neck, should you want it there.”

It’s the push he needs. Satoru rolls it over in his hands again, tests its weight one more time. He exhales the deep breath he took. “Okay, then what are you waiting for, slowpoke? Are you gonna put it on me or not?”

You huff out a laugh and roll your eyes but you gently pull the collar from him. Satoru stretches his neck out, total trust and anticipation making his mind slow to a crawl. His pulse settles comfortably beneath the skin of his jaw.

He stays perfectly still as you fit its front against his neck, centering the bow at his throat. You tug the collar and leash over his shoulders before pulling the collar snug around his nape, where his hair curls damply from the sweat budding on his skin.

The metal buckle clicks closed and something molten instantly loosens at the base of Satoru’s skull, dripping down his spine and pooling warm and intense into his hips. With your hands still on his neck, smoothing down the collar, fussily slipping beneath it and testing its tightness, he expects to get overwhelmed under all the stimulation as he adjusts to the foreign feeling of the thin lining of leather gently digging into his throat while the velvet cradles his trachea, but your warmth helps him relax impossibly further.

Satoru doesn’t realize his head is drooping until you cup his face and guide him upwards, thumbs smoothing crescents into the silk of his cheeks. It’s enough to slowly pull him back to earth, leaving its foggy skies behind.

You look oddly charmed, with your eyes syrupy-sweet and crinkling around the edges. “You alright there?”

“Duh.” Satoru is surprised when his voice comes out a broken rasp and he swallows. He can’t even blame it on the restriction of the collar, considering it’s far from tight around his neck. It’s better than he expected. The weight of it is solid and comforting, a weighted blanket, a physical reminder that he’s, in plain words, safe; at ease at your mercy.

(Yours, his traitorous mind whispers. Yours.)

You brighten. “Good. How does it feel?”

“It’s comfy,” Satoru says slowly, the words sleep-soft as if he’s stirring from a dream. He reaches up and rubs over the studded rhinestones. Nothing else comes out of his mouth.

“I’m glad,” you murmur, sounding pleasantly relieved. You push at the back of his neck, finally helping his head continue its orbit to your knees, which he rubs his cheek against like a needy puppy.

There’s a moment where there’s nothing but the sound of them breathing as one. Eyes burn into his neck, into the collar. Slender fingers scratch at his scalp. Cool velvet slides against his throat when he swallows again. Satoru soaks it all in and categorizes each feeling to somewhat ground himself. A pleasant warmth threatens to pull him into the cloudy recesses of his mind again but he doesn’t allow the mental strings that tether him to the ground to snap.

He feels calm and centered, grounded in a way that he rarely is. It's a strange sensation, but not an unwelcome one. It reminds him of all the times he’s surrendered all control to you.

He can’t let himself idle for too long, though. Desire claws tally marks into Satoru’s rib cage, fiercely scrabbling at the inner layers of his being, trying to escape while he sits prone. He fidgets, drags his cheek against your knee one more time, and blinks up at you with a flutter of his dove-feather lashes. You stare back, admiring the collar hugging his neck.

“I think I could get used to wearing this all the time, sugar. Might have to start a trend in the office,” Satoru chuckles.

“It’s new,” you contribute absentmindedly, oddly spacey.

"Though I'm not sure the others would appreciate seeing their boss prancing around like a puppy on a leash. Might give them the right idea about what goes on behind closed doors,” he continues. A hum is the only acknowledgement he gets from you.

“Fuck,” you whisper abruptly, rubbing your mouth. “This was such a bad idea.”

“What? Why?” He asks, startled.

“I’m so fucking horny.”

“Oh. Ohhh,” Satoru switches tracks so fast that it gives both of you whiplash, the confused lilt of his voice dipping into a rumbly purr. He teeters forward, hands creeping up to curl around your calves. He licks his lips and you intently track the movement with dilated pupils. “Mommy’s got a pretty puppy, doesn’t she?”

For the first time in the years that he’s known you, you go stock still as if you don’t know what to do with yourself.

Interesting.

Keeping a hold on your calves, he gives a deliberate lick to your inner thigh, inching dangerously close to the hem of your skirt and the fine line of the finish line, where the referee blows his whistle and waves his flag. The muscle beneath your skin flinches and he hides a private grin. Poking at the bear a bit just to get a reaction out of you is dangerous, because touching you without express permission is a good way to get his fingers slapped or his cock ignored.

But he can't help himself. He's more than willing to toe the edge of your patience if it means getting even a fraction of your attention, good or bad.

Saliva curls thick and wet on his tongue, his entire being salivating with need as he noses his way further up your thigh. His gums itch, his teeth ache. He wants to bite into the ripe fruit of you, knowing well that you’ll bite back harder.

Then you steel yourself, pressing your palm against his forehead to halt him before he can go any further. “Without a doubt.” The clench of your jaw seals his imminent demise. Your next words crush him. “But I don’t like greedy puppies that think they’re entitled to whatever they want. This isn’t an all you can eat buffet.”

No. No, no, no, no. He was so close.

"Well, I don't like wives that tease," Satoru retorts, his voice low and rough with barely contained desire. Despite his words, there's no real complaint in his tone. If anything, the husky rasp only serves to underscore his arousal.

“This isn’t teasing. This is for your own good,” you say with a graveness that’s almost laughable in this situation. Keyword: almost, because he knows that if he laughed, you’d actually get annoyed. Your lips are pursed into something dangerous as you stare down at him and the collar wrapped snugly around his neck, a tangible symbol of his submission.

“If it was for my own good, you’d let me hit so that I don’t wither away and die. Or let me eat your pussy until you’re creaming on my tongue. I’d take whatever you’d give me.”

“Am I hearing that you’d be alright with receiving nothing?”

“No, that just means you need to get your ears checked,” Satoru grumbles.

“Satoru.” Your eyes cut into him in warning, voice just as sharp.

Satoru’s blue eyes round out in mock innocence, his glossy bottom lip jutting out in an exaggerated pout. A theatrical sigh escapes him, sensing the oncoming scolding (which he probably won’t take seriously, considering he’s slowly getting hard at the thought of you chastising him. Honestly, he doesn’t even understand how the fuck this situation spiraled so fast or why you’re acting like this) as he rocks back on his heels. "Aww c'mon, I was just joking around,” Satoru wheedles, taking on a bratty tone and batting his long white eyelashes.

You ignore him and he blows out a breath, making his bangs flutter. "Lemme eat you out, make you feel better,” Satoru proposes, squishing his mouth into your skin and peeking up at you.

“Why?”

“… so that you can forgive me and stop looking at me like I’m roadkill?” He’s all too proud when he speaks, clearly thinking he’s onto something. His sassy ‘duh’ goes unspoken but heard.

He looks beyond affronted when you openly snort in his face. “Your idea of making it up to me benefits both of us, not just me. That’s a reward for you— and the only way disobedient dogs learn is with punishment. Incentive in order to stop horsing around.”

Satoru’s mouth nearly drops open. ‘Big guns, big guns,’ he thinks frantically, reaching for your hands and pressing placating little kisses to your knuckles in worship.

"I'm sorry, angel. I didn't mean any disrespect. I just wanna make you feel good. Can you blame me? Look, I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Bribery won’t work on me,” you grouse.

“Bribery works on everyone, actually,” Satoru sasses back. The audacity… “A little cash here, a few flowery promises there… I could make the world spin in the opposite direction in exchange for nothing if I played my cards right.”

“You’re missing the point. More like purposely avoiding it, actually. Behave. Or I’ll make you.”

“Get on with it then.”

Those are fighting words if you’ve ever heard them.

Wrong answer, forehead.

You unclip the leash and place it on the bed, standing and forcing him to rear back a fraction so that your knee doesn’t sock his nose. The illusion of free rein lies in the lack of a lead dragging him along behind you, but curiously, he doesn’t take it. Satoru cranes his neck to watch you walk to the doorway of their room.

“No sex until I say so,” you instruct, slowly stringing out your words like putty to get it through his head.

He feels like a dog that got smacked with a newspaper for pissing on the couch.

“Holy fuck. This was such a bad idea,” he repeats your words from earlier, equally as horrified.

You tut at him, unimpressed, and turn to glance at him over your shoulder. “Yes or no?”

Satoru looks at you stupidly. His eyes are gently fogged over, his lips all wet and cherry red from biting them. “What?”

“Can you be a good boy and wait for my recall? Or do we need to settle this in another way?” Your voice is sweet and stickier than honey, yet loaded with a sharp undertone that makes it clear you’re not to be trifled with.

He huffs under his breath. His plans of getting his dick milked switch tracks so fast that it should give him whiplash, because now? You’re the ringmaster of this circus, and he’s the unlucky sucker that got picked from the crowd and fell into your game of cock and ball torture.

“Whatever my wife wants, my wife gets.”

Things are normal despite the abstinence that sits like an elephant in the room.

Since you don’t like relying on a personal chef, you whip up storms in the kitchen and lightly whack at his wrist with a wooden spoon when he tries to sneak a bite of whatever treat you've made.

You’ve been cooking more than usual ever since you bought him that collar. You can say it’s because the work makes you feel accomplished all you want as you chop away at vegetables with that concentrated furrow of your brows that he rubs away with his thumb, but you both know it’s because you enjoy the sense of control it gives you.

It’s not that you want to own him so completely that he becomes a mindless husk of a man with no will of his own. You have no desire to take away Satoru’s autonomy, no matter how much you enjoy molding him into pliancy as if his blood and bones are clay. You respect him and admire his strong resilience that he’s shown time and time again too much to break him down entirely. And he knows that you know that he would do anything for you, anything at all.

He's used to your dominance, craves it even, but there's something different about it when it’s this domestic. Softer. Warmer. It makes his stomach clench with a burning, heavy affection. He likes it when his brain goes all quiet and you smile at him as you take away all the choices he has in certain matters so that, blissfully, he doesn't have to think.

So Satoru lets you cook for him. He’s a good customer that always clears his plate with gusto, asks for seconds, sometimes, which you dish out for him with an all too-pleased smile, finding comfort in being the one to feed him balanced meals.

It’s made all the more better when he secures his collar around his neck. You tease him when he enters the kitchen with it on, saying good puppies eat on the floor instead of at the table, and you yelp out a laugh when he gets on the tile and shoves his face in your clothed pussy while you’re standing at the stove. Satoru’ll kneel again for shits and giggles when you set the table with dishes filled to the brim and silverware, rubbing his face against your knee, facetiously pleading with you to feed him until you shut him up with a forkful because you can’t help but indulge this freak and his whims.

You still watch shitty reality shows together, Satoru’s head on your lap or boobs the entire time, and cuss out the people projected onto their massive mounted flatscreen. He jokes and you hit him back with a quip equally as witty that has him falling out. You brush your teeth side by side and wash your faces together before catching a ride to the Gojo-gumi headquarters.

The collar makes appearances for those occasions from time to time— sometimes for bits that are all theatrical play to coax giggles out of you, sometimes because it’s comforting for him. Simple as that. It’s made all the more better when you lavish him with extra attention for it as if he’s your beloved pet.

But whenever you bend that ass over to root through your shared drawers to find your favorite clothes for date nights or suck takoyaki that he buys for you off of the stick (he sooo wishes that that was his dick), Satoru is forcibly reminded that he cannot, in fact, crawl to you on all fours and act like your puppy that’s desperate for attention (and pussy).

You truly don’t mean to make him wait long, but putting the pedal to the metal when messing with him draws out the week that much slower. You’re testing the boundaries of the submission that comes with his collar and this ban with a curious intent, gauging how quickly his timer ticks down for you at your leisure even though you’re burning for him as blisteringly as he does you.

The wick of your candle is licking hotly at the wax beneath you, melting you down until you’re weak in the knees for his clever mouth and his cock that fills you so nicely— a glass that’s no longer half empty, but topped to the rim.

Unsurprisingly, he breaks before you do. And on day four of the ban, no less.

You’re both winding down after a long day of business with a side of pleasure. Gambling is highly illegal in Japan, but absolutely no one is gonna contact the authorities and go, “hey, just wanted to let you know that that blue-eyed freak of an oyabun— yeah, the Gojo-gumi one— has been playing back room poker with a handful of politicians for years. Oh, how do I know about all of that? I just heard about it from a friend.”

That’d warrant a death sentence from him.

The politicians gather in one of the side rooms at the Gojo-gumi’s headquarters in Tokyo every few months for the thrill of skirting the edge of illegality over high-quality drinks and to play into his whims— they know that it's in their best interests to keep the backbone of the Gojo-gumi happy. To let Satoru push for bills and policies that benefit him, his men, and the city that he calls home, further shielding his large criminal enterprise from the government.

He enjoys the power play of it all, holding all the cards in the palm of his hand (literally and figuratively) and observing how they scurry about like animals in a maze, desperate to please him. One wrong move, and woops, all that financial incentive he offered them is somehow gone, talks of drugs (that his men planted) in their possession falling into the hands of the media, they oh so suddenly fall into debt and ruin, and Choso is knocking at their doors like the grim reaper to collect the Gojo-gumi’s dues.

Though his nose wrinkles every single time as if he's caught a whiff of something foul— and it’s not the smoke from the pipes the guys puff that makes him want to gag, but the interminable boredom of being surrounded by political dogs— he always quells his frustrations by letting his attention stray to you if you happen to attend alongside him.

This time around, you were perched on his lap like the paragon of victory the entire evening, temptation itself in a satin dress with a tasteful slit up the side that a few men dared to take a peek at before flinching beneath Satoru’s nasty glare. There’s a certain level of amusement he gets out of showing off his wife to jealous onlookers that tend to marvel at the powerful couple, but his threshold for it in all actuality is very, very low. Hence why he kept his left hand either flat on your navel to keep your back pressed to his chest or skimming at the ends of your hair, twirling strands into lazy coils, and his chin on your shoulder the entire time.

To the room, you always look like a disinterested observer, smiling when need be at frankly awful jokes and staring boredly at the velvet-topped table. But, cloaked by the pleasing ‘fhhwip’ of cards being dealt, chips clattering as they’re gathered up, and the hum of conversation laced with alcohol are your words that you feed into Satoru’s ear.

You keenly observe each and every hand dealt from your lofty throne, playing the game as a false bystander. You suss out each guilty or too-eager bodily cue with a sharpness that could cut through bedrock, aiding Satoru like Nike did Zeus. It’s scary how efficient you are as a team.

"Lucky for me, I've got a beautiful lucky charm with me tonight," Satoru claimed every time he swept up his winnings (much to the dismay of the groaning politicians), mouthing ‘love you’ or ‘my sexy cunning wifey’ whenever you’d glance at him over your shoulder with a smirk, his cerulean eyes swimming with open adoration beneath his polished veneer of arrogant self-importance.

You’re still in your dress when Satoru steps out of the en-suite bathroom back at the Gojo estate. Your back is to him as you sprawl out on your side, the faint glow of a screen spilling over your body. He sidles up to his side of the bed.

With the dramatism of a tragic hero from a beloved shoujo manga, or maybe a child who was just told he can't have candy before dinner (which is fitting considering his maturity level seems to plummet in the face of sexual frustration), Satoru flops back onto the bed behind you and makes you bounce atop the mattress. The only thing missing is the melodramatic rain lashing at his form and soaking him down to the bone, making his clothes cling wetly to every ridge of his lean muscle, drawing attention to his big… heart.

“Read to me,” he requests with an abrupt softness, his usual vibrancy hushed in the wake of your peacefulness that he doesn’t want to disturb too much. “Please.”

“It’s all boring stuff that you probably don’t wanna hear,” you admit in an attempt to spare him from the horrors of work.

Shaking his head, he burrows his face into its favorite home, your nape, and cuddles up to your back. Satoru boxes you into him with an arm slung over your waist, a puzzle falling into place, and keeps you close.

“Don’t care,” he replies, voice muffled. “I just wanna hear your voice.”

On any other day, you’d attribute this request of his to unrelenting boredom. There’s times where your husband buzzes around with a manic energy that you swear makes his white hair crackle and stand on end if touched by static, unable to mentally settle enough to let his guard drop. Watching movies, going on spontaneous outings, or, more recently, busting out the collar are all tried and true methods that work wonders.

In the here and now, though, there’s no boredom that needs to be filled with a quota. Satoru just wants to hear your voice even though he could read it faster than you speak aloud.

You oblige. You end up reaching behind you to scratch at his nape, the hairs there short and satisfyingly fuzzy from being recently shorn, while you relay the words on your phone screen to him.

Satoru’s lulled into silence for a while. The only signs that he’s awake and listening are his steady breaths against your skin and his fingers that draw swirling patterns against your stomach, his inviting hums whenever you pause for a beat too long. He doesn’t know how long you both lie there as you read, but what he does know is that he never wants to leave this bubble.

Your voice makes Satoru feel… small, in a way. Safe, carefully filed away in a place under lock and key where no one wants to hurt him.

It also makes him stupidly horny.

From where he’s pressed up behind you, Satoru’s hips start to slowly press into your backside with an interest a little too intense to be innocent. You can feel the swell of his third fucking leg that’s begging to make an appearance. It’s impossible to ignore.

Clearly, someone thinks that he’s slick, conveniently ‘forgetting’ about your ‘no sex’ rule in hopes that you already have. As if not bringing it up means that the ban might as well have never been spoken in the first place.

Totally sound logic.

“Can I help you?” You ask, still half-focused on your phone.

“Uh huh,” he hums in a rasp that makes the hair on your arms stand up straight. Satoru’s half-hard cock twitches as he insistently rubs it right up between your asscheeks through the curtain of your dress. His tongue wetly drags over the skin right behind your ear before he pinches your earlobe between his teeth. All of his formerly quiet innocence is flying out of the window.

Your core clenches with the urge to rub back against him until you’re both panting and then bounce on his cock, coaxing delicious whines and moans out of him. You just barely resist. “No, Satoru.”

Your voice has the same effect as a cattle prod, zapping him right in the brain and short-circuiting all delusions of sweet talking his way into your panties, rolling you onto your stomach, and mounting you in prone bone. His grabby hands twitch, plotting, before you cuff him with the pointed look you toss him over your shoulder. “No,” you repeat.

Satoru feebly whines when you squirm out of his grip (only because he lets you— you stand no chance against his strength) to sit up and swing your legs over the edge of the bed. He scrambles to follow your retreating form. “Baby, wait, I’m sorry! I didn’t me—“

He nearly knocks you both over when you abruptly stop in front of him. “Unzip my dress.”

His panic is overridden by spine-tingling desire. Holy shit. He’s free of the ban… isn’t he? This isn’t a delusion. It can’t be.

“Hell yes,” Satoru breathes, turning chipper once more. He mentally rubs his hands together and licks his lips as he grasps your zipper after you brush your hair out of the way, tugging it down to the small of your back and watching either side of your dress unfurl. You slide the straps of it off your shoulders and he groans when it slips like silk down your curves and to the floor, leaving you in a cute bra and panty set that he bought you ages ago.

Not even being a saint in his past life could cancel out the awful misdeeds he’s committed in this one, but he must’ve done at least one good thing right if he’s regained the privilege of being able to stare at his wife’s backside.

You step out of it and continue on your path with him not even a foot behind you, breathing down your neck like a great big husky. “God, I missed showering with you. Missed your sexy body,” he breathes, fumbling to take his shirt off as he goes because he’s not one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

He’s gotten it over his head and tossed it aside by the time you get to their en-suite bathroom and turn to look at him downright lecherously while smoothing your hand up the doorframe, stripping him down further with just your searing stare. The mental picture he takes of you could be the cover of a magazine— one that he’d print only for himself. “C’mere, puppy,” you coo.

He mentally white-knuckles the base of his cock to avoid blowing his load in his pants at that.

Satoru’s dick is twitching with the barrage of mental images flooding his head. Soapy suds race down your gorgeous glistening body as Satoru plows into you from the back, water and slick splashing between where you’re joined, both of you vulnerable and oh so comfortable with each other.

Your left hand is clinging to his forearm that arcs above you, his own hand plastered against the slippery tile for further leverage, while your right hand yanks at his leash to force him deeper, weepy blush-pink cockhead kissing your cervix with each bruising slap of his pelvis against your ass. A little silly of you to bring his collar along under the spray when the water is perfectly capable of ruining the leather and velvet of it beyond repair, but eh, whatever. This is all in his head anyways.

Since both of your hands are occupied, you have nothing to brace yourself with other than your front. You’re curved in the most insane arch, the side of your face pressed to the tile along with your tits, nipples probably hard and aching against the cool surface. Sacrificing a fraction of your dignity for control. Although… you look very cute with your cheek smushed like that.

He knows he's at your mercy. Knows that with just a word or a tug on his leash, you could have him scrambling to fulfill your every whim. And god, does he want to do just that— to pour all his overwhelming focus into worshipping his wife until you’re trembling, smiling, and boneless with pleasure.

You’re both moaning like crazy and the noises echo off of the soaked tile like gunshots. Satoru buries himself into your warmth over and over again, deliriously watching the slide of his drenched cock each time he drags his hips back, only to punch them forward again. “Fuck, baby, just like that,” you encourage, trying to catch your breath between thrusts. “What a good b—“

The bathroom door slams in his face and the mirage fades.

Satoru nearly howls as if you shut it on his foot and sliced it clean off. “Don’t lock me out!” He whines, obnoxiously jiggling the doorknob and frowning when he finds that you locked it. He feels like a kid who’s been told they’re going to Disneyland after begging for a year straight, only to bounce out of the car once it pulls to a stop and realize that they’re at the dentist instead.

He huffs and puffs as he knocks a few times in hopes you’ll have mercy on him, totally considering breaking it down or picking the lock so that he can throw himself between your thighs and fuck you sloppy on his tongue.

The pipes chug in the walls when you turn the shower on, the spray hitting the tiles audible through the door.

“Do you mind? I’m busy,” you call to him. Oh god, you’re probably naked by now, curves bare between those four walls that close you off from him. Satoru’s quivering in place. He thinks his dick might just fall off from the stress.

“Yes, actually, I do,” he complains, brows furrowed. “Showers are our thing. Let me in.”

You’re quiet as if considering it. The sound of the water changes as it meets your body, sluicing over you in rivulets and painting you in a clear sheen that he’d kill to see. He’s never been so jealous. Sleighted. Betrayed. How dare the droplets touch you but he can’t get in the shower and do the same, scrubbing you squeaky clean and maybe dipping a finger into your cunt if he’s lucky.

“Hmm… no,” you finally say.

“No?” Satoru parrots, scandalized and clutching his mental pearls.

“Don’t act like that. You know exactly why I’m not letting you in. What makes you think you deserve to be in here?”

You’ve got no compassion. You’re killing him in an orderly fashion, laurel wreath on your head and bare skin painting you as something godly, all cool indifference and amusement. A beautiful girl with a criminal smile that should be put in a file for the FBI, because this? This is inhumane. You’re surely violating multiple humanitarian laws.

“You’re sick. Vile,” he says instead of properly replying to your question, a gut reaction. “You need to be locked up in a maximum security prison where you can’t cause any harm to beautiful, astoundingly gifted men like me,” Satoru accuses through the door without any real anger.

Then, because he’s terrified of actually inviting his wife’s wrath and landing himself on your bad side, he leaps to correct himself. “Not that I’d ever want that for you! You’ve never done any wrong in my eyes and never will. You’re perfect, princess. You deserve to relax in a jacuzzi or on a warm beach in a bikini and be fed off of a charcuterie board.”

“I know that’s right,” comes your muffled voice, sounding all too satisfied.

Grinding his teeth together, he lightly thunks his forehead against the door before leaving it to rest there. His fingers curl into halfhearted, pathetic fists at his sides.

The desire to touch you outside of kisses, cuddles, and hugs festers by the day like a sore wound. Even though Satoru is content with whatever he gets from you, he’ll always want you. Always. How could he not after years upon years of being married to you? His heart is so full of you and the desire to connect with you in a more intimate manner that it’s set to burst at any moment.

The longer he goes without feeling you against him and studying your body as if you’re a special edition book that’s been signed by the author, the more it kills him. It splinters him, ruins him from the inside out. Like a dead animal’s digestive enzymes breaking down their internal cavity and spoiling the tissue. Self-digestion.

Is he being dramatic? Maybe. Maybe not. He just wants you so bad.

“Go put your collar on, okay?” You suddenly speak up again, voice echoing. “I’ll give you what you need eventually. You just need to be patient and wait. Only good boys get treats, remember?”

He knows you mean business and the last thing he wants is to prolong this agonizing drought. Swallowing his pleas, he nods even though you can’t see him. There’s a lesson to be learnt here, he’s slowly realizing— a hard one.

“Fine,” he mumbles.

Satoru reluctantly pushes away from the door, forcing out one more great big sigh to try and make you feel guilty (it doesn’t work) before padding over to the bedside drawer on his side of the bed. He fishes out the collar and loops it around his neck. It takes him a second of blindly searching to click the buckle into place and the tension leaves his body as if that’s all he needs in order to relax.

Dropping his full weight on the bed, he splays out across the center of it on his stomach and bunches up a pillow beneath his head, slinging his arms around it and holding it in place. He sinks into the mattress and waits.

He only realizes that the shower’s been turned off after god knows how long and that his eyes closed at some point when something feathers across his cheek. He peels his glazed blue eyes open and finds you sitting on the edge of the bed, bundled up in a robe with your hair damp around your shoulders, looking infinitely relaxed and loose.

That expression is what he fights to keep on your face every damn day of his life. Satoru didn’t have a protective bone in his body that wasn’t selfishly for himself until you, and now, all he wants to do is tuck you behind his ribs, right next to his heart, and safeguard you there forever. Keep you safe, happy, and satisfied, wanting for nothing.

Your knuckle rubs back and forth over his cheek and he leans into your touch, coaxing you to flip your hand over and cup his face, thumb petting at him.

“You look cozy,” you whisper, fond.

Your voice makes a soft, blissful smile tug at his lips. Satoru’s aimlessly floating in that liminal space between reality and fantasy, his mind fogged over with a mix of anticipation, trust, and a bone-deep sense of comfort that seems to blend together into one fluffy cloud.

As the pride of the Gojo clan, yakuza royalty in the flesh, he alone sits at the top, splayed out on the throne that the heavens carved out for him at birth. Untouchable, unreachable in a world where strength is everything and vulnerability is a death sentence. Yet here you are, worming your way into his crevices and domesticating the wolf. Dulling his fangs and softening him into something more puppy-like.

There’s a sense of freedom in letting go and being vulnerable with you. Always has been.

Satoru blinks slowly up at you, unable to conjure up his buried thoughts. You smile a little before standing, making him tense up— he doesn’t want you to leave. “I’ve got you, just stay there. I’ll be right back,” you gently shush him, consoling him with one more stroke of your finger over his cheek before you quickly depart, coming back just as fast with a familiar glass bottle in hand and a fresh towel tucked beneath your arm.

“Can you rub this into my scalp for me, baby?” You ask, tilting your head at Satoru and crawling onto the bed.

“Yeah.” He finds it in himself to gradually pull himself up into a sitting position and folds his legs beneath himself. You reach out, fixing up the bow attached to his collar, and duck your finger beneath the hem of it to double-check that it’s not too tight around his throat. It’s instinct.

Humming softly under your breath, you unfold one flap of the towel and spread it across his lap, resting your head there. You look up at him and he brushes some of your hair off of your forehead and out of the way, his touch lingering there. You’re an animated painting, all lazily winding curves and warm skin against the cool comforter beneath you.

He unscrews the top of the bottle of hair serum once you hand it to him. Slowly, he tips it and allows a small amount of oil to dribble into the bowl of his palm— a rich, darkly colored serum that smells faintly of coconuts and warm spices.

He starts by working his fingers through your roots, massaging the oil into your scalp with a careful thoroughness that speaks volumes of how often he’s done this, then he makes his way down to the ends of your hair to evenly spread it all out. You let out a faint sigh of contentment and your eyes flutter shut, melting into putty beneath his ministrations.

Once-violent hands that have snapped necks and used serrated blades to cut off the thumbs of his underlings for disobeying him with no sympathy work over you with a tenderness that belies the brutality that lies beneath the fate lines of his palms.

He keeps going until he’s sure that each strand is spun with the serum. Satoru’s always eager to show you just how much he loves and cherishes you. And right now, that means making sure he does exactly as you ask, redirecting all that eager-to-please sexual energy that buzzes at his nerves into pleasing you another way, no matter how small or mundane the task may seem. Properly executing this feels impossibly good for him.

Satoru leans down and presses a soft kiss to your forehead, breathing in the scent of the serum intermingling with your shampoo and body wash, then presses your lips together in an upside-down kiss. His nose gently bumps against your chin. You hook your finger into the o-ring of his collar to keep him steady against you.

For once, the weight of his responsibilities aren’t on his shoulders. Nor is there his usual quip at his lips or a playful tease that’ll break up the peace. It’s just you, him and this tiny slot of time.

You both pull back at the same time, your sweetened breaths puffing across his lips. His thumbs draw soothing circles into your temples to watch you further dissolve into his lap and he grins to himself, happy that he's able to bring you some measure of peace, before resuming the steady glide of his fingers through your hair.

“I thought you were done?” You murmur, almost a yawn.

“I am,” he admits, “but I wanna do this for you. You look so relaxed… I want you to always stay this way.”

The collar is comfortably weighty around his throat the entire time that he plays with your hair until you doze off— a physical manifestation of the trust and safety he feels in your presence.

"A week?" Satoru repeats a few days later, voice tight.

He hates the idea of being away from you for that long. You’re rarely apart for more than a night or two when something comes up, and whenever you have to venture outside of Tokyo or Kyoto without him for too long, he gets antsy with worry and a selfish need to keep you cooped up in his arms forever.

But he also knows that you hate the idea of leaving your old man alone when he isn’t doing too well and is actively asking for your presence in your childhood home. Just for a little while.

Satoru remembers all too well the state your father was in at the behest of Satoru’s own father— a mountain of debt that shackled your dad to the Gojo-gumi and threatened to crush the man before you stepped in to help, sacrificing your own ambitions and desires to free your family from the trappings of the yakuza.

It was the catalyst that brought you back into his life as a more permanent fixture, a blessing disguised as a burden. It was also a testament to your incredible character that he was witness to back when you were both in high school, long before Satoru’s old man passed and he was forced to step into the role of oyabun as the heir apparent.

"I suppose I can survive a week without my better half," Satoru finally sighs, drooping with sorrow as he walks by your side through the parking garage across the street from the Gojo-gumi headquarters. "Family comes first. Go spend some time with him while I hold down the fort. I know you’ve been missing your dad, anyways.”

Then, softer, “I just... I'm going to miss you like crazy, you know? A whole week without my beautiful wife by my side? I might just die.” He knows he's being a bit needy, but he can't help it. You bring out a softer side of him that he never shows to anyone else.

You stop next to the car, Satoru clicking the unlock button on the fob, before you finally pull your attention away from your phone. There’s a devotion there that’s packed tight with regret. “I wish I could get someone to drive him here so that he could stay with us, but this city is just… it’s not good for him.”

You suck in a breath. “Maybe I should stay and send one of my cousins to—“

“Gojo,” it slips forth, stirred to perfection with careful heaps of cinnamon and sugar and butter, a skinny spoon tapped against the rim of the bowl upon finishing it to make sure all the excess sweetness drips forth and rejoins the rest. His name, your name, engraved on the twin bands gleaming beneath the fluorescent lights of the parking garage. They clink together like toasted glasses when he interlaces your fingers, kisses them all.

You stare at him, all gentle-eyed and pretty as you lean against his sports car and look up at him. Hopelessly besotted by the sound of your surname.

He pauses, swallowing hard. When Satoru speaks again, his voice is low and rough with emotion. "Gojo. Just... be careful out there, okay? I’ll send you off with some of my men, but keep your eyes open since you’ll be close to Ryomen’s hunting grounds. Stick with your dad. And if anyone, and I mean anyone, tries anything funny or looks at you strangely for even a millisecond, you call me. No one else.”

Long after he drives you to their favorite restaurant then back home, he waits until you go to the bathroom to scroll through his contacts. It’s ingrained in him to be overprotective of you. The thought of anything bad happening to you... he doesn’t even want to entertain the thought. Everything would crumble beneath the furious weight of his wrath.

He wouldn’t even burn the world, too weak to even lift his hands because he’s at his weakest when you’re not with him. His caving in chest would suck up the entire planet into his black hole heart, trying futilely to use the big patchy continents on its surface to blot out the agony. Ice cold in its intensity.

His wakagashira, Nanami, and wakagashira-hosa, Choso, have enough going on right now. Yaga, shateigashira of the Gojo-gumi, is too out of the way to get involved in this (and would probably hang up on Satoru if he even tried asking him to tag along with you). Grumbling a little, Satoru caves and calls one of his trusted kyodai. Ino picks up on the second ring with a cheery, “hey, boss!”

“Hey, Ino. Got a job for you,” Satoru says, rubbing his thumb over the back of his phone. “I need you and some of the boys to accompany my wife to her old man’s place. Don't let her out of your sight whenever they decide to go out, but keep your distance and give her space or she’ll bite your head off. Make sure that they’re both safe at all times. Understand?"

His kyodai turns serious at the dangerous ridge of his tone. “Crystal clear, sir.”

“Good. Don’t fuck this up or I’ll string you upside down by all ten of your toes and cut your dick off so that I can send it off to the Bratva. And I’ll let Nanami watch me hack away at your dick with a machete. Do you want that?” He poses this scenario a little too cheerfully.

Ino’s choked breath makes the phone line crackle. “No, no I don’t. I won’t let you down.”

Satoru is a clingy mess for the rest of the night, nibbling at your earlobe, snuffling at your neck and arms and chest like a wet-nosed puppy, refusing to let you budge even an inch away from him in search of air. It’s hard to tell where your body ends and his begins with how tightly you’re wrapped up in him.

He’s just as bad when you pack come morning. Hair mussed from fitful sleep and his sleepy voice cracking with each whine he lets loose, he tails you around with an expression bordering on offense. ‘How dare you try to hurry this up by asking for my help. Are you really so eager to leave me?’ is what his eyes convey the second you ask a sulky Satoru to help you fold your clothes.

His melodramatic wail when you take your toothbrush out of your joint holder while gathering your toiletries, separating yours from his, should make you laugh but it only makes you ache to throw everything down and jump into his arms like a fool to a siren. A very beautiful blue-eyed siren with a boyish grin that's charmed you since day one and elegantly sculpted fingers, his infectious laugh, that addictive warmth that makes it hard to not give into him…

Don’t fall for it, you tell yourself.

"Don't think for a second that I won't be counting down the days until you're back in my arms. Because I will," Satoru pouts at the front door. A sleek black car rumbles at the foot of the steps leading down to the driveway, Ino’s mop of brown hair, slightly covered by his ski-mask that’s been pulled up to his forehead beanie-style, visible through the rolled down window.

He watches the kyodai leap out and trot up the steps to grab your luggage and carry it down before turning to you. There’s no smirk on his face, only a displeased purse of his lips that begs for your attention. You can practically picture the droop of fluffy ears atop his white hair.

So cute. You could eat him right up.

“I know,” you reply, slinging your arms around his neck and nuzzling your noses together. Your hands clasp at his nape and he can feel the chilly line of your wedding band against his skin.

Satoru melts into your embrace and drapes over you like a great big dog. When you wiggle a little, he holds on tighter, practically squeezing you to death. “I’ll text and call you every day. Keep your phone on you at all times just in case something happens. If you don’t answer me after five rings, I’ll throw up,” he continues as if you haven’t heard this spiel a hundred times already.

“Mhm,” you agree with a wheeze from the lack of proper airflow. You duck your head and smush your face between his pecs. You could happily die right here. He has no business having pecs plumper and rounder than a woman’s rack.

He releases you and all your bones pop back into place. His blue eyes are shimmery and sad as they peer into your very soul. “I love you,” you tell him softly.

“What was that?” Satoru cups one ear.

“I love you to the moon and back,” you oblige with a fond roll of your eyes as you stretch upwards.

“And I love you more than infinity times infinity,” he finishes, bending down to meet you halfway for a kiss.

(After kissing and hugging on the doorstep for much too long, you gaze out of the window of the car as Ino cruises through traffic. Thank god for this impromptu trip. You think you would’ve folded and let him hit after another hour of just… him being him.)

Satoru keeps busy with the Gojo-gumi while you’re away, but instead of his workload stifling the achey clench of his heart, it only forces him to confront how awful all of it feels without you. He’s gotten so used to seeing you not just at home, but at headquarters where you both work, too, that his brain bluescreens every time he passes your empty desk and doesn’t see you squinting at your laptop or ruffling Yuuji’s hair after helping the teenager out with something.

Each and every meeting and errand he has to run to ensure that the Gojo-gumi continues merrily rolling around in their gains feels unnatural without your hand in his. It swallows him down dry and spits him right back out. This is his personal hell.

Whenever he gets the chance to talk to you for even a second, he barrels over his responsibilities to do so. You called him during a meeting once and he walked out early with hearts in his eyes and his phone longingly cradled to his ear. Satoru sends you selfies of him holding up mochi with a dimpled smile that’s much too adorable to be found on a man of his reputation’s face, long texted paragraphs about his days, whatever comes to mind. Nonsense.

You charge things to his card instead of your own that connects you to your shared bank account and he giggles to himself. You want him so bad. Even better, you sometimes send solo selfies back in return or ones with your dad roped into them, and he saves them all to his photo album titled ‘wifey 🩵.’

But none of your calls or texts match up to the bliss of having you here with him in person.

Satoru wakes up every morning, the luxurious sheets, pillows, and blankets that he spent more than a couple of bands on doing nothing to chase away the lonely chill in his bones created by your absence. The length of the bed feels too vast for even his long arms and even longer legs. You’re not there to squirm away and laugh as he blows raspberries into your neck to wake you up before hoisting you up from bed, wrapping you up in a robe, and carrying you off to the kitchen so that you can have breakfast together. Nor are you there at night for him to cuddle up with.

During the day, he’s the suave yet feared, ruthless oyabun that all of Japan knows by name. He offers hand and coin to all the businesses that rely on him, only to snatch it back when their dues aren’t paid, leaving him no choice but to forcefully take a cut of their profit ‘for their own protection.’ The thousands upon thousands of his underlings that cower before him, equal parts reverence and fear, are his to keep in line. To provide for.

It’s a cutthroat and downright draining job that calls for no sympathy. No sweet kisses. No soft, encouraging words and a hand to grip tight when the blood he’s spilled clouds his vision.

It’s not even the sex he misses when you’re gone. It’s not about that. You mesh with him in a way that has him cursing his teenage self for not getting to know you better in high school and having to wait all those years after graduation for you to sweep into his office like a harbinger of justice.

Call it corny, but he’s convinced that you’re soulmates. There’s nobody else out there for him— nobody else that he wants, because you’re it for him. You’ve given him much more love, happiness, and freedom than anyone else in his life has.

And that’s exactly why he respects why you won’t let him make you feel good, won’t touch him in return. There’s a reason for everything, even if he’s too prideful to admit out loud that this is due to his own shortcomings.

Satoru toys with the collar around his neck and stares up at the ceiling from your shared bed, where he’s tucked in all on his lonesome. He knows that he’s a handful of a pet. Bad puppies like him, they don’t respect other dogs’ spaces. Satoru goes sniffing where he shouldn’t after bounding off without your permission, making Ryomen growl and snap at his heels for his audacity and chase him from his territory.

Sometimes, he does shit that he knows will piss other people off or worry you, the one person who matters the most. That he knows he’ll regret later. But at the moment, it always feels too good not to do it. Like he can’t help himself— too stubborn and always looking for the next excitement, the next thrill.

(But he’ll always be that overbearingly affectionate puppy that’s so big and excited that he knocks you over in his haste to get to you, smothering you in kisses and dirty paw prints. Satoru has a problem with resource guarding, snarling at others that get too close to you even if there’s no threat in sight— he’s just protective, that’s all. It’s all out of love.)

And worse, bad puppies like him don't always respect their owners' boundaries and rules either. He can be greedy; always trying to sneak extra treats off the table when your back is turned. He goes pawing at you even when you’ve told him no, because sometimes he doesn’t take your discipline in the form of rejections seriously, not understanding the gravity of your words until you’ve scolded him, making him droop all sadly.

You’re always gonna find your push and pull with him fun, but sometimes, you just want him to submit without a playful fight. That’s what you’ve wanted the entire time.

He can do that for you.

Satoru gets a call on day thirteen of the ban.

“You okay?” He asks the second he answers.

There’s the slight bustle of chatter on the other line. He pictures you somewhere nice, your dad sitting across from you and you gazing out of the window with a cup of liquid warmth cradled between your palms. Bathed in sunlight and looking oh so serene. Satoru keeps his phone pressed tightly against his ear, afraid that if he lets go, you'll disappear.

“I’m fine. Just calling to check on you. Are you okay?” You flip the question back on him. Your concern never fails to make his heart flutter— as if he’d ever let anyone else come close to beating him, not when he has you to always crawl back to.

After pausing to overanalyze your voice and the background noise just in case you’re trying to hide a smidgen of pain or something, he relaxes. Putting his phone on speaker and setting it on the counter, he grabs his loofah from the shower, wets it under a stream of hot water from the sink, and pumps a spurt of soap onto it. Satoru sets to work on scrubbing the blood out from beneath his nails, bubbles frothing forth in a pinkish white and spilling over his split knuckles.

“You don’t even need to ask, baby. I’m invincible, remember?”

You’re quiet for a beat too long, clearly waiting for something that he doesn’t give. Satoru can feel the look of mild exasperation you’re giving him from miles and miles away. “Right. Is that why I heard you picked on a certain wakagashira?”

Jesus. People tattle on him to you more than Shoko and his other informants spill the beans to Satoru on what the other syndicates are up to.

“What, Suguru’s wakagashira? I’d never hurt a hair on Miguel’s bald, shiny head,” he drawls with a smirk. “Who fed you that bull and why’d you believe it?”

“You’re so annoying,” you laugh. Score. He’s mentally twirling his short white hair between his fingers and kicking his feet at the sound. Chancing a glance into the mirror, he finds himself beaming brighter than the sun. “Nanami told me that my big strong man and Uraume got into it.”

“Ohhhh… is that what Ryomen’s wakagashira’s name is?” Satoru plays dumb.

Your snort makes the line crackle. A dish clinks. “Satoru.”

“Okay, okay, maybe I did,” he relents with a melodrama only seen in really shitty Hallmark movies. Twisting the faucet off after rinsing the loofah free of blood, he deposits it back in the shower then hurries back to his phone to stare almost longingly at your name on the screen. “Let’s talk about that later, though. Compliment me some more instead— call me your big strong man again,” he dreamily sighs, rocking back and forth on his heels.

“My big strong man, my big strong man, my big strong man,” you repeat.

“Did you really have to say it three times? You might summon something into the bathroom,” Satoru clicks his tongue with a searching look around the room.

“I hope whatever it is gives you a noogie,” you deadpan, and this time, he’s the one that laughs. “I have to go in a second, but I just wanted to let you know that I’ll be coming back tomorrow. I’ll meet you at home, give you a nice reward for how patient you’ve been these last two weeks. How’s that?”

The excitement that rushes through him makes his stomach drop as if he’s being tossed around on a rollercoaster. It’s nearly enough to wash away the loneliness that’s dogged his every step while you’ve been away. “Good,” he breathes. “Sounds good. Really good. What’re you thinking exactly?”

“That’s for me to know and you to find out,” you croon, teasing. “So, aside from the Uraume incident, tell me about your day.”

“It’s been straight ass. The Gojo clan elders are on one, Kento’s been exceptionally boring, and my wife isn’t here to kiss my booboos better. God, and later I have to go downtown and squeeze a late payment out of one of the ryoteis I own…”

The rest of the conversation, your shared goodbye’s and love you’s included, go by in a blur. By the time you’ve hung up, his blood pressure is through the roof. There’s no mistaking that you’ll be on him in more ways than one tomorrow. The anticipation weighs heavily on him and refuses to let up, making his cock twitch.

“Get a grip,” he coaches himself, dabbing his hands dry to avoid scraping at his hurt knuckles. “All she did was talk to you and tell you that she’s coming home. It was just her voice. Don’t get turned on.”

Straightening up, Satoru looks himself over in the mirror. His white hair is lazily tousled— the look of someone who just crawled out of bed looking infuriatingly good, his blue eyes like twin stars beneath the fluorescent lights. He winks and cheeses at his reflection, perfect white teeth on display.

But the second his smile slowly fades, you sneak your way back into his head. He can practically envision you standing behind him and peeking around his body to look at the two of you, fingers dragging fire down to his waistband, your voice dipping into that register that drives him batshit insane as you whisper exactly what you’re gonna do to him and chuckling when he groans, pained.

There’s no stopping Satoru as he instinctively palms at his budding erection through his slacks, having to brace himself against the bathroom counter with one hand at the shock of how electric even the barest of friction feels. Through the mirror, he watches himself slowly flush in real time, blooming color spreading over his high cheekbones and arcing across the bridge of his nose before crawling down his neck, brushing him pink. His perfectly glossy lips part around a strangled noise.

You’re not even here and yet you’re making him crazy.

Everything in him wants to dig a pair of your panties out of the laundry, bury his face in it, and fist his cock until he’s spilling all over himself.

More than anything, though, Satoru wants to be a good boy for you, to make you happy. His own hand is nothing compared to the warmth of yours on his body— he wants you to physically unravel him and hear your voice in his ear, soft and commanding, telling him what to do whether that’s how to please you or just relax as you take care of him.

Doing this on his own isn’t the same. You’ve broken him.

Or maybe he’s just very, very well-trained.

Satoru groans, gives his weeping cock one last squeeze, and drops his hand. His chest strains against his shirt with each desperate breath he takes. In the mirror, his cerulean irises gaze back at him, the frustrated hue to them slowly being overshadowed by determination.

He’ll wait for your recall.

On the day of your return, he smells you his first step into the door of the Gojo estate.

You use this specific perfume whenever you’re traveling— jet, ferry, car, it doesn’t matter as long as an engine is purring— and nowhere else. You leave all your ‘goods’ behind in the bathroom and atop the vanity, relying on your dingy little plastic bottle of liquid warmth and sin that you spritz on your skin. Satoru knows that scent better than he knows Newton’s laws.

And he was really fucking good at physics back when he was in school.

It’s a shame that you beat him here, he thinks as he floors it down the long hallway. He could’ve greeted you at the door with the full princess package, helping you out of your coat, taking your purse off of your hands, getting down on his femur to work your high heels off and then carrying you to your room where he can massage any soreness out of your feet.

But alas. He makes a mental note to move quicker next time— not that he’s letting you leave him for an entire week again for another few months.

Upon reaching the bedroom, he throws open the door with gusto. "Oh princesssss, your hubby is home—!”

—And he’s greeted by an empty room.

“Lame,” he sullenly mutters to himself, all that vibrant energy escaping him in one big whoosh. He blows a raspberry to himself and strides inside, stopping by the elegant chaise lounge tucked against the wall. Undoing the knot of his tie, Satoru quickly pulls it off, then tugs his suit jacket down his shoulders and drapes both atop the seat to be dealt with later.

He takes a longer look at your shared master bedroom— the bed is made, the room is clean, and the en-suite bathroom door is ajar but the lights are off. He’s about to turn on his heel and blaze through the estate to find you and smother you to death when he hears shuffling in the walk-in closet. Instantly, he perks up.

“Is that my wife I hear?” Satoru calls, and you respond, a faint ‘mhm’ that makes excited chills bubble up to the top layer of his skin, forming goosebumps.

And then you step out of the closet.

He expected a long black coat with a fur-lined collar, maybe a sharp turtleneck or a blouse. Something travel-friendly and effortlessly classy that you wore on the drive home.

This, though? This is so much better. You’re a mouth-watering treat that he wants to sink his teeth into, chew at, tear into with slow rips until his taste buds are graced with the buttery, gooey sweetness that ripens the core of you and seeps over his tongue like melted caramel.

“Hey there, sugar," he croons, flashing you that same charming lopsided grin that cracked your heart open and feasted on it all those years ago. Satoru takes his designer sunglasses off and folds them with a neat click. Tucks them into the breast pocket of his baby blue waistcoat that clings to him as if to tell you, ‘let me get a good, long look at you. Give me a twirl.’

The thing about Gojo Satoru is that he is the city that he rules. He embodies Tokyo, all blinding neon lights and flashy billboards, his very eyes the morning skyline that pops out at everyone and calls them to action, to put on their shoes and hustle out of the door.

His light blue eyes now, though, are just full of love and a crushing longing vaster than the sea, waves crashing and twining together, hiding its boons deep beneath the tumultuous surface. It makes your steps stutter. But you right yourself like always, stalwart in your efforts to take all his affection that bears down on you and hold yourself up.

You’ve already dressed down to curl up in bed for the rest of the evening, wearing a skimpy leopard-print nightgown that slices half-diamond slits up the sides of both of your thighs. The short hem glances off of your thighs like curtains swaying in the breeze when you shift your weight and the iPad clutched to your chest does your tits wonders, making them squish against the screen. The nightgown is so skin tight that you may as well be naked, clinging so sinfully to you and emphasizing every curve and dip of your body. It leaves very little to the imagination. Shit, he wants to dive into the ocean of your hips and drown in them.

But it's the warm look in your eyes behind those reading glasses that really gets to him. You rarely wear them in the first place, so seeing them perched delicately on the bridge of your nose… he’s never felt weaker.

Your whole ensemble is slutty. The pinch of adorably sweet domesticity that makes him wanna bite your cheeks and the refined deadliness of an office siren (which you very much are) wraps it all up nicely. Soft yet sexy. The look he loves the best on you. You absolutely did this on purpose.

The rush of affection that pummels at his chest makes him a little sick.

He doesn’t miss the way your mouth twitches in a futile attempt to beat back a smile. “Stop staring,” you warn.

Mmmm. That voice of yours could’ve single-handedly halted the Trojan War.

“I can’t help it,” Satoru sighs, dismissively waving your comment away and sauntering over to you. “You’ve got that new mom glow.”

“Excuse me?”

He nods at the iPad you’re still clutching. “You’ve been extra radiant ever since I bought you that thing,” he jests.

“You are so fucking…” you rub your forehead. You exhale a laugh. “God help me. Just come here and welcome me home properly.”

“Already on it, boss,” he purrs with a cheeky grin right as he sidles up to you. His hands sneak into the slits of your nightgown to grab at your hips, fingers sinking into the soft, pliant give of them. They prickle with the urge to slide around, dip beneath the hem, and cop a feel of what you’ve got stacked behind you. “Holy shit, I’m the luckiest man alive. Do you have any idea how sexy you look right now, titties sitting pretty in this nightgown and everything?” Satoru dreamily sighs as he drinks you in.

“Mm, tell me about it,” you murmur, a twinkle lighting your eyes. Your free hand smooths up from his navel to his chest, where his heart pounds entire sonnets in your name.

“Well, you look phenomenal. So fucking phenomenal. I’d fight 3 mountain lions in a McDonalds handicap bathroom stall with my hands tied behind my back, my only weapon a shake weight glued to my forehead, just to get a chance to stare at you for the rest of my life.”

You laugh immediately, that look in your eyes deepening. You look so light with amusement and fondness that it seems to rejuvenate you, making you glow like you’re lounging in the gentlest, warmest of sunbeams with the grace of a feline.

Satoru smiles dopily, his cheeks hurting from the force of his grin. “I missed you, wifey. This place isn't the same without my pretty girl in it." He leans down to kiss your forehead and breathes you in. “Did you miss me just as much, or did you enjoy your time without me buzzing in your ear like a gnat?” He jokes, hating how a hint of pleading slips through.

“Oh, spare me. You were up my ass over the phone,” you tease before turning sincere. A cocktail of emotion spills over your features, relaxing your browbone and softening you around the edges. “But yeah, of course I did, baby. I missed you so, so much.”

It’s silent for only a mere second, a silence that sits heavy and oppressive like the stillness before lightning crashes through the heavens, and suddenly your torsos are colliding as you rush to touch each other.

He seals your mouths together with a needy groan, his grip finally slipping around to your backside to squeeze at your ass and keep you flush against him, and you press one hand to his waist to hold steady as you crane up towards him like a flower unfurling and stretching for the nurturing comfort of the sun. Despite you both walking the line of desperation, the press of your lips is rife with affection. Devotion. An ‘I’m home,’ and a ‘welcome back.’ It feels like eons have passed rather than a week since the last time he’s been able to indulge in you.

Distance may make the heart grow fonder, but it also makes the soul weaker.

“There’s nothing normal about how much I’ve been thinking about you,” he manages between kisses, voice cracking a fraction. The wet glide of your tongue sends a little shockwave through his system and he breaks before you, letting you slip in where he’s most tender and lick your way over his teeth. “I’m so obsessed with you. I’m stupid for you. Being without you is unbearable.”

The way you sigh into him at that, the soft hitch in your breath as if you can finally relax in his hold, only kindles the flame he holds for you. His hold tightens reflexively, fingers curling into the fabric of your nightgown. Trying to make sure you’re real and not a figment of his cruel imagination.

When they finally part, Satoru’s baby blues flutter open to meet your gaze. He’s sure there’s a vulnerability to his ocean-dark eyes and expression that he only allows you to see, to coax out of him. You blink up at him almost hazily, those pretty lips of yours glistening with saliva.

“Promise?” You seek out.

If he’s needy for you, then you’re just as bad. Hide it behind that coolness as much as you want, but it doesn’t change a damn thing.

You’re the one that approached him to almost dejectedly ask why he stopped sending flowers to your desk every day before you even started dating because he assumed you were rejecting his advances (turns out, you hadn’t been throwing away his bouquets but taking them to your former apartment to cover your countertop in them, pressing the prettiest ones to preserve them forever).

You're the one that seeks him out in the dark of night when you’re startled into the realm of the living, grumbling and whining in a manner that you’d never show in the light of day when he’s too far away and only settling when you’re wrapped up snug in his arms, your head on his chest and ear over his heart.

You’re the one that said ‘I do’ at the altar and teared up at the same exact second that he did, and when you fell into his kiss, you gripped his arms with an amorous ferocity that said ‘I’m never letting go of you. I can’t.’

You want him more than you want most things.

“‘Course. I’ll throw all of that into our vow renewals,” he declares.

“God, I love you,” you say. Satoru echoes you with a just as reverent ‘love you’ and murmurs your name, low and rough with emotion, and you press a chaster kiss to his mouth this time. A peck. “I have such a perfect husband. Have you been good? Everything that I’ve read in reports is correct?” You ask much too slowly, relearning how to function now that you’re not entirely intertwined with your other half.

Satoru can see the finish line. Finally. He inhales sharply, releases it, trembling with anticipation. He can’t resist drawing you in one more time, breathing into you, tongue dragging over the crevices of your mouth before sucking on your tongue with so much sensuality that you shiver before drawing back a hairsbreadth, teeth scraping over his bottom lip.

He can’t get enough of you. But he tries to anyways.

He bobs his head in a nod. “Yup. Good as can be, sugar. Everything’s gone smoothly, no hiccups at all. I handled all that’s necessary and now... now I'm all yours.”

You assess him over the rim of your reading glasses. While you do, he rubs his thumbs into the dips of your back before gliding them over every inch of you available to him as if refamiliarizing himself with you. He knows it’s an unnecessary effort, because really, he could never forget even an inch of your beloved body, but it helps him feel more connected to you.

You seem satisfied with whatever you find. “Perfect. I’m impressed.”

Satoru nearly passes out with how quickly his ego inflates.

Walking backwards, you guide him to hasten forward, stopping only when the backs of your knees hit the edge of your king-sized bed. You pull away from him and plop down heavily on the cushy mattress with a sigh, making Satoru immediately miss the feel of your soft body pressed against him.

You toss your iPad further up the bed. Then you’re smiling, smirking, drawing your leopard-print nightgown up, up, up and parting your legs to give him the most delicious view of the print of your perfectly plump pussy against your flimsy panties. Watching you prop yourself up on your elbows on the silk duvet, back arched slightly and tits pushed up and out, the fabric of your nightgown thin enough that he swears he can see your nipples through it, does him further in.

Fuck.

You’re trying to kill him, aren’t you? This is domestic warfare at its most lethal, more thrillingly terrifying than any shootout he’s been in the center of. A trial of Nike that he absolutely cannot fail. Satoru swallows thickly, tongue feeling too big for his mouth as he stares at his wife with a hungry, almost feral expression.

He takes a step closer, then another, lifting his leg to sink his knee into the mattress between your legs and forcing you to bow yours further apart. Satoru leans down and crawls forward, bracing his hands on the bed on either side of your head, his white hair falling messily over his forehead.

"You're a cruel, cruel woman, you know that?” Satoru whispers, sounding helpless and small even as he looms over you. Pouting down at you, he huffs out a little noise of frustration. “Teasing me like this... I've been thinking about this sexy body of yours for ages, and now you're just... showing it off?"

Tilting your head, you poke your lips out in a teasing mimicry of him. “All I’m doing is lying down, babe.”

But what he hears with his incredibly selective hearing is “all I’m doing is some obedience training. Light work!”

‘Sicko’ Satoru mouths at you and your laugh that follows is borderline evil. The sound turns fond, somehow, sweeter than any treat.

A nail presses into the divot of his chin. Satoru blinks as you drag your pointer down to his throat, running up and over the natural curve of his Adam’s apple. His pale neck is bare and open for you. The slight prick of your nail undoes him the same way the spindle undid Aurora, drawing him into a deep hypnosis-induced trance. His plea for more rumbles low in his throat, the noise vibrating against you.

“Okay, okay, I know. I’ve got you. Scoot back, then I want you to do something for me,” you smoothly coo.

He’s nodding almost solemnly before you even finish speaking. “Anything,” Satoru swears. No clarifications needed. No hesitation. Just pure, blind obedience that’s like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders, leaving him feeling higher than a kite.

You and Satoru learned about mantis shrimp on an aquarium date that you went on a while back (he rented out the entire building for a day so that only your laughter would ring through the halls that were empty aside from security guards, the people feeding the marine life, and janitors. Perks of being oyabun). According to the placard with information sitting in front of the tank, mantis shrimp move so quickly that the water around them briefly skyrockets in temperature until it reaches that of the sun’s.

He swears on everything that the air turns scalding with how swiftly he sidles backwards until he’s sliding off the bed, sinking to his knees between your calves. The action is so natural, so instinctive from doing this so many times that it's almost as if his body moves on its own accord, eager to make his wife happy.

Satoru doesn’t touch you once he gets comfortable on the carpet. Doesn’t slide in some sly comment to try and get his way that much faster.

He just waits.

Since Satoru’s always on a hair-trigger around you and could get hard if you snapped your fingers at him and demanded that he get his dick up so that they can hump, warmth is already starting to pump into his cock, making him fill out impressively fast. He itches to relieve the building ache, but still, he keeps his hands on his thighs and doesn’t try a thing in order to prove to you that he’s good. He’ll actually fucking die if he squanders this chance you’re giving him.

You look him up and down, pleasantly surprised. The silence is slaughtering him.

Then you have mercy on him and break it. “Good boy, baby. Go get your collar. The leash, too.”

Satoru instantly gets up and crosses the bedroom to obey you, because this is what he was put on this earth to do— follow you like Eurydice did Orpheus to the edge of the underworld and beyond, listening to your every word without question. There’s nowhere in the world that Satoru would rather be than at your side. At your beck and call.

He’s quick to return with both objects in hand and kneels before you again. You take the leash from him, clip it onto the collar, and wind it around his neck to buckle it into place. Just like always, he goes all gooey the second it’s on. Head empty, heart full.

He blinks when warmth lands where his knees touch. Satoru, still ramrod-still, looks down at your socked foot sitting innocently on the divot between his knees. How you landed there with such precision without sparing his bottom half a glance, he’ll never know.

You nudge his knees apart even as Satoru pushes back against you a little, squeezing his thighs together just to see what you’ll do for the hell of it, but his playful resistance proves fruitless when the softness of the carpet and your sudden angelic giggle at his behavior work together against him to make him relax and open up. You push aside muscle and bone like he’s made of the lightest of silks, all while watching him from beneath your lashes with the most regal of bearings.

“There’s no need to hide,” You admonish, amused. Your heel digs into the inside of his thigh and Satoru has to resist snapping his hips forward so that you can put your foot where he’s burning the most for you. “I wanna see you as I give you a reward for all your hard work. Indulge me.”

Satoru tips his head back enough to keep his eyes locked on yours, the diamonds on his collar catching the lights high above and sending tiny flickering rays arching across your throat. He pushes his knees out further, spreading his legs without any pretense of modesty, until his ass is practically bowing into the carpet. Why be shy when he has a gorgeous wife who likes checking him out?

“Satisfied?” He asks breathlessly.

“Yup, that’s perfect.” You have to huff out a breath to disguise the laugh that you can’t help. You sound awfully endeared. “You’re such a well behaved puppy, aren’t you, baby?” You jangle his leash in emphasis, reminding him that he looks like— that he is— a mere pet at your feet.

The pull jerks him back and forth. Satoru openly moans at the rough treatment and the petname and the noise levels out into a disjointed hum when you let it go slack again with a coo. “You look so pretty chained to my hand.”

It's hard not to preen under your approval, especially when you use that particular tone. Your praise is a drug stronger than heroin and he's a junkie who's been craving a fix for far too long. “Yeah, well, I'm the best at everything I do. Looking good included," he boasts, smug and sure despite the slight tremble of his words.

“You are, aren’t you?” You muse conversationally. “Mommy’s pretty puppy. Handsome and all mine.”

You love Satoru for all that he is. You love his selflessness that he disguises as selfishness. You love Satoru’s wit that matches yours stride for stride, all your stupid inside jokes that your exclusive club of two have created.

You love his unwavering loyalty, the heart-rending puzzle of a man behind the title of oyabun, how quick he is to protect you, his family, with blue eyes full of cold fury as he repeatedly slams someone’s head with a car door until the car alarm goes off from the sheer force he exhibits, then later beam at you with a little dollop of cream from the latest treat he’s eaten by the corner of his mouth all in the same day.

And you certainly love Satoru like this, all his jagged edges sanded down by your equally weathered touch.

There’s something more than appealing in having the oyabun at his knees, the cutesy blue bow of the collar stark against the column of his throat, smiling like he can’t help it when he’s in your presence. He was meant to be on a runway with those brilliant eyes that his white lashes hang low over and soft, fluffy angel hair.

Finally dropping your gaze, you ogle the obscene bulge tenting the expensive fabric of his slacks. Your foot pushes forward towards his inner thigh and his stomach clenches.

“There were so many things I could’ve done while I was on my trip,” you start, eyes gleaming behind your glasses, and just that has Satoru’s heart leaping up his throat to hang onto your every word. “I thought about calling you in the middle of the day with my fingers already buried in me. Make you listen to me moan and touch myself while you could do nothing.”

“Don’t talk like that,” he groans, not a warning nor a plea.

“Like what?”

He opens his mouth and out comes a strangled whimper rather than anything of substance when you abruptly push your socked toes down over his hardening, sensitive tip, just because you can. His hands fly up to grip the edge of the bed on either side of your legs, knuckles turning white with the force of his hold. His hips give a quick twitch that he can’t contain. The pressure is just enough to make Satoru throw his head back, his cock twitching beneath the layers of fabric separating you.

This isn’t the kind of touch he wants, but it’ll do. He’ll scrape up whatever he can get from you.

“Like that, saying all that in that tone,” he chokes out.

“Why can’t I?”

“You’re asking too many questions,” Satoru complains breathlessly, trembling with how hard he’s holding himself back from moving another inch. “They’re all ones that you know the answers to, anyways.”

“Is that right?” You laugh, reveling in the frustrated jut of his bottom lip at yet another question. You roll the ball of your foot over his crotch, teasing, ensnaring him further. “All you have to do is answer ‘why’,” you coax, deceptively light, “or I’ll stop.”

The bold curving lines and spots of your leopard-print nightgown blur slightly as his vision swims with want. Satoru seems to visibly fight himself for a moment before a shameless grin unfurls on his face, appearing more composed than he actually feels. “You’re gonna make me cum if you say stuff like that.”

You lean forward. You calmly unbutton the first button of his shirt and his smile dies faster than it sparked in favor of dropping open in a loose ‘o’ of anticipation. You get the next two open and your hand eases into the cleft of his partially-undone shirt, drifting over one of his nipples. His flush stretches down to his chest.

“Right… so I guess I shouldn’t say that I thought about buying a Bluetooth-controlled plug and having it delivered to the estate.” You emphasize your words with a light pinch, tweaking the bud pinned between your fingers.

Satoru visibly shivers, more so due to your words than your touch, and his eyes grow glassier. You release his nipple and he arches towards you a fraction, borderline mewling when the action pushes him against your foot more firmly.

“I wonder how fast you’d crumble,” you muse. You watch him. Waiting for something. “I would’ve had you wear it all day, throughout your meetings and checking up on your businesses and your deals and all. Our little secret that I could control with a click of a button, forcing you to think of nothing but me as it buzzes away.”

Satoru whines. He’s literally salivating at the thought, drool collecting in his mouth that he forces himself to swallow.

God, you’re one freaky ass woman. You’re a match made in hell.

“Aww, that eager for it? Cute. I can feel you getting harder the more I talk about it,” you coo adoringly. “We’ll save that for a rainy day.”

“Are you trying to kill me?” He croaks.

“No. I’m just trying to get you off,” you murmur. You fully extend your leg, planting your foot into the carpet and shoving your leg right up against his cock.

You then grasp the leash attached to his collar, giving it the gentlest and most tender of tugs to avoid hurting Satoru, aiding him in sitting up straighter. The sensation of the collar lightly squeezing at his throat before the leather relaxes once more sends sparks flying up his spine to burst behind his eyes. “Since you’re so desperate, go ahead and hump my leg like the dog that you are.”

He doesn’t hesitate now that you’ve tossed him a bone.

With a low groan that comes out almost feral, Satoru starts to move. His hips shift forward in desperate little thrusts, rutting his clothed erection against your leg. Soft grunts escape him, lost in the simple pleasure of the friction.

Your legs twitch in an aborted move to squeeze them together, blocked only by Satoru’s body. You groan, heady and low and approving as you watch him, and Satoru can’t get his hands on you fast enough.

His fingers dig into the give of your hips, the warmth of you seeping through your thin nightgown. He holds onto you tightly because you’re the only thing keeping him upright.

"Fuck, sugar..." Satoru moans, eyes rolling back and pristine white lashes fluttering, changing the angle of his thrusts to grind the thick bulge of his cock along the line of your shinbone. He’s throbbing with a second heartbeat, so wound up that his stomach twists and turns with it.

“Look at you, so quick to obey me. That’s a good puppy,” you coo, his actions earning himself a borderline condescending yet much-needed pat on the head that he nudges into, beatific. “Does it feel good?”

“Y-yeah. Like heaven. Been needing this so bad,” he slurs.

When he starts to slide his hands down to your thighs, you tut at him and he freezes. “No moving your hands.” Your voice is saccharine sweet, forbidden fruit dangling from the branches of a tree. “Just keep them there and take what you need. You’re doing so well.”

He could so easily steamroll over your order, flip you over without breaking a sweat and pry your panties off so that he could find his release in the sweetest, most heaven-sent way possible. But he doesn’t. All that power and dominance that comes with being a rich yakuza boss is gone, wisping up and away to the ceiling.

His throat bobs as his hands rejoin your hips. Satoru's head tips forward, his forehead coming to rest against your stomach for further support as he rocks to and fro. He’s panting now, his breath coming out in sharp gusts that rattle through his seizing chest. He can feel the damp patch on the front of his pants growing, the fabric of his boxers clinging sticky to his hardness as it leaks and leaks, pumping out precum with each eager twitch.

“You don’t really need my leg, though,” you then reflect with an air of sureness. “All I’d have to do is talk in this sweet tone you love so much, wouldn’t I? And you’d cum on the spot just from that, completely untouched… I know you could. Happily— maybe with some tears, too. But I won’t do that today. You’ve been too good for me to be mean. Haven’t you?”

Satoru’s so focused on humping your leg and listening to your gentle stream of filth and praise that he doesn't even realize he's whimpering, needy chorused sounds that catch in the back of his throat. Each rhythmic pull at the leash makes him buck forward that much harder in a display of deference for your lead, desperation mounting into an uncontrollable wildfire that ravages his mind as he seeks the sweet spot of your shinbone over and over again.

“Haven’t you?” You repeat.

It takes way too long for his fucked-out mind to catch on. It feels like it’s fizzling around the edges. “I’ve been good,” he keens, peeking up at you.

You smile. “That wasn’t so hard, now was it?”

Mean, mean woman.

Your eyes barely part from the soft shine of Satoru’s darkened slacks as they grow wetter and wetter with each jerky rut, further adding to the equally slick sheen swathed on your leg from how much precum is pooling out of his neglected cock.

The friction is delicious, the pressure and the slight drag of the fabric against his sensitive flesh making his eyes flutter shut in pure bliss. He's already so close to the edge, the psychological ass edging from the past two weeks ensuring his body is wound tighter than a bowstring, ready to snap at the slightest provocation. He stutters out a silent moan. “Not— not gonna last long. M’close, sososo close,” he whimpers.

“That’s okay. Be good for me and cum. You’ve earned it, puppy.”

You lick your fingers before lowering them to twist at Satoru’s nipple again, and the cool wetness of your saliva coating your pads that squeeze at such a sensitive spot, paired with your order and praise, is enough to do him in.

His bitten lips part around a choked groan while he spills into his boxers like clockwork, making the fabric uncomfortably sticky with cum, and the spurts just keep coming like it’ll never end with how backed up he is. Satoru’s cumming in his pants like a teenager and he isn’t even remotely embarrassed. The haze making his ears ring and his brain fizzle out doesn’t allow him to do anything but feel instead of think.

Two weeks of no relief makes his release all the more sweeter. He barely knows what he’s saying between helpless whines of your name and thanks, every word coming out fragmented and feverish.

He jerks up against you with zero finesse, dragging out the earth-shattering ecstasy as much as he can. His flush further overtakes his features and bleeds wantonly across his skin, painting him as something ethereal. More god than man, with its selfishness and its cold metal weapons.

The entire time, your cunt throbs mercilessly in your panties, desperate for the full brunt of his cock inside of you so deep that he strikes your cervix in one shot, because gravity is a law of attraction that draws you both together and you’re so besotted with this man that it should be illegal.

When he raises his head again to look at you, those angel eyes of his are wet and wide with supplication. Milky skin reddened. He looks like a man possessed, desperate for more but unable to find the means to grab it. He doesn’t remember his name, what day it is and what he even did today, but you’re a beacon of clarity that he latches onto.

Satoru makes a noise that sounds like a distinct mix of a groan and a whine, helplessly frustrated.

“Oh, poor baby,” you soothe, drawing circles into his ruddy cheeks with the pads of your thumbs. “It’s okay. Are you overwhelmed?”

He shakes his head so fast that his pupils shake in his irises like 8-balls. “I just— want you to touch me more,” Satoru desperately heaves as he gathers himself. Desire heavily coats his tongue, and it drips out when he opens his mouth and speaks. “Please, mommy?”

He is not a man that begs for anything— except for you. Satoru’d plead himself hoarse if it would make you happy.

To anyone that doesn’t know you well enough, he’s sure that you would seem as unruffled as ever. But Satoru knows exactly where to look. The muscle in your jaw jumps the tiniest bit, your gaze sharpens, and, more noticeably, you shift your weight atop the bed as arousal courses through you at the form of address.

“Say that again.” Your voice is hoarse but sharp. It’s not a question. You command his obedience in the same way a brilliant lightning bolt cracks like a whip against the ground, demanding the surface’s attention. The hand holding the leash suddenly twists and pulls until he’s leaning forward, his breath fanning across the front of your dress where it folds and creases at your crotch. Tendrils of saliva drip, drip, drip from his mouth, drooling all over the fabric like a puppy that can’t control itself.

The air surrounding you is suddenly so thick that he could choke on it. Satoru feels like he’s shaking apart at the seams as he sucks in a gasp.

“God,” Satoru manages. His pounding heart echoes in his ears. “Please touch me, mommy. Please, please, pleaseeee.”

On any other day, he knows that you’d make him work a little harder for it, make him beg and beg until he’s hot with humiliation and wrecked between the knees, any and all lingering defiance fading into worked-over, stupidly pliant putty.

What Satoru also knows is this; you know exactly what he needs, just as well as he does— to be a mindless, pretty pet for a few hours after being denied for so long. He needs to be coddled. It’s why you drop a hand into his hair, scratching at his scalp for a moment, placating, before softly ordering him, “Up. Take your clothes off, nice and slow. I wanna see every inch of my handsome husband.”

He likes it when you boss him around, when you make your needs known so that he can scramble at the opportunity to please you in whatever way you want. It’s obvious in the earnesty plastered on his face.

“Coochie?” He asks a little too excitedly after you release his leash to give him wiggle room, bouncing up with a fresh gust of wind under his sails. His knees threaten to buckle beneath him, his body refusing to let him forget how wrecked he is after his orgasm. He has to blink away the spots lingering around the edges of his vision.

“Later, dork,” you laugh, making his pulse quicken.

Fine. That’s fine with him.

Eager to get this show on the road but wanting to give you a little performance, Satoru takes his time unbuttoning his shirt the rest of the way, revealing inch after inch of his pale, toned torso and the hollow valley of his v-lines that disappear into his pants, followed by the silvery stretch of fine hairs that make up his happy trail.

The muscle beneath his scarred skin ripples like the glistening sea off of the coast as he peels the fabric down his arms and tosses the shirt aside. Your gaze sears into him, branding.

“You like what you see, wifey?" Satoru asks teasingly as he undoes his belt and drops that too with a metallic clink, the sound loud in the charged silence of the room, then hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his slacks and boxers.

“I more than like it, hubby. Now lemme see my cock,” you purr back, crooking a finger at him to continue.

Obedient as ever, Satoru starts to inch his trousers and boxers down, slowly, torturously slow. The two waistbands slide over the prominent tent in his pants, chafing, the cum drenching his boxers making the glide uncomfortably sticky. His cock finally comes free when he tugs them down enough, flaccid and hanging heavy between his thighs. There’s a slight curve to him that you could write sonnets about.

He’s flushed a deep, angry reddish purple and soaked in a mix of his release and pre-cum, the cocktail of sticky fluids wetting his white pubes and making the coarse hair curl. The scent of his seed and sweat thickly permeates the air as he fully steps out of his soiled pants and boxers.

Standing still now that he’s fully bared before you, he watches your eyes roam over his body with obvious hunger, taking in every inch of exposed skin, his collar and dangling leash offering him no modesty.

“God, you’re a stunner. So gorgeous,” you compliment, making his worn-out cock give a feeble twitch like it’s trying to come back to life. “Oh? You like that?”

You stare like you want to devour him whole, eyefucking his dick the most in particular.

“Um, hello?” He circles his face with a finger. “Flirt with me instead of my cock. I know it’s big, I know, but I’m feeling a little neglected.”

You laugh, the sound sweet and genuine and so you. Even that turns him on. “But baaaby—“ he shivers. He’s dying. “You react so cutely to me. It makes me wanna eat you up.”

Satoru quirks his brows. “Then eat the rich, pretty. I know you won’t gag. You never do. My throat goat,” he says cheerily.

“Shush.”

So he does.

He looks back at you with what must be the same expression of lust and affection, because even looking like you’ve just rolled out of bed in your alluring night attire (or, well, about to roll into it), you’re still the most gorgeous woman he's ever seen. Body crazy, curvy, wavy.

When he peeks down at your nightgown that’s still hitched up to your hips, he catches sight of the wet patch blooming at the gusset of your panties and groans low in his throat. You’re just as turned on as he is. Seeing you lounging about like this is a visual that’ll have him stroking himself off in the near future.

“Fuck,” he mutters shakily. His lips purse into a cute pout, wanting. “Are you sure you don’t wanna fuck just yet? Because I have six different positions in mind and I wanna be inside you so bad. Or better yet, strip and lemme just look at you? It’s not fair that I’m standing here naked and afraid and you’re fully clothed.”

It’s rhetorical, pointedly not pushy. He’s no fool— he knows who makes the decisions around here.

You lick your lips and pat the bed next to you. “I’m sure. Again, later, okay? Just get over here.”

Practically vibrating with anticipation, Satoru crawls onto the bed next to you, your warmth searing from this close. He’s pliant, letting you push him to spread out on his side, his leash merrily jingling as he moves. You match his pose, tits nearly spilling out of its flimsy barrier as you roll over.

“Hi,” he whispers as if they’re two kids at a sleepover.

“Hey,” you say, lips quirking up.

He can’t resist nipping at the tip of your nose, just because he can and now that you’re in reach he doesn’t know what to do with himself, making you frown and bat at his squishy chest. “Okay, teeth to yourself or I’ll choke you with your collar, nuisance.”

Satoru moans, so dramatic and loud and lewd that you shake with laughter. “Talk dirty to me some more.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

“Oh, happily.”

His chest rises and falls rapidly with each shallow, excited breath he takes when you grasp his leash again and you draw him into a kiss, your mouth pillow-soft against his own. You angle him so that your noses don’t squish together. He pours all of his love and need into the press of his lips against yours, lazily licking into the honeyed cove of your mouth.

Mid swapping spit, you drag a singular finger up his softened shaft with no warning and he gasps into you. It feels like you’re pressing a lit sparkler against his cock with how sensitive it feels from his previous release.

“Too much, mommy. F-fuck,” he whimpers with a quiver of his bottom lip, which you sink your teeth into almost greedily before releasing it with a wet, dragging suck.

Your eyes are dark behind your fogged-up reading glasses. “You’re the one who asked for this. You wanted me to touch you, right? Or do you want me to stop?”

His words launch out of him. “No! Nonono, want your pretty hands on me, don’t stop. You’re so good to me. Don’t stop, mommy, please. Wanna let you use me, touch me 'til you're satisfied because my cock is yours. Wanna be your good boy.”

“You’re always my good boy.” Your warm, soft hand fully wraps around his cum-soaked cock, your fingers barely able to close around its thick girth. Satoru's head lolls and drops down against the mattress when you give his cock a lazy pull.

The muscles in his thighs flinch as if he’s torn between escaping the excruciatingly delicious pain and pleasure coursing through him and falling into it. Every fucking nerve ending screams with sensation.

Your teasing touches, thumb rubbing into his weepy slit, fingers tracing each prominent vein, is almost too much to bear, but he forces himself to endure it, clenching his jaw and gripping tight at his unraveling sanity. He’s too weak to jerk away anyways— and you’d probably haul him back with your grip on his leash regardless.

He’s a toy for you to play with and tease and use for your pleasure. A good puppy that sits still and heeds your every word.

It’s funny, really, getting such unconditional obedience from an oyabun of his caliber and reputation. Larger than life and domineering— that’s how he needs to be at all times to survive in the cutthroat underbelly of the world. You’d think he’d be the same as he is on the streets as he is in the sheets. But he’s not.

Satoru’s docile and malleable for you. He’s this vulnerable, chest cavity peeled open and the muscle of his aching heart that you hold bleeding between the gaps of your fingers, just for you. Always for you.

In the scant space between you, he gazes at you with dreamy, lust-drunk eyes, his plump lips parted in a constant stream of breathy moans and hiccups. The little sobs that crest in his throat whack you with the force of a sledgehammer.

You’re biting your own lips to keep ahold of the self-restraint you’ve been showing in the face of his wantonness. Your sweet husband curled up at your side, lashes damp with tears and skin a pretty pink, is a siren-song that you’re barely resisting. You’re shaking with how much you want to pin him down into your king-sized bed and drop down on his cock or drag him over to the nearest window to let him fuck you hard and fast against it as you control the pace with his leash. But you’re stronger than your own desire.

“There you go,” you coach. Satoru can feel every soft ridge and valley of your hand as you drag it up and down the length of him. “Breathe with me, baby. Feel all that warmth spreading through your body? Let it flow down to your core and breathe it in, then out. Relax into it.”

He shivers at the sound of your molten voice, a full-bodied thing. Giggling a little, you ease him impossibly closer with a leg that you hook over his hip and another pull of his leash, mouthing at his neck just above the slab of his collar. His skin is flushed and slick with sweat, pulse beating heavy just beneath his jaw. You press forward, both of you keening when his cockhead bumps against your swollen clit through your sopping panties.

Satoru’s head is blissfully empty. It’s just you, you, you. The world around them is rendered null and unimportant, the fog from the recesses of his mind seeming to seep out from his ears and cloak you and him in its nothingness. The collar looped around his neck only adds to the drugging feeling, pulling him deeper into the warm, staticky fuzz of submission.

Coaxed forward by all your overwhelming touches, his cock slowly fills out again the longer you play with him. “See? Feels good, doesn’t it, puppy?” You croon, finally starting to truly jerk him off, squeezing tight on each upstroke and forcing him to feel the cold weight of your wedding band against his sensitive skin.

Your smile is as sweet as it is devilish, promising your victory. It makes your nose scrunch up. You’re taking your time with him, content to let him feel every ounce of pleasure.

In seconds, he’s hard, dripping, excited, all for you, so much so that it’s killing him. Satoru's hips slam forward involuntarily, seeking more delicious friction. He's leaking like a faucet, pre-cum drooling out of his cockhead to coat your fingers and make the glide even smoother. The obscene sound of slick skin being stroked fills the room, accompanied by Satoru's ragged panting and mewls. Beneath him, his propped up elbow quivers with the effort of holding himself up.

"Shit... yeah, feels so fucking good. Spoiling me so good. Your hand is so soft. You have no— hah, no idea how much I've missed your touch. I've been so desperate for you, mommy. I’m all yours," Satoru babbles mindlessly, eyes knocking back in his skull.

He ruts his cock in and out of the sleeve of your grip and you let him, reveling in how his plush cockhead rubs right up against your clothed cunt. He’s undulating to each tug of leather, letting you manhandle him as you wish, because at the end of the day he’s just a puppet wrapped tight around your finger like a red string of fate. "I swear, if you stop now, I'll... I'll die and haunt you forever.”

“Shh, I’m not gonna stop. I said I’d reward my puppy, yeah? You don’t need to worry about a thing. I’m all yours right now,” you murmur silkily. “Touch me and I’ll think about letting you fuck me after this.”

Satoru’s hands are on you instantly, big hands dragging over your chest and grabbing handfuls of your boobs, greedily squeezing and kneading them like a loaf of bread. Or a stress ball. You’re his emotional support, after all. A hiss streams out from between his teeth when you twist your wrist, milking more pearlescent streams from his cock and making him urgently thrust forward into your grip.

He looks utterly debauched, snowy white hair disheveled and sticking to his sweat-slicked forehead, drool marching down from his parted lips and dampening the comforter beneath his head. A painting in motion, marble skin and sky-blue eyes.

He’s so strung up that he’s already being pushed towards the edge, balls drawing up tight and eager to spill another release. You could probably let go of him to spit on his cock, breathe on it, and he’d nut from that alone. “Hnnngh... I'm gonna... mmm, I'm gonna cum soon," he warns breathlessly, needily pulsing and twitching in your gentle hand like he needs you to keep rubbing his dick more than he needs to breathe. His pace is fast and sloppy. “Can I?”

You hum your assent, pleased by his manners. “Good boy. One more time, just for me. Cum for mommy, show me how much of a mess you are for me.”

“Fuck, fuck, thank you, I love you more than anything,” he yaps, squeezing more enthusiastically at your tits.

You draw the leash over his shoulder so that the ring it’s clipped onto is at his nape instead of the front of his throat, the blue bow tickling the bottom of his undercut. From there, you tug, one long constricting second that clutches at his windpipe. Satoru’s throat bobs automatically and the action is cuffed halfway, the leather bending and noosing tightly around his neck.

The added restriction is enough to do him in. His vision wipes clean, dizzying black waves crashing forth as he shudders in the most delighted way possible. He cums so hard that he swears it fries him stupid. He spills wetly over your fist and up his chest in white streaks, choking out what almost sounds like a wail, the sound simultaneously dry and wet.

He convulses next to you, legs jerking against the sheets, toes curling and head swaying back and forth as noises flow from him like water. His cock pulses through the aftershocks, balls aching with how much cum is pumping out of him.

Trembles travel through wrecked his body and the muscles in his navel quiver like a second heartbeat. Crying out, tears and drool slipping down his face, he still keeps weakly pumping in and out of your slippery fist. Ecstasy keeps humming low in his bones even when he finally shudders to a stop after a few erratic twitches, leaving him spent and boneless.

When he dizzily blinks, more tears escaping his lash line, recentering himself, and everything slowly comes creeping back into the limelight, he catches the swipe of your fingers dragging up his wet abdomen and leaving his overstimulated cock behind. You gather up his cum, lewdly sucking it up with siren eyes and a pink mouth. You even wipe some off of his collar since he sprayed his release all the way up to his chin. More pools on the sliver of comforter between your bodies, staining the expensive fabric.

You jolt a little when Satoru, eyes fogged over and brain no longer on this plane, tugs your nightgown enough to drag your breasts out. Eyes fluttering shut, his lips latch onto your pebbling nipple and he just sucks, going even more boneless as if that’s all he needs to relax.

He’s like a puppy that’s been weaned from its mother too early. Too cute.

You stroke over his damp hair for who knows how long, letting him suckle and play with your other tit to his heart’s content as he comes down. But you eventually get antsy, throbbing for him, so you spin his collar back around to its rightful position, blue bow curling prettily at his Adam’s apple and diamonds winking at you. You grip at his leash where it clips to his collar and you jostle him a little.

Satoru pops back up like a meerkat, peering at you. His lips and chin are wet with tears that tracked all the way down his face and saliva. A pretty ruined angel.

“Feeling okay?” You check on him. He nods a little dumbly, dopey smile lighting up his face. He looks higher than a kite. “Use your words.”

“M’fine,” he mumbles, glueing closer to you and hissing when his spent dick brushes your silky smooth nightgown. He smooches your sternum, then your throat, chin, and lips. “More than fine. Feels good. I needed this. Thank you, princess.”

Your heart goes all soft and gooey. “You don’t have to thank me, baby. You did so good, listened to me super well. I appreciate it.”

Something about that makes a sliver of clarity return to him. Satoru paws at his eyes almost sleepily before squinting at you through half-closed eyes. It makes him look like a golden retriever.

“I feel like my dick got beat up,” he says, making you sigh amusedly because his word choice never fails to tickle you, “but I could get it back up. Or I could just put my mouth on you. Wanna make you feel good, too.”

Admittedly, you’re burning with the urge to be fucked into oblivion in every surface and position possible, him at your beck and call and pulled taut by his leash, nonexistent tail wagging behind him as he pleasures you. But you also want to stay up late into the night until even the nightlife quiets down to make room for the two of you, just listening to him and scratching at his scalp the way that he likes, trading words full of affection and baring your hearts to each other all over again.

You’d do anything as long as it’s with him. You’d chase him to the ends of the earth if you could. Not that he’d let you— Satoru’d spin on his heels to let you catch you up, sweep you off your feet bridal style so that your legs don’t get sore, and run with you in his arms as you laugh into his neck.

“Well, let’s see… does my puppy know how to roll over?” You ask, tapping your chin.

Corded arms fling themselves around you, and in a second flat, his world flips around him with you at its center, always the eye of the storm, and he smoothly drags his hands down your chest the second he’s flat on his back with you atop him. Satoru gazes up at you, grinning a little cheekily, a little drunkenly. His head is tilted back proudly to show off the glittering collar around his neck.

You shift a little to straddle him properly, thighs cupping his hips as you sit strong astride him, then you’re dragging your soaked panties against his spent cock, making you both hiss.

“I sure can, sugar. Woof.”

author’s note: CRAZY? I WAS CRAZY ONCE

this literally was meant to be like a 3k-5k drabble idk how I got here 😭😭 couldn’t shut my ass up while writing

this pic is oyabun gojo core

perma tags: @libr4sonsa @spirit-kat @kaitospo @m1nrrva @enchantinghonymoon @exc3llentshot @dairyfaerie @pvmpkingod @skz8stay @floriophrastus @originalsaucy @loyalguma @wormplant @amane1271 @oporotheca @teachmehowtodokiaye

My first post on tumblr of a fanart of gojo :)

let’s settle this shit but do NOT reblog if you’re gonna be modest about it like a little BITCH. anyway privilege check tell me which ones apply to you: hot, funny, can dance, can do math, can spell, can drive, can cook

I think that every version of Gojo loves it when you are mean to him.

Not anything outrageous but just you mocking him in a sickly sweat tone. It just ignites something in him to see you put him in his place.

ESPECIALLY IN BED

“I thought you could handle this.”

“Do you need me to stop?”

“Oh poor baby”

He’s a sucker for it every 👏 time 👏

tan Suguru Geto is very important to me.

now playing…

habibi by tamino

↺ |◁ II ▷| ♡

canon! suguru x reader

chat i fear i have no idea what this is. pls be gentle w me i’ve been hating my writing recently.

cw’s!!: descriptions of violence/gore (?), descriptions of vomiting, blood, angst, uhmmm uhhhhh mentions of religion?? (very minimal), and gn! reader

wc: 533 :p

unblinking.

that’s the first thing suguru noticed about your eyes this time around.

usually it would be the cloudiness, the distant way your eyes were fixed on him but never truly focused. you always looked right past him.

tonight, though… tonight was different.

your eyes followed him as always, but they were held wide. you were looking at him and he looked at you right back. he briefly (ridiculously) wondered if you could see the difference in him. the way he had changed after…

you don’t say anything (it’s not like his mind could conjure up your voice at this point, it had been years) but you look at him like you know. know what he did.

he’s calm. collected as he usually is.

your eyes reflect something strange, a filmy, cloudy sort of glare from an unknown light source that was all too familiar to him. something that maliciously mimics the sparkle in your eyes, something that tries to lure him in with dilated pupils and a hope for forgiveness.

“my love.” is all he says. it’s the same greeting as every night, a short moment of weakness (reminiscence) that he allows himself. you never say anything back.

and yet, your lips part tonight.

what leaves you is a sick, warbled sound. something suffocating. wet. sounds of struggling and sobbing before finally silence.

and then the sound repeats. echoes around the liminal space.

your lips are only slightly parted, as if you were simply a recipient for the horrific sounds leaving you. simply output, a blank slate for his mind to use to torture him. he can see every expression in his minds eye, a vision that was previously silent now fully voiced courtesy of you. he had forgotten that part; the sounds. he forced them out of his mind.

he feels the hot tears rolling down his cheeks again, the weight of steel in his palm, the taste of blood on his tongue. he feels the scratches you left on him, the stinging red marks that others insist have long faded (he swears he sees something faint… not scarred, but deep in his skin. no matter how deep he gouged at his flesh, the thin marks always returned. light against dark scars).

it wasn’t a curse, he knew that. he would’ve never asked for you to come back. to stay alive.

this is you.

he’s crouched over the toilet as soon as he wakes, each heave and cave of his stomach sickeningly reminding him of the sounds that left your likeness.

he has no right. he should’ve swallowed each wave of bile, suffered with the taste and unpleasant warmth of it all. even that couldn’t have compared to the blood your lungs filled with. he watched you choke on your own blood, he knows it was nowhere near comparable.

maybe one day he’d repent. even if he didn’t deserve mercy — forgiveness — he’d repent. pray until his knees were sore and bloody and his folded hands were melded together (not to any gods, no. but to you — as if you and a god were any different in his mind).

I refuse to be controlled by a calendar, Happy Easter everybody 🐇✨

Have a Bunny Geto post for your Easter baskets 💕

URGENT HELP SAVE THE LIFE OF MY CHILD.

Dear humanity,

Please Help Me – My Son May Die at Any Moment.

I'm Amal, a mother of three children, living under the weight of the genocide taking place in Gaza. 🍉

Here’s my story, and I’m reaching out with a hopeful heart 💔✨, hoping someone will feel what my family and I are going through.

My son is suffering from a severe and life-threatening injury after being shot by Israeli drones. He urgently needs medical treatment outside Gaza.

Time is running out, and we are facing a critical situation. I am asking for your generosity to help us save him either through a donation or by sharing this urgent plea with others

I beg you, i kiss your feet, to help my son. My son may die at any moment.

I lost most of my family. I'm afraid to lose my son too 🥺

Mohammed deserves to live a happy and healthy life, just like every other child on this earth.

So I humbly ask you to donate even a little or at least reblog this appeal.

Please Donate now:👇

https://www.gofundme.com/f/join-us-in-our-struggle-save-our-family-from-war-in-gaza

…

Saint - Preview

Summary - After your ability to heal others was discovered you were taken to a monastery high in the mountains. The monks raised you in their ways and their beliefs. Once you are old enough you begin to offer your healing abilities to people who need it.

Soon enough you attract something you never intended too and he won’t give you up now that he has found you.

Pairing - Kitsune!Suguru Geto x Saint!reader

Content - Smut, some fluff, religious imagery, afab!reader, violence, manipulation, dubcon, baby trapping, obsessive behavior, isolation, stalking, deification, slight horror elements if you squint, the relationship starts out somewhat healthy then spirals from there

“What ails you?” You ask with a small smile

“My leg.” He replies to you, a sceptical tone to his voice.

Suguru is ready for you to be a fraud.

Someone peddling to the masses for offerings. What Suguru is not prepared for is to be wrong. He has never been wrong about humans before. They are fragile and somewhat stupid creatures but as your hand fits in his and a warmth fills his body he is proven wrong.

The warm feeling spreads throughout his body. It mends his broken leg and soothes slightly sore muscles from the walk up here. A soft sigh leaves his lips. When you retract your hand he almost doesn’t let you.

He had never cared for religion or anything of the sort. It was a waste of his time. He doesn’t know if a higher power exists but he now knows of your existence. You who heals the sick with a kind smile, who uses this gift to give to others with no reservations about it.

You are an angel- a divine being sent down to this terrible world by some higher power. He had read a few religious texts in his younger years and had been intrigued by the idea of saints but now that he sees you he is not intrigued, he is addicted.

Suguru stands a bit taller now that his leg is no longer broken and you have to look up at him. It gives him satisfaction that he could engulf you in his arms to hide you from the other undeserving people who come to steal some of your light.

“I wish you a safe trip down the mountain.” You tell him in a cheerful tone.

“Thank you.” He responds and walks away from you. As he leaves Suguru wants to laugh at your statement.

Because now that he has you he won’t be leaving this mountain for a while.

I should just add yearning in big bold caps when Outlaw!Yuki is involved, her love is so soft and patient.

ATTENTION

If you see this you are OBLIGATED to reblog w/ the song currently stuck in your head :)

THE PEOPLE HAVE SPOKEN

Cowboy Like Me

Summary - You and Yuki were inseparable as children, practically attached at the hip since the two of you met. But childhood can’t last forever.

When a marriage proposal is given to your Father he accepts it to help pay off his gambling debts. You are sent off to your Aunt’s house to prepare for your upcoming marriage, leaving Yuki behind. After you come back to find her gone and her family’s farm in ash.

Many years after Yuki’s disappearance an outlaw comes to town with the same golden hair and eyes you could drown in. Is she the same person?

And if so, do you two still fit together in the same way you once did?

Pairing - Outlaw!Yuki x reader

Content - Hurt/comfort, afab!reader (reader wears dresses but they/them pronouns are used), fluff, angst, 1800s time period (all the issues that come with that), prostitution, sexism, talks of underage marriage, implied sex but no actual smut, the closet you and Yuki are in is glass

Word count - 5.3k

A/N - Part 1 of 2 parts! I am working on the second half to this

The past

Yuki Tsukumo came into your life like an all consuming fire on a windy Autumn day. The air was just getting a bite to it and you felt the cold through your dress. You had not thought to grab a shawl to cover your shoulders and neither had your mother.

She held a firm grip on your hand as the two of you walked up to the porch of the Tsukumo farm. It was a large place and the path to the house was long. You felt so tired by the time you reached the house. 

Mrs. Tsukumo answered the door almost the instant your mother knocked. Her blonde hair was down and framed the wide smile she had on her face.

“It’s so good to see you!” She exclaims and hugs your mother like there is no tomorrow.

When she pulls back her gaze falls to you, a gleam of amusement in her eyes. You back away from her curious gaze. She chuckles at your shyness and crouches down to your level, her skirts hitting the wooden floor beneath her.

“You are a shy little thing aren’t you?” She says softly as you blink at her forwardness.

“Yes- yes ma’am!” You speak up and try to steel your resolve.

“And polite!” She stands back up to look at your mother, “She is almost the exact opposite of our Yuki.”

As if on cue you see her. A girl about your age with her wild blonde hair put up in a messy ponytail. The green ribbon tying it back matches her dress which has mud on it up to her knees. She has a grin on her face and a feathery thing in her arms.

You hide behind your mother’s skirt as Mrs. Tsukumo turns around to scold her.

“What have I told you about bringing chickens into the house!” She exclaims and her eyes widen as she sees the mud on her dress. “And gettin’ mud on your best dress!”

The girl pouts a bit and hugs the chicken to her chest, “I wanted to show them my favorite chicken!”

You blink in surprise as she points at you, her hands are a contrast to yours. Her fingers are dirty and you can see a few scratches here and there on them and up her arms. 

Why did she want to show you a chicken? 

You really don’t want that feathery thing too close to you. Its beady eyes look around the room at everything. Its eyes land on you and it reaffirms your aversion to the chicken. 

Mrs. Tsukumo has her hands on her hips and continues to scold her. 

“The chickens are not for you to play with! How many times do I have to tell you that a proper lady doesn’t play with farm animals, Yuki.”

Yuki doesn’t look completely convinced about it. Her brows scrunched in discontent with her mother’s scolding. Her grip on the chicken tightens and the thing squawks loudly.

“But they might actually like the chicken Mama!” Yuki settles on.

Your mother holds back a laugh behind her gloved hand. Her eyes are alight with something you have never seen before. It was like she was a completely different person when Mrs. Tsukumo was in the room. 

As you study your mother’s expression you don’t see Yuki until she is mere inches from your face. Yelping, you stumble back a bit so she isn’t as close to you.

Her brown eyes stare into yours with obvious curiosity. There is a sparkle to them that draws you out of your shell a bit. She shifts the chicken in her arms slightly to hold out a hand to you.

“The name’s Yuki! What’s yours?” She asks you with a grin.

You take her hand and she shakes it. In your haste to tell her your name you trip over it multiple times. 

“You don’t talk well do you?” Yuki remarks with a giggle after you finally get your name out of your mouth, which earns a smack on her arm from her mother.

“Don’t talk like that Yuki! Apologize now!” She squawks at her.

In Yuki’s defense she does genuinely look sorry for her actions, “I didn’t mean that- I am sorry.”

For the first time since arriving you smile. You take her hand which was still out stretched. It is warm and you feel a few healed over scratches on them. It feels so right to hold her hand in yours.

“Can you show me the chickens?” You ask.

Yuki looks surprised then ecstatic.

“Let’s go!”

She grabs your hand and drags you off.

You were never the same after that.

The present

Toji Fushiguro is dead.

There is a bullet hole through his skull put there by Yuki herself.

It would be a terrifying scene if she hasn’t had as much blood as she does in her hands. It has been eight years under Toji’s thumb. Eight years of murder, robbery and arson. She has been a terror to every town they have ridden through. 

That was how she got her job as his second in command. Yuki had demonstrated sheer brutality only rivaled by Toji himself. He had taught her how to shoot, the best way to pick vault locks and how to intimidate others by just a look. His guidance, even if it was harsh, made her into the infamous outlaw she was today.

As she looks at his body, Yuki lets herself cry for the first time in eight years. Tears fall down her red cheeks. She cries for her parents, for the years lost and you.

The last time she saw you it had been from the saddle of her horse as she rode her next to your train. She of course couldn’t fully catch up but she watched the train that took you until there was only a speck of black smoke on the horizon. It had pulled her heart apart to watch you leave.

Yuki wonders how you are. Did you get married to the Mayor’s son? She had heard he was a good man but she never met him. You probably are all settled down with a child now. She would have loved to be there for any part of your life.

She needs to go back to see if there is anything left of her parents. Yuki wants to give them a proper burial if you haven’t already done that. Maybe she will catch sight of you, catch a glimpse into your picturesque life. 

The thought of you on someone else’s arm makes her sick but you were probably happier then out here with her.

When her tears and thoughts of you fade she walks out of the room where Toji’s body lies. She needs to establish her place quickly in the group before others begin to see an opportunity to take over. 

“Is he dead?” Todo asks from the living room. 

He is sitting on a chair against one wall, cleaning his revolvers. It would be an intimidating sight for most people but Yuki breezes by any fear she may have for the boy. She remembers when Toji had first brought him back in the same way he had with her, except Todo got a choice.

He had been like a wet cat, shivering and wet from the downpour he had walked in. His wide eyes had scanned every person in Toji’s group of bandits. A sense of fear in him that she had seen mostly on the town’s folk they stole from.

Even though years have passed since then and he has grown into a mountain of a man he still is that little kid she had comforted that first night. 

“As dead as a man can be.” She says, her usual smile gone from her face.

Todo just nods in understanding. He had also grown up under Toji’s almost abusive teaching style. It shapes you into an entirely different person, you lose sight of yourself as you try to keep up with him. But luckily for Todo, Yuki had been there to help him. 

“Good.” Todo whispers as if Toji would rise from the dead to beat him for uttering it.

“We are going on another raid, I need to let the others know that I am in charge and to put people in their place.” Yuki pulls on her jacket.

“Alright, I will gather the boys.” He says and gets up. She watches as he leaves, his guns shining in their proper place in holsters at each hip.

Yuki takes a deep breath before putting her gun back in the holster and following suit.

The raid goes off without a hitch. The men follow her orders with no hesitation or backlash. It feels good to be in control, she spent so much time without it so having it is like a drug.

The door to the house they are raiding last is wide open and she walks through like she owns the place. The family here seems to have already fled, probably because of the rumors that her gang was coming to this town next. 

She looks around the house and her eyes catch on an emerald green dress. It is rumpled on the wooden floor so they must have dropped it on the way out and not deemed it important enough to come back for.

Yuki picks up the dress to look at it. She is reminded of a life that feels like a hundred years ago. She remembers meeting you for the first time, your anxious excitement as she showed you around the farm. She throws it over her shoulder and continues looking for whatever she can find.

When she gets to the bedroom door and sees a bed empty of linens. The window is open and the curtains flap in the wind. But the closet still has some clothes and she walks over in interest.

A turquoise blue dress is nestled in between pairs of pants and shirts. She grabs the new clothes and the dress. A hope small in her chest that she may see you in something similar when she sees you. 

Yuki needs to stop being so sentimental.

It takes three weeks to get settled enough into her new position for her to be able to leave.

She makes sure that Todo is in charge while she is gone and won’t break under her men’s pestering or threats. He vows to keep everything in order while she goes back to say goodbye to her parents.

As she gets closer to her hometown she feels more nervous. It feels wrong to be back there with how much she has changed. Yuki is a different person and she can’t help but fight herself as she faces the town that raised her. She probably won’t even look you in the eyes as she passes by.

When she rides into town no one notices her face. She is happy for that and the hat low on her head to hide her face. It hasn’t changed one bit, sure people are older but the buildings remain the same. She does see some new faces that must have moved in while she was gone.

She moves through this town like a ghost to the remains of the farm. 

It is still in ashes, the house’s charred ruins haven’t been messed with. Part of her is thankful for that, it shows everyone that they were here. It is a mark on this town that she existed here once. She looks around the remains for anything of hers or her parents but there is nothing.

The only thing there is a fresh bouquet of sunflowers. She smiles down at the flowers and wonders if you put them there for her. Carefully she undos the black ribbon and pulls one out for herself. 

Yuki puts the sunflower in her saddle bag and hops onto her horse. She wants to look at your house for one last time. It would be like closure, to see your parents and maybe even you.

The old house comes into view and Yuki feels a part of her relaxes as she sees the fresh paint and life in it. A child opens the door and runs out, giggling wildly as she goes.

Maybe she was yours. Tears clog her throat as she brings her horse to a stop just a few yards from your door.

The door swings open again to reveal a woman she has never seen before. Her face has worry lines on it as she looks around. Her yellow skirts touch the wooden porch as she walks around to the right to look for the child that ran out.

In her search she sees Yuki, her eyes widen before she calls out to her.

“Can I help you?” She yells at Yuki as she walks off the porch.

“Yes!” She calls back, “I was looking for an old friend whose parents used to live here?”

The woman shields her eyes from the sun with a hand but Yuki can see the pity on her face from here.

“The old folks who owned this place were kicked out because of gambling debts!” She explains, “The mother died a few years ago and the father ran off but the daughter was taken to the parlor house to work off the debt!”

Yuki’s heart drops to her stomach.

She never thought this would happen. Sure your father had a drinking and gambling problem but it was never that bad. She feels her heart beat out of her chest. It feels like her chest is twisting in knots. Your Father running off, your mother dead.

You in a parlor house.

Yuki doesn’t even say goodbye as she kicks her horse into a sprint.

She had walked by the parlor house many times over the course of her childhood. She had never looked at the scantily clad women who waved down at men from the balcony. It had made her cheeks heat up to see them that exposed in broad daylight. Her mother had always shooed her along quickly when they passed by those women.

Yuki had never judged them for their life, most of them never wanted to be there. They were sold or taken to work off a debt someone else owed. She thinks that it would be a lonely existence to be stuck in a house, selling yourself to men every day in hopes of paying off a debt.

Her horse comes to a stop outside the main square and the three story parlor house on the Main Street. She looks up at the women there. She sees so many, all of them barely clothed, with painted smiles on their faces.

Yuki’s heart stops as she sees you. 

A is tight green dress on your body and your face is done up skilfully with makeup to ecunsuate your best features. The dress is shorter then anything you would have worn before. The bodice dips low showing off your chest.

Your face has changed, it’s older but there isn’t the light in your eyes that was once there. You must have been here for years since she last saw you. The look on your face is so fake that she almost cringes as she looks closer.

As you lean over the rail of the balcony, smile on your lips a flash of metallic gold catches her eye. 

The locket you had given Yuki for her fourteenth birthday is sat around your neck. She had worn it everyday after you had given it to her. Inside the locket was a small picture of the both of you. 

You must have found it in the ashes of the farm. Yuki’s heart clenches in her chest. She needs to get you out of here. 

The past

At the age of fifteen Yuki is certain of two things.

1. She is going to take over her father’s farm.

2. You are going to live with her forever.

You had protested it at first when she brought it up. You always said that the both of you were going to get married and have families of your own. Yuki would always pout at your refusal of her dream. But soon enough Yuki wore you down to a yes. 

Yuki was estatic about the future that the two of you would have. You would be in her house every day and she wouldn’t have to pull you out of your house to run through the fields like now. 

Yuki can have you all to herself.

Her heart races as she rides one of her father’s horses at full gallop to get to your house. She is excited to see you today because she got permission from her father to train under him to take over the farm. Your dreams of living together are coming together.

The old house comes into view. She sees your mother working in the window of the kitchen. Your father must be out because she looks out at the window nervously. Her eyes soften at the corners, crows feet beginning to form there.

“Yuki! Come in! I am cookin’ and will make you something.” She says as Yuki ties the reins of the horse to a fence post.

“I would love to but I need to steal your-”

“Yuki!” You yell and come running out at full speed. 

Your eyes are alight with something Yuki can’t place but it makes her chest tighten. She feels like she could look at you forever if you looked back at her like that. 

“Let’s go, I need to get out of here!” You practically demand with a smile.

Yuki unties the reins she just tied, “Hop on.”

Her hands find a place on your waist as she helps you up onto the horse. After getting up behind you she wills down the flush in her cheeks. Your proximity always gets her so blushy and she can’t quite understand why. 

You are settled in front of her and she gives the reins a flick to get the horse moving. Yuki keeps the horse to a steady pace while you are moving through town but as soon as you are past the last building she urges the horse into a gallop.

You laugh and hold your hands up in the air. It is a beautiful sight, you look so carefree like this. She wants to always see you that way, eyes sparkling and lips pulled into a pretty smile. It makes her heart sing your praises.

Yuki takes you out of town into the vast wilderness around your hometown. She eventually stops by the edge of a small stream that circles the edge of the valley where the town is. This stream is one of the offshoots of a bigger river a few miles away. It is also one of the water sources the town has. 

She gets off the horse and helps you down. You hop down and immediately start taking off your shoes. Yuki follows suit as you begin to wade into the stream, a grin on your face.

For a moment, time slows, the sun shines on your hair like a halo. It makes you look ethereal and inhumanly beautiful. She wishes she could capture this moment, to think of the sunlight illuminating your face every waking moment. 

“What are you staring at?” You ask, your smile growing confused.

Yuki shakes her thoughts away, “Nothing!”

She feels so much freer when her shoes are off. When she was young it was an ordeal to get her to keep shoes on. She hated the restricted feel she got when wearing them.

It has mellowed out with age but she still hates the restrictive shoes and clothes women are subjected to.

Yuki sits on the river bank, her skirt already dipping into the stream below. You have better luck then she does with keeping clean or maybe she doesn’t care about that like you do. 

“The water feels good, it is so hot in these summer months.” You comment as you wade back to where Yuki is.

“If it wasn’t for my mother’s scolding I would dive in head first.” Yuki says with a slight pout.

You laugh and pull yourself back up onto the bank, “She would kill you if you did.”

“‘How improper! You need to act like a proper lady of fifteen!’” Yuki imitates the scolding tone her mother is using more and more frequently.

Yuki knows that she is difficult and different from other girls her age. Other girls her age dream of husbands, kids and the other ‘appropriate’ things for girls to dream about. 

But Yuki can’t seem to be normal. 

She wants to stay with you forever, she doesn’t want a husband, she wants to live out the rest of her life on her family’s farm instead of a random man’s house. 

“You are thinking a lot.” You observe with a soft voice.

“I can’t seem to be normal and it hurts my mother so much that I can’t. She is more often than not miserable and I am terrified that will be my fate.” Yuki explains to you, “I don’t think that I can handle being a wife and mother if I turn out like her.”

A blanket of silence settles over the two of you as you process her words. She watches your face as you choose carefully what to say. 

“I think that none of us are normal, we just choose to hide it or push through it.” You grab her hand and intertwine your fingers in hers. “But marriage is something we must all face at some point and it can be scary to think about. I think the thing holding me back is the thought of losing you.”

Yuki looks over at you as tears trail down your face. She puts her free hand against your cheek, her thumb brushing away tears.

“You are hiding something from me.” Yuki states as you cry.

You wouldn’t be this emotional about this if you weren’t really scared.

“The mayor’s son, he- he sent my father a marriage proposal.” You hiccup out, “My mother is sending me off to my Aunts to have her teach me how to be a proper wife.”

Yuki pulls you into a tight hug, your face in her neck as you sob. She grips onto you like you may disappear- because you are. You are going to go to your Aunts then get married. Her eyes sting with unshed tears.

You are leaving and there is nothing she can do to stop it.

The present

“Who gave you this?” A grimy hand reaches up to touch the golden locket around your neck. 

You want to yell at him to not touch it. 

He can touch you all he wants but the locket is the one thing you have from a life that is so far away from this one. A life where you were happy. Yuki is the one thing you have that you can hold onto.

Instead you give him a coy smile, “An old friend of mine.”

“So you were rolling around in the dirt long before you came here then?” He smirks up at you.

“I had a few suitors but nothing more-” You put your hand on the man’s bare chest, “but you are far better than they ever were.”

His grin is predatory as he flips you onto your back. “Those boys could never please you the way I can.”

An hour later you watch him leave your room. His jacket is slightly esque and your lipstick is smudged. Obvious signs of what you two had done on you and him.

You sigh and sink back into the bed, a trimble to your voice. The locket around your neck is still in place. You reach up to hold the golden heart in your hands. A tangible sign that you weren’t always here.

After a while you get out of the bed to clean up. You bathe and change into fresh clothes. There are no more clients today and you are thankful. You don’t think that you can handle anymore today, not after the last patron. 

A knock comes at your door and you walk over to answer it. 

Opening it you see one of the other girls, Mary you think that’s her name, she is new and very timid. Her parents sold her to the parlor house to pay their way back to the east and away from the bandits out here. 

“Someone has requested you.” She tells you and her eyes dart down.

You sigh deep and long. 

“Send him up in ten minutes, I have to get ready.” You tell her and she just nods shakily.

She leaves your doorway and walks down the stairs to the Madam, relaying what she had told you. 

You get ready for the client. The make up you had just taken off is reapplied and you put your dress back on. It doesn’t take too long to get ready.

Another knock lets you know that he is here. You steel yourself to play a role that you play all too often. 

You open the door to see the client standing nervously in the hall. It is not usual but not unheard of to see a man nervous when visiting a parlor house for the first time. You were thankful to have that on your first night. The both of you were new to it and helping each other out.

“I am sorry to keep you waiting sir,” You gesture for him to come in, “please come in.”

He walks in and you get a better look at him. 

A bandanna is covering the lower half of his face and his hat is pulled low. You are a little confused by the secretive nature of him but don’t pry about it. Some of the frequent patrons are married and you know not to ask too many questions.

Your eyes catch on the pistols on each hip and you try not to let yourself panic. Not many men come in with pistols, only men passing through or outlaws.

“What would you like me to do for you?” You ask sweetly, trying to coax him out of his shell, “I am here for your pleasure.”

It is silent and you walk a bit closer and look under his hat. Your eyes meet wide, familiar, brown ones. 

You don’t want to hope but they have the same flecks of gold in them as Yuki’s. The shape is a perfect match, along with the golden hair under the hat. 

“Who are you?” Your desperation is thinly veiled. You watch with disbelief as the bandana is pulled down and their hat is taken off. 

Yuki is older, different from the fifteen year old that you knew. She has a few small scars on her face along with a bruise on her left cheek. Her eyes take you in as you do the same. 

“Yuki-” You are cut off as she hugs you.

Her arms are tight around you and in that bone crushing intensity you feel like you can finally breathe. You feel tears wet your right bare shoulder as she lays her face on it. 

“I thought you were dead.” You whisper through tears.

“I thought you got married.” Her tear choked voice counters.

“Funny how life never goes to plan.” It is sarcastic and sad when you say it.

Despite your relief to see her there is a bone deep shame that she found you like this. Your Mama always told you that doing this type of work was shameful. She had gone on and on that the women who would sell their bodies were damned to hell.

What would Yuki think about you if she knew how long you have been doing this? How would she take it to know that you have lost count of the amount of men who have come to your bed?

“How did you end up here?” Yuki pulls back to ask you.

You give her a sad smile, “Father gambled away all our money and he had a lot of debt that he hid from us. After Mama died he ran off, leaving me no choice but to do this.”

“What about the mayor’s son?” She questions you further.

“He didn’t want to be tied down by the debt so he called off the engagement.” You answer.

Her eyes are full of pain as she looks at you.

“I should have come back sooner-” She says and you shake your head.

“I am happy to see you here now.” You admit and put your forehead against hers like you did when you were kids. 

“I need to get you out of here.” Yuki says and you pull back to blink at her.

“But the debt isn’t paid yet? I can’t leave yet.” You explain to her.

“I know but you don’t deserve to be forced to work off a debt that isn’t yours.” She tells you with conviction.

“How are you planning to pull this off?” You ask with amused curiosity.

“Like this!” She picks you up and slings you over her shoulder.

You make a noise of protest as she makes her way to the door and kicks it open. She unsheathes a pistol and points it out at the people in the hallway. They gasp in surprise and fear.

“Nobody moves and we won’t have a problem!” She says and backs up to the stairs.

People begin to panic as they see her pistol ready to fire. The women scream and the men shield them from whatever gunshots may be fired. You can’t really see what is happening from your position over her shoulder. 

She turns around to rush down the stairs to the lower level.

“Struggle more.” She whispers to you in a teasing tone. “We have to make this convincing.”

Your face burns but you comply and try to get out of her tight grip. You flail your arms and legs but to no avail. She has a strong hold on you as she continues to back out of the building.

“Let me go!” You scream at her to really sell it.

Once Yuki is sure that there is no one kicking up a fuss she turns forward to run with you to the horse. You don’t know if you should continue struggling so you put up a minimal resistance as she puts you on the horse. Yuki gets up behind you and snaps the reins to make her horse move.

You had forgotten how fun it was to ride a horse. The wind blows on your face as the two of you ride away from that town.

“You are a great actress darlin’” She says and slows the horse down to a trot.

“Thank you,” You take a mock bow, “I really tried my best.”

A comfortable silence sets over the two of you as you both ride on. You feel your body relax into hers. It feels nice to feel Yuki at your back and a horse under you. 

“So where are we going?” You ask her as the sun sets in front of you.

“Further out into the wilderness, I have a gang out here that took over an old ranch. We use it as a base.” She explains.

You grin wide at her statement, “So that’s how you got the confidence to throw me over your shoulder and make off with me.”

“You act as if you wanted to be there- I was doing you a favor.” She retorts with a pout.

“Fine, see if the life you made for yourself is better than mine or not.” You tell her but you already have your answer because she is here with you now.

You can handle anything with Yuki by your side.

Tags <3 : @linny-bloggs

I want to bite Suguru Geto. Anywhere will do but I just to need to bite him, just gnaw on him a bit to show my love.

🌸 From One Mother’s Heart – Please Read 🌸

My name is Saja. I’m a wife, a mother, and a woman who once believed her story would be simple. I thought my days would be filled with watching my daughter grow — from her first smile to her first steps — surrounded by the small joys of everyday life.

But life had other plans.

War has returned to our home. Again. And once again, we find ourselves living under skies that never seem to rest.

There was a moment — a fragile, breathless moment — when the bombs paused and the world seemed to remember us. It gave us hope. We thought maybe, just maybe, we could start to rebuild. But now, we are back in the dark — hiding, holding on, praying.

I’m writing this not as someone seeking pity, but as a mother who has no other choice but to speak.

Imagine holding your baby in the middle of the night, not because she cried, but because the world outside roared too loud for either of you to sleep. Imagine whispering bedtime stories not to lull her into dreams, but to keep the fear from settling into her tiny bones.

This is my life.

This is my daughter’s life.

And even now — especially now — I believe in softness. I believe in kindness. Because when everything else is taken from you, hope becomes the most valuable thing you have.

Why I’m Reaching Out Our home has been damaged. Our lives changed. But through it all, my daughter wakes up every morning with a smile. She reaches for me with trust, with love, with faith that I will keep her safe.

That’s why I keep going.

I’ve launched a campaign to ask for help — not because it’s easy, but because silence is no longer an option. I am asking for support not just for me, but for my baby, and for the quiet strength of so many mothers like me who are fighting, every single day, to hold their families together.

How You Can Help: 🤍 Help us restore parts of our home so we can live with dignity 🤍 Support women and mothers in Gaza with access to care and resources 🤍 Keep the light of hope alive for a generation born in the shadows of war

💛 If you can, please support our journey here:

Chuffed

I Am Saja – A Mother Holding On Through the Return of War

My name is Saja. I am a wife, a mother to a precious 8-month-old girl, and I am writing this in a moment that I wish I didn’t have to live t

If you can’t give, please consider sharing. Your voice might be the reason someone else hears ours.

From My Heart to Yours Maybe our lives are worlds apart. Maybe you’ve never lived through war. But if you’ve ever held a child and wished the world could be better for them — then you understand more than you know.

I don’t want my daughter to grow up thinking the world turned away.

Please, if you’ve read this far — thank you. Thank you for seeing us. Thank you for caring. We are still here. Still hoping. Still holding on to every kind act like it’s a lifeline.

With love and endless gratitude

Cowboy like me mood board <3

Cowboy Like Me

Summary - You and Yuki were inseparable as children, practically attached at the hip since the two of you met. But childhood can’t last forever.

When a marriage proposal is given to your Father he accepts it to help pay off his gambling debts. You are sent off to your Aunt’s house to prepare for your upcoming marriage, leaving Yuki behind. After you come back to find her gone and her family’s farm in ash.

Many years after Yuki’s disappearance an outlaw comes to town with the same golden hair and eyes you could drown in. Is she the same person?

And if so, do you two still fit together in the same way you once did?

Pairing - Outlaw!Yuki x reader

Content - Hurt/comfort, afab!reader (reader wears dresses but they/them pronouns are used), fluff, angst, 1800s time period (all the issues that come with that), prostitution, sexism, talks of underage marriage, implied sex but no actual smut, the closet you and Yuki are in is glass

Word count - 5.3k

A/N - Part 1 of 2 parts! I am working on the second half to this

The past

Yuki Tsukumo came into your life like an all consuming fire on a windy Autumn day. The air was just getting a bite to it and you felt the cold through your dress. You had not thought to grab a shawl to cover your shoulders and neither had your mother.

She held a firm grip on your hand as the two of you walked up to the porch of the Tsukumo farm. It was a large place and the path to the house was long. You felt so tired by the time you reached the house. 

Mrs. Tsukumo answered the door almost the instant your mother knocked. Her blonde hair was down and framed the wide smile she had on her face.

“It’s so good to see you!” She exclaims and hugs your mother like there is no tomorrow.

When she pulls back her gaze falls to you, a gleam of amusement in her eyes. You back away from her curious gaze. She chuckles at your shyness and crouches down to your level, her skirts hitting the wooden floor beneath her.

“You are a shy little thing aren’t you?” She says softly as you blink at her forwardness.

“Yes- yes ma’am!” You speak up and try to steel your resolve.

“And polite!” She stands back up to look at your mother, “She is almost the exact opposite of our Yuki.”

As if on cue you see her. A girl about your age with her wild blonde hair put up in a messy ponytail. The green ribbon tying it back matches her dress which has mud on it up to her knees. She has a grin on her face and a feathery thing in her arms.

You hide behind your mother’s skirt as Mrs. Tsukumo turns around to scold her.

“What have I told you about bringing chickens into the house!” She exclaims and her eyes widen as she sees the mud on her dress. “And gettin’ mud on your best dress!”

The girl pouts a bit and hugs the chicken to her chest, “I wanted to show them my favorite chicken!”

You blink in surprise as she points at you, her hands are a contrast to yours. Her fingers are dirty and you can see a few scratches here and there on them and up her arms. 

Why did she want to show you a chicken? 

You really don’t want that feathery thing too close to you. Its beady eyes look around the room at everything. Its eyes land on you and it reaffirms your aversion to the chicken. 

Mrs. Tsukumo has her hands on her hips and continues to scold her. 

“The chickens are not for you to play with! How many times do I have to tell you that a proper lady doesn’t play with farm animals, Yuki.”

Yuki doesn’t look completely convinced about it. Her brows scrunched in discontent with her mother’s scolding. Her grip on the chicken tightens and the thing squawks loudly.

“But they might actually like the chicken Mama!” Yuki settles on.

Your mother holds back a laugh behind her gloved hand. Her eyes are alight with something you have never seen before. It was like she was a completely different person when Mrs. Tsukumo was in the room. 

As you study your mother’s expression you don’t see Yuki until she is mere inches from your face. Yelping, you stumble back a bit so she isn’t as close to you.

Her brown eyes stare into yours with obvious curiosity. There is a sparkle to them that draws you out of your shell a bit. She shifts the chicken in her arms slightly to hold out a hand to you.

“The name’s Yuki! What’s yours?” She asks you with a grin.

You take her hand and she shakes it. In your haste to tell her your name you trip over it multiple times. 

“You don’t talk well do you?” Yuki remarks with a giggle after you finally get your name out of your mouth, which earns a smack on her arm from her mother.

“Don’t talk like that Yuki! Apologize now!” She squawks at her.

In Yuki’s defense she does genuinely look sorry for her actions, “I didn’t mean that- I am sorry.”

For the first time since arriving you smile. You take her hand which was still out stretched. It is warm and you feel a few healed over scratches on them. It feels so right to hold her hand in yours.

“Can you show me the chickens?” You ask.

Yuki looks surprised then ecstatic.

“Let’s go!”

She grabs your hand and drags you off.

You were never the same after that.

The present

Toji Fushiguro is dead.

There is a bullet hole through his skull put there by Yuki herself.

It would be a terrifying scene if she hasn’t had as much blood as she does in her hands. It has been eight years under Toji’s thumb. Eight years of murder, robbery and arson. She has been a terror to every town they have ridden through. 

That was how she got her job as his second in command. Yuki had demonstrated sheer brutality only rivaled by Toji himself. He had taught her how to shoot, the best way to pick vault locks and how to intimidate others by just a look. His guidance, even if it was harsh, made her into the infamous outlaw she was today.

As she looks at his body, Yuki lets herself cry for the first time in eight years. Tears fall down her red cheeks. She cries for her parents, for the years lost and you.

The last time she saw you it had been from the saddle of her horse as she rode her next to your train. She of course couldn’t fully catch up but she watched the train that took you until there was only a speck of black smoke on the horizon. It had pulled her heart apart to watch you leave.

Yuki wonders how you are. Did you get married to the Mayor’s son? She had heard he was a good man but she never met him. You probably are all settled down with a child now. She would have loved to be there for any part of your life.

She needs to go back to see if there is anything left of her parents. Yuki wants to give them a proper burial if you haven’t already done that. Maybe she will catch sight of you, catch a glimpse into your picturesque life. 

The thought of you on someone else’s arm makes her sick but you were probably happier then out here with her.

When her tears and thoughts of you fade she walks out of the room where Toji’s body lies. She needs to establish her place quickly in the group before others begin to see an opportunity to take over. 

“Is he dead?” Todo asks from the living room. 

He is sitting on a chair against one wall, cleaning his revolvers. It would be an intimidating sight for most people but Yuki breezes by any fear she may have for the boy. She remembers when Toji had first brought him back in the same way he had with her, except Todo got a choice.

He had been like a wet cat, shivering and wet from the downpour he had walked in. His wide eyes had scanned every person in Toji’s group of bandits. A sense of fear in him that she had seen mostly on the town’s folk they stole from.

Even though years have passed since then and he has grown into a mountain of a man he still is that little kid she had comforted that first night. 

“As dead as a man can be.” She says, her usual smile gone from her face.

Todo just nods in understanding. He had also grown up under Toji’s almost abusive teaching style. It shapes you into an entirely different person, you lose sight of yourself as you try to keep up with him. But luckily for Todo, Yuki had been there to help him. 

“Good.” Todo whispers as if Toji would rise from the dead to beat him for uttering it.

“We are going on another raid, I need to let the others know that I am in charge and to put people in their place.” Yuki pulls on her jacket.

“Alright, I will gather the boys.” He says and gets up. She watches as he leaves, his guns shining in their proper place in holsters at each hip.

Yuki takes a deep breath before putting her gun back in the holster and following suit.

The raid goes off without a hitch. The men follow her orders with no hesitation or backlash. It feels good to be in control, she spent so much time without it so having it is like a drug.

The door to the house they are raiding last is wide open and she walks through like she owns the place. The family here seems to have already fled, probably because of the rumors that her gang was coming to this town next. 

She looks around the house and her eyes catch on an emerald green dress. It is rumpled on the wooden floor so they must have dropped it on the way out and not deemed it important enough to come back for.

Yuki picks up the dress to look at it. She is reminded of a life that feels like a hundred years ago. She remembers meeting you for the first time, your anxious excitement as she showed you around the farm. She throws it over her shoulder and continues looking for whatever she can find.

When she gets to the bedroom door and sees a bed empty of linens. The window is open and the curtains flap in the wind. But the closet still has some clothes and she walks over in interest.

A turquoise blue dress is nestled in between pairs of pants and shirts. She grabs the new clothes and the dress. A hope small in her chest that she may see you in something similar when she sees you. 

Yuki needs to stop being so sentimental.

It takes three weeks to get settled enough into her new position for her to be able to leave.

She makes sure that Todo is in charge while she is gone and won’t break under her men’s pestering or threats. He vows to keep everything in order while she goes back to say goodbye to her parents.

As she gets closer to her hometown she feels more nervous. It feels wrong to be back there with how much she has changed. Yuki is a different person and she can’t help but fight herself as she faces the town that raised her. She probably won’t even look you in the eyes as she passes by.

When she rides into town no one notices her face. She is happy for that and the hat low on her head to hide her face. It hasn’t changed one bit, sure people are older but the buildings remain the same. She does see some new faces that must have moved in while she was gone.

She moves through this town like a ghost to the remains of the farm. 

It is still in ashes, the house’s charred ruins haven’t been messed with. Part of her is thankful for that, it shows everyone that they were here. It is a mark on this town that she existed here once. She looks around the remains for anything of hers or her parents but there is nothing.

The only thing there is a fresh bouquet of sunflowers. She smiles down at the flowers and wonders if you put them there for her. Carefully she undos the black ribbon and pulls one out for herself. 

Yuki puts the sunflower in her saddle bag and hops onto her horse. She wants to look at your house for one last time. It would be like closure, to see your parents and maybe even you.

The old house comes into view and Yuki feels a part of her relaxes as she sees the fresh paint and life in it. A child opens the door and runs out, giggling wildly as she goes.

Maybe she was yours. Tears clog her throat as she brings her horse to a stop just a few yards from your door.

The door swings open again to reveal a woman she has never seen before. Her face has worry lines on it as she looks around. Her yellow skirts touch the wooden porch as she walks around to the right to look for the child that ran out.

In her search she sees Yuki, her eyes widen before she calls out to her.

“Can I help you?” She yells at Yuki as she walks off the porch.

“Yes!” She calls back, “I was looking for an old friend whose parents used to live here?”

The woman shields her eyes from the sun with a hand but Yuki can see the pity on her face from here.

“The old folks who owned this place were kicked out because of gambling debts!” She explains, “The mother died a few years ago and the father ran off but the daughter was taken to the parlor house to work off the debt!”

Yuki’s heart drops to her stomach.

She never thought this would happen. Sure your father had a drinking and gambling problem but it was never that bad. She feels her heart beat out of her chest. It feels like her chest is twisting in knots. Your Father running off, your mother dead.

You in a parlor house.

Yuki doesn’t even say goodbye as she kicks her horse into a sprint.

She had walked by the parlor house many times over the course of her childhood. She had never looked at the scantily clad women who waved down at men from the balcony. It had made her cheeks heat up to see them that exposed in broad daylight. Her mother had always shooed her along quickly when they passed by those women.

Yuki had never judged them for their life, most of them never wanted to be there. They were sold or taken to work off a debt someone else owed. She thinks that it would be a lonely existence to be stuck in a house, selling yourself to men every day in hopes of paying off a debt.

Her horse comes to a stop outside the main square and the three story parlor house on the Main Street. She looks up at the women there. She sees so many, all of them barely clothed, with painted smiles on their faces.

Yuki’s heart stops as she sees you. 

A is tight green dress on your body and your face is done up skilfully with makeup to ecunsuate your best features. The dress is shorter then anything you would have worn before. The bodice dips low showing off your chest.

Your face has changed, it’s older but there isn’t the light in your eyes that was once there. You must have been here for years since she last saw you. The look on your face is so fake that she almost cringes as she looks closer.

As you lean over the rail of the balcony, smile on your lips a flash of metallic gold catches her eye. 

The locket you had given Yuki for her fourteenth birthday is sat around your neck. She had worn it everyday after you had given it to her. Inside the locket was a small picture of the both of you. 

You must have found it in the ashes of the farm. Yuki’s heart clenches in her chest. She needs to get you out of here. 

The past

At the age of fifteen Yuki is certain of two things.

1. She is going to take over her father’s farm.

2. You are going to live with her forever.

You had protested it at first when she brought it up. You always said that the both of you were going to get married and have families of your own. Yuki would always pout at your refusal of her dream. But soon enough Yuki wore you down to a yes. 

Yuki was estatic about the future that the two of you would have. You would be in her house every day and she wouldn’t have to pull you out of your house to run through the fields like now. 

Yuki can have you all to herself.

Her heart races as she rides one of her father’s horses at full gallop to get to your house. She is excited to see you today because she got permission from her father to train under him to take over the farm. Your dreams of living together are coming together.

The old house comes into view. She sees your mother working in the window of the kitchen. Your father must be out because she looks out at the window nervously. Her eyes soften at the corners, crows feet beginning to form there.

“Yuki! Come in! I am cookin’ and will make you something.” She says as Yuki ties the reins of the horse to a fence post.

“I would love to but I need to steal your-”

“Yuki!” You yell and come running out at full speed. 

Your eyes are alight with something Yuki can’t place but it makes her chest tighten. She feels like she could look at you forever if you looked back at her like that. 

“Let’s go, I need to get out of here!” You practically demand with a smile.

Yuki unties the reins she just tied, “Hop on.”

Her hands find a place on your waist as she helps you up onto the horse. After getting up behind you she wills down the flush in her cheeks. Your proximity always gets her so blushy and she can’t quite understand why. 

You are settled in front of her and she gives the reins a flick to get the horse moving. Yuki keeps the horse to a steady pace while you are moving through town but as soon as you are past the last building she urges the horse into a gallop.

You laugh and hold your hands up in the air. It is a beautiful sight, you look so carefree like this. She wants to always see you that way, eyes sparkling and lips pulled into a pretty smile. It makes her heart sing your praises.

Yuki takes you out of town into the vast wilderness around your hometown. She eventually stops by the edge of a small stream that circles the edge of the valley where the town is. This stream is one of the offshoots of a bigger river a few miles away. It is also one of the water sources the town has. 

She gets off the horse and helps you down. You hop down and immediately start taking off your shoes. Yuki follows suit as you begin to wade into the stream, a grin on your face.

For a moment, time slows, the sun shines on your hair like a halo. It makes you look ethereal and inhumanly beautiful. She wishes she could capture this moment, to think of the sunlight illuminating your face every waking moment. 

“What are you staring at?” You ask, your smile growing confused.

Yuki shakes her thoughts away, “Nothing!”

She feels so much freer when her shoes are off. When she was young it was an ordeal to get her to keep shoes on. She hated the restricted feel she got when wearing them.

It has mellowed out with age but she still hates the restrictive shoes and clothes women are subjected to.

Yuki sits on the river bank, her skirt already dipping into the stream below. You have better luck then she does with keeping clean or maybe she doesn’t care about that like you do. 

“The water feels good, it is so hot in these summer months.” You comment as you wade back to where Yuki is.

“If it wasn’t for my mother’s scolding I would dive in head first.” Yuki says with a slight pout.

You laugh and pull yourself back up onto the bank, “She would kill you if you did.”

“‘How improper! You need to act like a proper lady of fifteen!’” Yuki imitates the scolding tone her mother is using more and more frequently.

Yuki knows that she is difficult and different from other girls her age. Other girls her age dream of husbands, kids and the other ‘appropriate’ things for girls to dream about. 

But Yuki can’t seem to be normal. 

She wants to stay with you forever, she doesn’t want a husband, she wants to live out the rest of her life on her family’s farm instead of a random man’s house. 

“You are thinking a lot.” You observe with a soft voice.

“I can’t seem to be normal and it hurts my mother so much that I can’t. She is more often than not miserable and I am terrified that will be my fate.” Yuki explains to you, “I don’t think that I can handle being a wife and mother if I turn out like her.”

A blanket of silence settles over the two of you as you process her words. She watches your face as you choose carefully what to say. 

“I think that none of us are normal, we just choose to hide it or push through it.” You grab her hand and intertwine your fingers in hers. “But marriage is something we must all face at some point and it can be scary to think about. I think the thing holding me back is the thought of losing you.”

Yuki looks over at you as tears trail down your face. She puts her free hand against your cheek, her thumb brushing away tears.

“You are hiding something from me.” Yuki states as you cry.

You wouldn’t be this emotional about this if you weren’t really scared.

“The mayor’s son, he- he sent my father a marriage proposal.” You hiccup out, “My mother is sending me off to my Aunts to have her teach me how to be a proper wife.”

Yuki pulls you into a tight hug, your face in her neck as you sob. She grips onto you like you may disappear- because you are. You are going to go to your Aunts then get married. Her eyes sting with unshed tears.

You are leaving and there is nothing she can do to stop it.

The present

“Who gave you this?” A grimy hand reaches up to touch the golden locket around your neck. 

You want to yell at him to not touch it. 

He can touch you all he wants but the locket is the one thing you have from a life that is so far away from this one. A life where you were happy. Yuki is the one thing you have that you can hold onto.

Instead you give him a coy smile, “An old friend of mine.”

“So you were rolling around in the dirt long before you came here then?” He smirks up at you.

“I had a few suitors but nothing more-” You put your hand on the man’s bare chest, “but you are far better than they ever were.”

His grin is predatory as he flips you onto your back. “Those boys could never please you the way I can.”

An hour later you watch him leave your room. His jacket is slightly esque and your lipstick is smudged. Obvious signs of what you two had done on you and him.

You sigh and sink back into the bed, a trimble to your voice. The locket around your neck is still in place. You reach up to hold the golden heart in your hands. A tangible sign that you weren’t always here.

After a while you get out of the bed to clean up. You bathe and change into fresh clothes. There are no more clients today and you are thankful. You don’t think that you can handle anymore today, not after the last patron. 

A knock comes at your door and you walk over to answer it. 

Opening it you see one of the other girls, Mary you think that’s her name, she is new and very timid. Her parents sold her to the parlor house to pay their way back to the east and away from the bandits out here. 

“Someone has requested you.” She tells you and her eyes dart down.

You sigh deep and long. 

“Send him up in ten minutes, I have to get ready.” You tell her and she just nods shakily.

She leaves your doorway and walks down the stairs to the Madam, relaying what she had told you. 

You get ready for the client. The make up you had just taken off is reapplied and you put your dress back on. It doesn’t take too long to get ready.

Another knock lets you know that he is here. You steel yourself to play a role that you play all too often. 

You open the door to see the client standing nervously in the hall. It is not usual but not unheard of to see a man nervous when visiting a parlor house for the first time. You were thankful to have that on your first night. The both of you were new to it and helping each other out.

“I am sorry to keep you waiting sir,” You gesture for him to come in, “please come in.”

He walks in and you get a better look at him. 

A bandanna is covering the lower half of his face and his hat is pulled low. You are a little confused by the secretive nature of him but don’t pry about it. Some of the frequent patrons are married and you know not to ask too many questions.

Your eyes catch on the pistols on each hip and you try not to let yourself panic. Not many men come in with pistols, only men passing through or outlaws.

“What would you like me to do for you?” You ask sweetly, trying to coax him out of his shell, “I am here for your pleasure.”

It is silent and you walk a bit closer and look under his hat. Your eyes meet wide, familiar, brown ones. 

You don’t want to hope but they have the same flecks of gold in them as Yuki’s. The shape is a perfect match, along with the golden hair under the hat. 

“Who are you?” Your desperation is thinly veiled. You watch with disbelief as the bandana is pulled down and their hat is taken off. 

Yuki is older, different from the fifteen year old that you knew. She has a few small scars on her face along with a bruise on her left cheek. Her eyes take you in as you do the same. 

“Yuki-” You are cut off as she hugs you.

Her arms are tight around you and in that bone crushing intensity you feel like you can finally breathe. You feel tears wet your right bare shoulder as she lays her face on it. 

“I thought you were dead.” You whisper through tears.

“I thought you got married.” Her tear choked voice counters.

“Funny how life never goes to plan.” It is sarcastic and sad when you say it.

Despite your relief to see her there is a bone deep shame that she found you like this. Your Mama always told you that doing this type of work was shameful. She had gone on and on that the women who would sell their bodies were damned to hell.

What would Yuki think about you if she knew how long you have been doing this? How would she take it to know that you have lost count of the amount of men who have come to your bed?

“How did you end up here?” Yuki pulls back to ask you.

You give her a sad smile, “Father gambled away all our money and he had a lot of debt that he hid from us. After Mama died he ran off, leaving me no choice but to do this.”

“What about the mayor’s son?” She questions you further.

“He didn’t want to be tied down by the debt so he called off the engagement.” You answer.

Her eyes are full of pain as she looks at you.

“I should have come back sooner-” She says and you shake your head.

“I am happy to see you here now.” You admit and put your forehead against hers like you did when you were kids. 

“I need to get you out of here.” Yuki says and you pull back to blink at her.

“But the debt isn’t paid yet? I can’t leave yet.” You explain to her.

“I know but you don’t deserve to be forced to work off a debt that isn’t yours.” She tells you with conviction.

“How are you planning to pull this off?” You ask with amused curiosity.

“Like this!” She picks you up and slings you over her shoulder.

You make a noise of protest as she makes her way to the door and kicks it open. She unsheathes a pistol and points it out at the people in the hallway. They gasp in surprise and fear.

“Nobody moves and we won’t have a problem!” She says and backs up to the stairs.

People begin to panic as they see her pistol ready to fire. The women scream and the men shield them from whatever gunshots may be fired. You can’t really see what is happening from your position over her shoulder. 

She turns around to rush down the stairs to the lower level.

“Struggle more.” She whispers to you in a teasing tone. “We have to make this convincing.”

Your face burns but you comply and try to get out of her tight grip. You flail your arms and legs but to no avail. She has a strong hold on you as she continues to back out of the building.

“Let me go!” You scream at her to really sell it.

Once Yuki is sure that there is no one kicking up a fuss she turns forward to run with you to the horse. You don’t know if you should continue struggling so you put up a minimal resistance as she puts you on the horse. Yuki gets up behind you and snaps the reins to make her horse move.

You had forgotten how fun it was to ride a horse. The wind blows on your face as the two of you ride away from that town.

“You are a great actress darlin’” She says and slows the horse down to a trot.

“Thank you,” You take a mock bow, “I really tried my best.”

A comfortable silence sets over the two of you as you both ride on. You feel your body relax into hers. It feels nice to feel Yuki at your back and a horse under you. 

“So where are we going?” You ask her as the sun sets in front of you.

“Further out into the wilderness, I have a gang out here that took over an old ranch. We use it as a base.” She explains.

You grin wide at her statement, “So that’s how you got the confidence to throw me over your shoulder and make off with me.”

“You act as if you wanted to be there- I was doing you a favor.” She retorts with a pout.

“Fine, see if the life you made for yourself is better than mine or not.” You tell her but you already have your answer because she is here with you now.

You can handle anything with Yuki by your side.

Tags <3 : @linny-bloggs

The modern version of Outlaw!Yuki is a die hard Chappell Roan fan.

Pink pony club is on REPEAT

Does anyone want to be tagged in part 1 of the outlaw Yuki fic?

➺ suguru x gn!reader

suguru's smile was broad. soft lips stretching up, wide and sweet, his whole face smiled with them; pretty plumish eyes closing in little crescents of joy and his nose scrunching up at the tip.

its not the usual polite, contained smile he wears. its not polished or neat. its genuine and boyish and so so endearing. you could never remember what you were saying or look away from him.

what on this planet would you look to? what could be a more beautiful a view? any another sight would surely pale in comparison.

suguru practically glows when he smiles. when he really smiles (the difference between the two always do glaringly obvious to you) and although he is masterfully skilled in keeping those bits of himself hidden, some always slips out; through the spaces in his fingers and his teeth — he can never conceal it in whole.

you've collected all the bits and pieces you've gotten a glimpse of, storing them safely in the depths of your heart. the little moments pulsing in your blood and echoing off each of your ribs everyday. you've made them a part of yourself you can no longer be without.

and oh when he laughs, you can feel yourself swooning . an airy sound; sometimes it's loud full booming coming from someplace deep in his chest and others — it's softer, quieter, bashful even. you could only hear if you listen for it (and oh with your trained ear, you never miss it)

blossoms of fresh flowers spawn in your throat, sweet and suffocating. spring's welcome fragrance gets to your head;

you don't know that you remember how to breathe.

Hey there 🌍💙

I hope you're doing well. Today, I’m reaching out with a heartfelt request. My family is going through an incredibly difficult time, and I need your help to make our story heard.

🔄 A simple reblog of my pinned post can spread awareness.

💖 A small $5 donation could bring hope where it’s desperately needed.

@nasr-daher

Even the smallest act of kindness can create ripples of change. Your support means the world—thank you for standing with us! 🙏✨

…

Currently writing the reunion scene for Outlaw!Yuki and crying, the sad music I am listening to isn’t helping either.

🏚️ From Rubble to Renewal — Help Mohamed Rebuild a Home Full of Hope 🌿

In the blink of an eye, the life we knew disappeared.

My name is Mohamed, and I’m writing this with a heart full of sorrow—but also a quiet flame of hope. Our family home, a place that held generations of memories, was reduced to rubble in an instant. The rooms that once echoed with laughter, the walls that witnessed our stories, and the garden where we dreamed of better days—all of it is gone.

And yet, we are still here.

Still standing. Still believing. Still dreaming.

Before the war, our home wasn’t just a structure—it was everything. It was the heartbeat of our family. We shared countless dinners around a modest table, whispered goodnight to one another across quiet rooms, and celebrated the small joys that made life meaningful. It was a place of love, of safety, of tradition.

Losing it has left a deep wound in our lives. But what we haven’t lost is our will to rebuild.

We are determined not to let destruction be the end of our story. We want to rebuild our home not just with bricks and wood, but with faith, with dignity, and with your support.

I know there are countless stories in the world that deserve to be heard, and I humbly ask that you take a moment to hear ours. We are turning to this community, to the kindness of strangers, because we believe in the power of people coming together to lift one another out of despair.

Your support—whether it’s a donation, a share, or even just a moment of your time—can help lay the first stone of our new beginning.

💛 Every dollar brings us one step closer to safety. 🧱 Every share gives our story a voice. 🌱 Every gesture, no matter how small, is a reminder that compassion can grow even in the harshest soil.

We are not asking for charity. We are asking for a chance. A chance to rebuild our lives, to give our children a roof under which they can dream again, and to find peace after so much pain.

gofundme.com

Donate to A Plea for Hope: Rebuilding Our Home, Rebuilding Our Lives, organized by Mohammed Altelbani

In the blink of an eye, everything we knew and loved w… Mohammed Altelbani needs your support for A Plea for Hope: Rebuilding Our Ho

Please, if you feel moved by our story, consider helping us build something new from what’s been lost. Your kindness will be felt not just in concrete and wood—but in every smile, every warm night, and every future moment of joy that your support helps make possible.

From the deepest part of my heart—thank you. For your time, your love, and your belief in us. We will never forget it.

With all my gratitude, – Mohamed

Thank you guys for over 100 followers!!!!