#A Crow Left of the Murder...

[vampcaprisun]

what do y’all think illario’s hobbies are? what is he interested in? what does he do in his spare time? what does he know a lot about the nobody would expect? what did he love as a kid that he hasn’t thought about in years but could jump back into in a heartbeat if given the chance? what are his wyverns and cooking and knitting and romance novels?

who would he be if you took him away from his family and his job and the politics of it all? i don’t think he even knows the answer to that, but there still has to be an answer!

[inquisimer]

I blame @rosella-writes for this most recent bout of WIP neglect, bc they said "where is all of my Rook/Teia content" and I have seen so many (two) teiago divorce posts, so what was I supposed to do? not come up with a new OC and a messy post-canon worldstate?

anyway. this is Evanthia Ingellvar, she's going to smooch Teia post-canon while Lucanis has a bad time as First Talon and Viago fucks up most of the good things in his life trying to become king 👍

[storyoflight]

dragon age belongs to me so i feel compelled to talk about how the trevelyans and felicia are related through their mothers, clara and odette devereaux, well known orlesian bards known as the white swan and the black swan which also parallels thea and felicia as mirrors of each other with a delightful sun/moon aesthetic on top

[jhara-ivez]

THE BOYS (and girls and entities) ARE BACK IN TOWN !!

[thebisexualwreckoning]

My dad’s in Kolkata right now for reasons (don’t ask me why I’m just as clueless) but he offered to bring me a couple of my books from my old place there and I had to sit here 8938 kms away having to choose between all of my children. What will the rest of them do??? I feel like bad mother choosing between her kids.

[merrinla]

More finds in the cut content. What's interesting is that this is post-game content. I don't know if these are pieces of DLC or an extended epilogue. Rook and Lucanis drink wine in a gondola. In one version, Lucanis refused to be First Talon and left the crows. The Viper arrives to Treviso to hire Lucanis to kill the local Venatori. The lines in the localization file are out of order. I've organized them as best I could, but I'm not sure if everything is correct.

The gondola scene

Rook: What are we celebrating? Revenge? Saving the world? Lucanis: How about a quiet moment? Rook: Is it quiet? Really? Lucanis: If it's not quiet, it's at least clear.

Option: If only the Antaam were gone. Rook: Treviso's beautiful. Too bad it's filled with Antaam.

Option: You're surprisingly romantic. Rook: Who knew you were a romantic? Lucanis: You bring it out in me. Rook: Yeah, yeah. I'm a bad influence.

Option: Let's not go back. Rook: Let's stay here forever. Lucanis: A little. Not forever.

Rook: What? No fancy glasses? Lucanis: That's Caterina's style. I'm more pragmatic. Lucanis: Well, more pragmatic than her anyway.

Option: Learn from your elders. Rook: There's nothing wrong with a bit of class. Lucanis: (Chuckles) I'll remember for next time. Rook: Oh yes. This is so pragmatic. Lucanis: I know.

Option: Casual's better. Rook: Less clean up. Rook: That's why we're having drinks in a gondola instead of the kitchen. Lucanis: Knew you'd understand.

Lucanis: Is it wrong? Enjoying ourselves while the Antaam terrorize our home... (Crow Origin) Lucanis: Is it wrong? Enjoying ourselves while the Antaam terrorize Antiva... Rook: Does it feel wrong?

(apparently Rook moved, causing the boat to rock.) Lucanis: Careful. Gondolas are more fashionable than they are stable. Rook: They're plenty sturdy. Rook: See. Nothing to— Rook: Oops? Lucanis: You were saying? Rook: Sorry. Lucanis: (Chuckles) Classic Rook. Rook: Classic Rook, he'll/she'll/tehey'll never change. Rook: I've made things awkward. Lucanis: I like this side of you. Lucanis: More wine? Rook: I saved the wine? Lucanis: (Laughs)

(Talon's version) Rook: How are you settling in as First Talon? Lucanis: There was some initial... friction with Caterina, but she got over it. Lucanis: She thought I'd do things her way and was surprised when I had my own ideas. Rook: Really? You'd think she'd be the most welcoming. Lucanis: No.

Rook: Have you spoken to Caterina or the others? Lucanis: Letters here and there. We haven't met since the party. Lucanis: I don't want to cut ties. Lucanis: But Caterina needs to get used to the fact that I'm no longer her heir. Rook: Are you used to it? Lucanis: I was never comfortable with the role to begin with. Rook: So, no regrets? Lucanis: (Sigh) Rook: It's a yes or no question, Lucanis. Lucanis: It's not. You've enough experience with regret to know that.

Rook: I respect your decision to walk away. Lucanis: It wasn't an easy decision. Lucanis: It was hard. Walking away. Rook: It was hard watching it. Lucanis: Let's not talk about me.

Rook: It's not an interrogation if you care. Lucanis: Why not? I've been thoroughly interrogated. Rook: (Snorts) Is that how it works?

Option: Your priorities have changed. Rook: You've changed your tune. Lucanis: I am. On what's important.

Lucanis: Rook. I owe you. For my life, my freedom.

Option: Consider it paid in full. Rook: That debt was paid when you helped us defeat the elven gods. Lucanis: No. That was a job. What you've done for me...

Option: I needed a mage killer. Rook: I had selfish reasons. Lucanis: Rook. I'm serious. Lucanis: Whatever your reasons...

Lucanis: The Venatori killed the man I was. Lucanis: You put the fight—the life—back into me. Rook: I... Thanks.

Lucanis: If you need someone taken care of... Just say the word. Lucanis: Your enemies are House Dellamorte's enemies. (Talon's line) Lucanis: Your enemies are my enemies.

Option: You make murder sound sweet. Rook: Awww. That's sweet. And scary. Lucanis: Of course those are the same thing to you. Rook: I was only teasing. Lucanis: How am I supposed to argue when you say things like that?

Option: I'll settle for friendship. Rook: Or we could just be friends? No killing required. Rook: I still care about you—as a friend. Lucanis: Didn't want you to get the wrong idea... Lucanis: We're still friends. Lucanis: If that's what you want... Rook: Appreciate it.

(non romance/friendship version?) Rook: Oh, I'm aware. Just haven't figured out what I want in return. Lucanis: (Chuckles) Lucanis: For a price. Rook: And you'll charge me... Lucanis: Like I said—a fair rate. (Talon's line) Lucanis: I'm not a Crow anymore. Rates are negotiable. Rook: Still sounds pretty Crow-y to me.

Rook: It's passed sundown. Lucanis: (Sighs) Rook: Time to go? Lucanis: I've business before we return. Rook: What kind of business? Lucanis: Competitive analysis.

Lucanis: Don't worry. I'll collect. Rook: Fun time over? Lucanis: I've business before we return. Rook: What kind of business? Lucanis: Competitive analysis.

Possibly lines from a subsequent quest.

Rook: Business at a Chantry. Not very Andrastian of you. Lucanis: What in our experience together makes you think I'm a good Andrastian? Rook: (Chuckles) Fair enough.

Rook: You sound like you have a plan. Lucanis: Always another mark. Rook: I take it the Antaam are the subject of this so-called analysis? Rook: Why do I get the feeling there's going to be less "analysis" and more stabby-stab? Lucanis: Keeps Wrath content. (Wrath is Spite's previous name?)

Lucanis: Viago said it'd be a fitting spot. Rook: You've proven it's a good spot for an ambush. Lucanis: And you're loud. Which do you think will attract the Antaam?

Meeting with Ashur

It seems as if Lucanis and the Viper were discussing their business, and then Rook came.

The Viper: If you don't trust my intel— Lucanis: I trust your intel and... Lucanis: Fortunate the Rook is here to save the day. Rook: The Rook can detect sarcasm!

Option: Ashur, you shouldn't be here. Rook: This isn't Minrathous. Rook: Ashur, if the Antaam find out you're here... The Viper: I've paid the right people so that they don't.

Option: You two make quite the pair. Rook: The Viper and the Demon. Sounds like a nursery rhyme to scare children.

The Viper: I was just leaving. Rook: Leaving so soon? Rook: You don't have to. Lucanis and I could show you the sights. Rook: There's wine tasting, Antaam assassinating, gambling— Lucanis: Rook. The Viper: Go ahead. I can afford it. Lucanis: (Grumbles.) Course you can. The Viper: You're ruining Rook's fun. Rook: Think about my offer.

The Viper: Should I pay now or— Lucanis: Just go.

Rook: What did he want? Lucanis: Some of us have work to do. Lucanis: It's about time I take care of things at home.

Rook: Who's the mark? Lucanis: Venatori who fled Minrathous after Elgar'nan's fall. Rook: That's why Ashur was here. Lucanis: He's the one who hired me to dismantle the Venatori in the first place. Lucanis: Might as well finish the job.

The most unclear part

Maybe it's related to the quest to kill the Venatori that Viper pointed out.

Rook: Can't take the huge door. Lucanis: The Venatori are inside. Strike from above and we'll take them by surprise. Rook: Above, eh? Rook: Good thing I'm not afraid of heights.

Rook: Not sure why Antivans even build doors. Rook: We never use them. (Crow Origin) Rook: You never use them. Lucanis: We're the Antivan-fucking-Crows.

Rook: We need to be cautious. Rook: If we're not careful, he'll kill the girl. Lucanis: Not if he's dead.

Lucanis: Focus on the self-important bastard. I'll take care of the rest. Rook: They're all self-important—and why do you get so many? Lucanis: Their predictability makes them easy targets.

Venatori: Two, four, six piggies come to slaughter. Venatori: Be grateful. Your meager existence will serve a higher cause. Rook: I'll show you a higher cause right up your— Venatori: (Grunts!) Venatori: Uh—God killer! Right he— Lucanis: Mage killer. Venatori: (Yells in pain) Rook: Lucanis! That's cheating! Lucanis!

Lucanis: Fucking Venatori. Rook: (Sigh) You can take the blood mages out of Minrathous, but…

[isagrimorie]

Agathaʼs coat.

Linings are important. They are a peak into the private space of a character or garment. In the case of Agatha’s coat, I wanted to design something that would be a pictorial history and prophecy of Agatha’s character arc within the show. I knew we might only glimpse it on camera and so it in truth… I made it for Kathryn. By creating a complex and private art piece that only we might know is there, it became my personal spell I was casting for her to “have a good show.”

It starts with a murder of crows gathering in a chaotic cloud up behind her shoulders. They begin to dive down and pour themselves into columns in each of the skirt panels and as they fall, their bodies transform into protection runes. They collect near the hem organizing themselves into elaborate sigils, each one telling part of her story. I asked my costume graphics designer @sergiomechoulam to pull lots of inspiration from Norse symbology.

Each of the skirt panels contains 1 talisman from left to right: Grief/Loss Ingenuity Consumption Beguilement Mentorship

We also created specific graphics for the sleeve cuffs: Left hand (inward/receiving): CONSUMPTION Right hand (outward/casting): DECEPTION

(source: daniel selon instagram)

[lay-z]

WALK THE PLANK | Part 1

Happy Mermay! 𓂃𓂁𓂃 ོ

— mershark!Simon Riley × fem!Reader — 18+ | Pirates of the Caribbean AU; magic; strangers to lovers; slowburn-ish; monsterfucking; possessive/territorial! Simon; breeding kink; time skips; loss of virginity; canon-typical violence; smut; fluff; dub-con (to be safe)

You have been drawn to the sea since your mother gave birth on a pirate ship.

Even though your father warned you to stay away from the Gems Cove many a times while growing up, told you to stop swimming there, stop feeding the fish, stop praying to Calypso, stop serenading the bloody sea at dusk when the last golden rays of sunlight disappear behind the horizon, because you cannot even comprehend what lingers in the depths of the reef, sweet lassie, you never listened, and when your father left one last time to follow after his Captain’s orders one last time, there was no one left to tell you to stop going there.  

And with your dear father’s disappearance, your feet only carried you towards the cove with more purpose—and a lot more spite. 

Raised and fed by kind townspeople who took pity on your situation, you continued to spend your teenhood at Gems Cove, glaring at the horizon and quietly cursing ever ship that sailed by and didn’t magically take you away. 

A warm breeze sweeps through your hair, swirls around your bare legs as you stand there in your flowy white undergarments, dress and boots discarded in a haphazard heap in the shade of a rock, salt curling the strands and sticking to your dewy skin, sunrays dancing on the crystal-clear water, sparkling like a million gemstones. 

“Perhaps I’ll become a bloody pirate like you, eh? How does that fucking sound, father?” you sneer again, angrily flicking another broken seashell over the glittering surface as you stand on the rotten boards of the old jetty, gentle waves lapping against the jagged rocks and wooden pillars supporting the planks. 

It’s what you’ve been doing for the past decade, whenever you realize once again how incredibly meaningless and mundane your life has turned out to be, like a ruffled feather blowing in the wind—working as a hierling on fishing boats to get by, helping out as a seamstress and barmaid, selling self-made jewellery to drunken travellers, and avoiding the local brothel at all costs like Davy Jones avoids dry land. 

Your father had always promised to take you with him—“when you’re old enough, sweet lassie”—though it was too late when you realized that he was simply staving you off. You would have never been old enough, always his little lassie, too soft for the ocean—a pebble with no edges, smoothed by the current. 

“Perhaps... Perhaps I’ll have a child only to abandon it, too, huh? Or even better, I bloody snuff it givin’ birth to it like mother did!” You scoff, and the sound ricochets around the enclosing cliffs sharply, like the shot of a well-maintained pistol. 

A murder of crows and a few scattered seagulls feeding on a large mutt’s cadaver at the beach nearby, are startled by the sound and take off flight; distracting you momentarily as you glance over your shoulder, squinting against the slowly setting sunlight. 

You barely register the gentle sloshing of waves behind you. The mass that heaves itself out of the water to peek up at the jetty, and the quiet, steady dribble of fat drops dripping off sleek skin, back into the ocean.  

When you turn around again, you let out a surprised yelp and nearly jump backwards at the sudden sight that greets you, stumbling on bare feet, almost slipping on slick algae. 

He’s huge, and it’s barely half his torso that’s sticking out of the water. 

Black, beady eyes—marbles containing the depths of the sea—staring at you, with a rather curious twinkle, from behind a mask crafted out of what you assume must be a cracked human skull, secured around his head with a frayed string of hemp rope, its upper row of teeth twinkling with a gold tooth. It exposes a crown of short brown hair sticking to his skull, the sharp curve of jawline and a plump, rosy bottom lip. 

His skin is pale, with a silvery shimmer and faint grey stripes along his upper arms and ribs, depending how the light catches it. Paler than the white sand on the beach, like it has never been kissed by the afternoon sun. 

Blessed with wide shoulders, a bulky chest, chiselled abs, and large arms with bulging muscles and protruding blue veins running along the inside of his forearms. Half a brown leather harness is secured around his upper torso, a short and tattered sheath attached to it, the blade’s ivory handle seemingly carved from some great fishbone. 

You’ve never seen a man quite this large, not even on your father’s crew, but once you spot the row of gills on each side of his neck, you know that you’re not faced with a man, but a beast—and suddenly, all doubts you once held vanish. 

As it turns out, your father didn’t lie in his bedtime stories, didn’t exaggerate when he warned you all those years ago: “There are things–beings–lingerin’ below the surface that might not make sense to us, but it don’t mean they’re not real. Aye? If ye feel like ye’re bein’ stalked by the water, chances are bloody high tha’ ye are, lassie.” 

“Who–Who are you?” You shake your head, rubbing your eyes on wobbly legs to make sure you’re not dreaming again. 

He doesn’t answer at first, only regards you with those dark, soulless eyes, head tilted like a puppy experiencing something new while his chest rises and falls with shallow breaths, until you find your footing again, slowly backing away from the edge of the jetty, holding your breath despite the salty air scratching in your lungs. 

“Wait!” He calls out firmly with a voice like gravel coated in oil, barking like a captain yet pleading like a lost boy. You freeze, exhaling a shuddering breath while your sweaty skin pebbles with goosebumps. 

The water parts as he glides through it with ease, closing distance while your eyes flicker to observe the large silhouette of his lower half moving below the surface, causing your eyes to widen in fear and disbelief—and curiosity as it begins to tickle you in the back of your mind. 

You should grab your clothes and run far away, but you stay where you are, mesmerized by the creature who is now pulling himself out of the water, bracing his forearms on the edge of the first planks while they creak under his added weight.  

For a moment, you’re distracted by his body and the sheer power emanating from him; his hands so brawny and veined, he looks like he could crack a coconut without any effort. 

“My name,” he takes a deep breath as if it strains him to speak, “is Simon.”  

“Simon,” you repeat, and something splashes sharply behind him, breaking the surface like he’s excited to hear you utter his name, and you wonder if your eyes have deceived you—or if you’ve truly just seen a shark tail. 

There is a brief yet tense pause, then he speaks your name, loud and clear, and your heart throbs inside your chest. “Why are ya so angry again?” he asks casually, as if he’s talking to an old friend. 

Simon belongs to the mythical merfolk. 

Different than the mermaids and men you’ve heard of through legends and lore, and the heresy fishermen and pirates alike love to spread, the creatures who call the territory around Whitecap Bay and Isla Sirena their home, he’s a maverick, a lone sea ghoul. 

Unlike them, he doesn’t belong to any pod. He’s been on his own for most of his life. 

Mershark, they call themselves. “Aye, stronger than those pretty fish,” he tells you one day two, chortling when he adds, “smarter, too.” 

He does look like a ruthless tiger shark, his lower half nearly twice as long as a human body, with tough skin, criss-crossed with battle and other scars. And when he catches how your gaze lingers on his unique body, a rare smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, nearly preening under your attention. 

Simon lets you inspect and learn as you please, answers your questions about his tail, and why it doesn’t look like any of the merfolk drawings you’ve seen in books—his large caudal fin like a shark’s, undulating from side to side rather than up and down whenever he swims. 

And you start spending more time at the cove and less at your hometown, ignoring your lack of money and possibilities in favour of being with him—your scarily handsome sea beast. 

After five days, you bring what is necessary, along with a tattered pillow and thin blanket as you stay more nights at the beach, reading aloud old books to him as he can neither read nor write, and sleeping in the sand while Simon prowls his territory underwater, hunting at night. 

You’ve never had a friend quite like him, if any at all, but neither ever did he, from what you can tell. 

He gets terribly restless when you do end up leaving the cove a couple of hours a day, pacing while the big trademark fin of a shark swims circles in the bay until you return, and Simon ends up bringing you fish to cook over an open bonfire and fresh clams to slurp with lemon juice to keep you from having to leave him again; always making sure you’re fed while he lingers; sometimes sitting awkwardly in the shallows with you, when the tide is lowest, and the temperature burns too hot. 

It’s peaceful, being with him.  

“Everyone always told me to stay away from Gems Cove. Said it’s too dangerous and cursed,” you remark, kissing your teeth in snide as you gaze out on the calm water. “Nothin’ ever happened, and they stopped pestering me eventually, though.” 

There is a pause after you tell him, and you wonder if he’s even listening to you, but then he opens his mouth to speak, and you realize that he’d been hesitating. 

“I’ve watched over you whenever ya swam here. Nothin’ would’ve ever happened to you, because I never allowed it,” he admits sheepishly after barely ten days of knowing each other, as the late afternoon sun inches towards the horizon. He points a finger at the span of the cove. “F’all these years, y’know?” 

Simon looks straight ahead as you gaze up at him, his skull mask resting in your lap after taking it off for him, and you use the moment to admire how the sunlight makes his dark blonde hair shine, the unruly strands now close-cropped, thanks to you, exposing the three deep claw marks at the side of his skull from a fight with a merman.  

Then his jaw clenches and his cheek ticks as if he regrets telling you now, but your heart skips a beat at his admission, utterly touched by it.  

“Why?” you croak, and your eyes sting with salty sea spray.  

His head tips down at your hand now resting where his hip should be and where his body turns twisted, abnormal. Still, your thumb rubs soothing circles on his sleek looking yet rough skin, sharp like sand and fine glass shards. 

Reaching out, he takes your right hand, turns it over to look at your palm, tracing the jagged scar in the middle of it, and huffing through his nose at the memories flooding his mind, before he speaks: “Because you saved me and almost bloody died doin’ it.” 

You don’t remember it, but Simon recounts that you’d lost consciousness back then. He could never forget it—stuck and tangled up in a net, thin ropes biting into his skin while a fat hook was piercing his dorsal fin, his own blood attracting more sharks. 

You’d jumped into the dark water without hesitation, the full moon the only light illuminating the restless waves, and you cut him free with a rusty pocketknife before pulling out the hook. And Simon remembers your sharp cry of pain, the one that made his heart drop heavy in his chest, then the sweet and copper scent of your blood as it dripped onto him and into the sea, when the hook went through your palm.  

Barely a decade old the both of you, when he had to watch from afar how loud men hauled you out of the angry water, pressing down on your still flat chest with force until you sputtered and coughed gallons of salty water while death kept clinging to your complexion. 

Simon still wishes he could’ve kissed you back then, protect you from drowning like that, but he was still a silly pup—oblivious to his own powers, because nobody close to him was still alive to teach him. 

His shoulders slouch, dry skin pulling taut over his muscles after spending too much time out of the water. 

“I never even got to say ‘thank you’ back then.” 

The sourness of lemons from supper is still sticking to your lips as you lick them, the taste of seafood lingering in the back of your throat as you listen and watch, barely breathing while Simon paints a vivid picture in your head; lifting the fog of a sad, lonely childhood for a smidge to teach you how you got that nasty scar on your hand. 

“You don’t have to thank me,” you reply, not moving your hand as he keeps cradling it in his. “I’d do it again in a heartbeat.” 

Then, your father’s words come to your mind: “Whenever the sea calls out to ye, ye walk the plank and take a jump, lassie.” He’d always laugh fondly. “One fearless minx, ye are. Every pirate cap’n would fear the lass who’d cheated Calypso of another innocent soul.” 

It makes more sense now, but before you can think about it, Simon turns to you, his eyes dark pools of nothingness, swallowing up all the molten golden brown in his irises.  

“That’s what I’m afraid of, love. Bloody reckless y'are.” There is no malice in his baritone voice, just a hint of exasperation and fatigue, as if he’s done with your bollocks after years of playing guardian angel and keeping himself hidden in a desperate attempt not to scare you away, but then there’s a faint smile lifting the scarred corner of his lip—a gnarly scar caused by another fisherman's hook, he’d told you. 

A genuine smile graces your lips when you entwine your fingers with his, feeling the smooth, translucent webbing between his fingers, while his body tenses, nostrils flaring with a sharp inhale of breath. 

“Wouldn’t have met ya if I was some prudent, Si.” 

It’s still a foreign feeling for him to feel air burn in his lungs for so long, but Simon can’t help the way his breath stutters and hitches whenever you’re close to him—whenever you touch him so effortlessly, just as confidently as when you’d jumped into the water to save him from a cruel death. 

And Simon is almost sure you don’t know, not yet anyway, but you’re doing things to him he’s never experienced before. 

The naturally fearless mershark continues to crumble under your gaze, your voice, your every touch, like a delicate sandcastle blown over by the breeze. He’d endure the burn of air in his lungs, of sunrays on his sensitive skin, a thousand times over if it means he can spend another moment in your bright presence. 

“Aye.” He returns your smile, squeezing your hand lightly as you hold his gaze. “Guess ye’r right.” 

For the first time in his pathetic life, Simon doesn’t feel that cold and crippling kind of loneliness, and unbeknownst to him, you feel very much the same. 

After two weeks, when the Caribbean sun burns too hot at noon, Simon steals you away from the Gems Cover, has he listened to you hiss and moan about your townspeople and the desire to leave the island one too many times in this short amount of time. 

“Bring water,” he keeps calling out to you like a mother hen, bracing his arms on the jetty as he watches you fussing about in your makeshift camp at the beach. “Can’t have ya faintin’ on me,” he adds with a teasing lilt, and you roll your eyes, stuffing your flask into your old leather rucksack. 

When you sit down at the edge of the jetty, bare legs swinging while the hem of your yellowed tunic flutters around your thighs, Simon feels a different kind of warmth stirring in his chest that spreads down to the tip of his tail, pooling and pulsating low in his gut. 

His hands twitch below the surface, clenching into fists to keep himself from reaching out to feel your supple flesh give under his brawny hands, nose twitching as he gets a whiff of your scent—luscious sweat and salt coating your skin, a trace of coconut water on your hair, a whiff of your heavenly womanhood when you squirm on the rotten planks and your knees spread apart.  

His mouth fills with saliva and the urge to shove his face between your thighs becomes unbearable as something wild claws and thrashes behind his ribs, razor sharp teeth tearing him apart from the inside while he tries to tame his instincts. 

Simon exhales slowly through his nose, dark eyes flickering up to observe your gorgeous face from behind his skull mask as you secure your rucksack on your back, so unaware of this predator—lusting, wanting, adoring you so openly.  

Sometimes he wonders if you know that you’re his salvation, and he hates himself for not bracing that surface sooner, for not taking that leap and show himself to you. 

“Now c’mon, little legs.” He clears his throat and water splashes as he lifts his arms up, waiting for you to make the final jump. “I’m takin’ ya for a swim.” 

Your pearly teeth flash with a grin and then you slip off the edge, right into his embrace before he cradles you close to his buff chest while a pleased rumble bubbles up in his throat at the weight of you finally in his arms, legs wrapping around his midriff where man meets shark. 

“Fuckin’ hell, ye’r squishy,” Simon mutters under his breath, earning a glare as he snorts in amusement and slight embarrassment, pale cheeks flushing under the bone of his mask. “I–I mean... soft. In a–a good way.” He adjusts his grip on you, cupping the back of your thighs, squeezing involuntarily. 

You squirm against his body, lashes fluttering against the spray and breeze whipping around your body, while your heart beats rapidly against your ribcage, overwhelmed by the closeness to him, not having expected nor ever experienced this effect from a anyone.  

“Hold on tight now, aye?” 

Adjusting your grip around his neck, you nod, and Simon eases himself into the water, floating on his back while he has you lay on his broad body, keeping you secured to his chest while he starts moving his tail underwater, gliding through the waves as he manoeuvres you both out of the familiar cove, past the colourful reef where the sheltered bay opens up into the vast ocean. 

“Haven’t been out in open water in so long,” you start shakily, eyes darting around, but the sun’s reflection on the surface blinds you too badly. “What if someone sees us out here?” 

Simon shrugs. “Don’t ya worry ‘bout that. I know these waters better than anyone,” he assures you, sounding proud while his chest puffs out. 

“Sounds like you expect a pat on your head for that,” you quip as you play with the hair at his nape underwater, and there is a brief pause before his tail breaches to splash a cold wave of water on you.  

You squeal and Simon smirks triumphantly at the sound you make, and he can’t stop his hands from roaming over the curve of your back, the thin fabric of your drenched tunic now clinging to your body like a second skin. His fingers twitch to rip it clean off and shed the barrier between you both, but again he pushes the urge far away into the darkest depths of his mind. 

The secret he’s so determined to show you turns out to be a cave halfway around the island; unreachable from land, its entrance hidden behind large lumps of boulders covered in moss, seaweed and barnacles. An old smugglers hideout he had discovered in his years of calling this island his territory, though no one has returned here since the Royal Navy has been patrolling close to the island occasionally. 

As Simon takes you farther inside, the pool of turquoise water ends in a U-shaped landmass of dark glimmering stone, surrounded by a solid rocky wall with large cracks at the ceiling where daylight spills inside and illuminates the cave. It smells sweet and clean, like a source of fresh water is nearby. 

When he sets you down on a dryer spot of stone, you push yourself up slowly, your gaze wandering around the cave in awe, head tilted back, while Simon watches, eyes crinkling deep in the corners with a pleased smile at your reaction. 

“You like it?” You nod eagerly, a breathless laugh erupting from your lungs. “Yes! This place is beautiful, Si!” 

The water ripples around Simon’s midriff while his tail swishes below the surface, like a mongrel wagging its tail. 

A few hours later, Simon is lounging on his back on a larger, flat rock in the middle of the pool while listens to the gentle padding of your bare feet echoing around the cave, enjoying the shade and warm, damp air, while you continue to explore each nook and corner curiously, letting him know whenever you find something worth mentioning. The sound so soothing to him, he nearly dozes off with one arm propped up behind his head. 

You’ve found the pile of driftwood that he’d brought to the cave a few days ago, when he’d shoved them into place where the sun shines the brightest through the cracks in the ceiling to let them dry, and you’ve been trying to build and start a fire for a while before you call out his name suddenly.  

Simon cracks one eye open, waiting. “Is this your home? Uhm, I mean... Is this where you stay when you’re not at the cove with me?” He lifts his head up and catches you standing at the edge of the pool, dipping your toes into the water tentatively.  

“No,” he answers eventually, his tone curt. “I don’t have a home.” You are his home, but he can’t possibly tell you that now.  

“So,” you start again, and Simon props himself up on his elbows as he notices how you suddenly avoid his eyes. “Why did you never,” you shrug, pulling your toes from the water, “y’know... try to find a–” You make a vague hand gesture in the air, and his stomach twists into a thousand tight knots. 

Simon utters your name, though it comes out as a growl. “A what?” 

Your pretty eyes snap up to meet his and you look so innocent, he can barely endure the sight. His chest heaves and his tail slashes briefly before he speaks: “A pod? A family? Come on, say it.” 

You lick your dry lips as your cheek warm up. “A mate, Simon.” 

His tail swishes, stirring the water. A muscle in his jaw ticks as he clenches his teeth tightly. This question alone nearly offends him, especially coming from you, and he doesn’t quite know what to say while the truth is already trying to claw itself through his gills and up his throat, burning in the back of his tongue as if he ate something rancid and rotten. 

Then he huffs. “Why don’t you have one?” He doesn’t even want to know the answer, and fear clogs up his veins when he briefly imagines that you already have one, that you’re simply spending time with a lonely bastard like him out of pity and kindness.  

You kick a tiny seashell into the water as you shrug, looking like a child that doesn’t know how to explain itself.  

“Never liked anyone in my town. The men are all just–” You sigh, shrugging again, unaware that Simon is already seething at the mere mention that you’ve looked at males in the past.  

But the truth is mundane—you feared you’d end up like your mother, with a man who loved his freedom and a life of piracy more than her, only to die scared, giving birth to her child during a storm on a pirate ship. 

“Not bloody good enough for you.” He finishes your sentence with a frown on his face. They’re not the words you would’ve used, but deep down, you agree with him.  

A dreary smile tugs at your lips as you finally look at him, regarding him lolling about in the rock, muscles stretching and flexing in a way that twists and turns your insides warm and your smile more bashful.  

“Perhaps, aye,” you agree, and Simon perks up at that, heart fluttering with hope. “Perhaps that’s it.” 

Yes, I planned this as a oneshot, but things got out of hand and I'm having way too much fun in this universe. 🙃 I hope you've enjoyed the first part! If so, I'd always appreaciate your feedback, likes & reblogs. Thank you so much! 🧜🏼‍♂️🩵

[secondlina]

There's only 5 days left to get your hands on these sweet Crow Time enamel pins 📌

GET A MURDER HERE!

[leeechin]

ཊ˃̵ ⑅ ཉ little lamb [sim jaeyun] 𓈒ིུ𖥨᩠ׄ݁

⋆ summary: you meet a man in the middle of the night, so charming and so alluring.. but something about this man seems so.. dangerous. ━╋ pairing: killer!jake x fem!reader. (horror au)

⌗ warnings: reader is very naive, jake is a murderer in this omg. blood, weapons such as a knife & crow bar, etc but not used on reader. horror and thriller au please read with caution. mdni. smut. pwp, inexperienced reader, dom!jake, size kink bcuz i can’t not write bigdick!jake agenda, dark jokes/humor (?), unprotected sex, oral (f&m rec), fingering, multiple positions (2 smut scenes lol), dacryphillia, car sex, motel room sex, rough sex. yandere jake (?), mention of god once, mentions of murder with descriptions.

word count: 6.3k

⪩⪨ lee’s note: i’ve never written something like this before so pls bare with me if it’s bad 😣 enjoy the halloween special :D ur thoughts are appreciated as always <3

★ find my other works here + post queue

“Don’t go wandering ‘round a time like this.” The police officer warns you. “I’d be very devastated to see another report of another young individual being murdered in the streets this late at night.” There had been a recent report of a murder happening to a student your age in town. Around a time like this, a lot of crimes occurred, and you couldn’t avoid it since it was local.. near you.

You insisted to your friends that you were ‘okay’ to get home by yourself after the gathering you had at a nearby club. Luckily, that officer caught you at the right time to warn you and escort you back home safely.

“I hope I don’t see you out this late when I’m patrollin’ the area again.” The officer speaks to you once at the entrance of your apartment. The area you lived in wasn’t too bad, with a locked and secured apartment building. But there were always crimes that occurred; robberies, stabbings, theft, etc. Murder was not a common thing on your street. Bidding you a good bye, you enter the code to get inside the apartment building.

As the elevator door opens, you lock eyes with a man holding a big black duffle bag, walking out of the building in a rush. He was beautiful. The way that man stood with confidence radiating all over his body, and that small smirk he threw at you when you scanned his figure. But the left side of his cheek had a scratch and mark with what is now dried blood. You wanted to know more about this man. You should’ve found his presence suspicious, but you dazedly ignored it. Your apartment was small where everybody on every floor level knew each other, and yet you’ve never seen this man before. That was a warning itself you once again ignored.

Following his path, but slowly, you see him walk into a dimly lighted alley. Seeing a slightly dented, dull colored white car, the man opens the trunk as you see this all unwinding as you get closer. You walk your steps lightly with curiosity plastered all over your face. He opens the trunk, and an item falls out of his bag, a blood covered silver metal crow bar. Your eyes widen, you can’t move. Or you don’t want to. You find yourself standing a good arms reach behind the man, your conscious screaming at you to ‘run run run!’ but all of that is ignored when the man turns to you, another smirk tugging on his face when he sees it’s you. “You know.. you shouldn’t be out here this late doll, especially when you’re wearing this cute little outfit with such a pretty face.” He speaks.

You don’t respond, instead your gaze is still fixed on the crow bar that was in his hand. He finds it amusing, by now, a normal person would’ve ran away. But you stand there, completely still. He doesn’t see fear in your eyes. You were entranced by him, a few seconds of eye contact and here you were; a dimly lighted alley with who knows what could happen to you, many things.

He decides to speak again, his eyes not hiding his predatory gaze and scan of your figure, deliberately checking you out.

“What brings your pretty face here this late of a night—?” Dropping the crow bar back into his duffle bag, zipping it up and closing his trunk. He wipes the blood on his face with the back of his hand, leaning against his trunk, hands going in the pocket of his jacket as he waits for you speak up with an answer. His smirk never leaves his face, chewing on a piece of mint gum obnoxiously.

“I don’t know.” You voice soft, eyes looking down at his worn out shoes. The man lets out a loud laugh, walking towards you, hands still in his pocket, as taller figure leans over you, looking at you as if he was gonna eat you up alive. “You shouldn’t be wandering around here so late at night. Any predator would’ve gotten you as their prey by now, little lamb.” You jump at his words a bit, riiight. You now remember the warning that cop gave to you, but you can’t help but say what comes out your mouth. “You don’t happen to be a murderer.. Do you—?"

Another loud laugh leaves the man’s mouth. No way you really just asked him a question like that. The answer was obviously yes. But he wouldn’t say that out loud, “Those were just props, doll. You would’ve been dead by now if I was a murderer.” You let out a sigh of relief. It was so sad to him at how easily you can believe lies.

No response from you once again, “The name’s Sim Jaeyun. Jake or Jaeyun, whatever you want pretty.” He winks at you, one hand moving out of his pocket, you don’t flinch or feel fear still. Allowing him to move strands of your hair behind your ear. You easily melt into the touch of this stranger man’s hand. “Jaeyun.” You repeat, the irises in his eyes darken at the way you said his name, hand moving to hold the side of your cheek.

“I’m Y/n.”, Introducing yourself, his hand moving away from you and going back in his pocket. Jaeyun wasn’t going to kill you.. He wanted you. “And what are you still doing here, Y/n?” Jaeyun’s voice deep and filled with fake curiosity. You don’t know what had gotten into you, you felt bold, you wanted to be out there more. “I want to get to know you..” Straightening yourself up, fixing your skirt that was slightly rising up. “Get to know me? Huh. How interesting..” Jaeyun chuckles again.

“Well I feel the same way too, sweetheart.” He adds on. You smile, so unknowing of all the things this man has done prior to now. “Why don’t I take you for a little drive —? I have a spot I’ve never shown anybody before.”

The word ‘No’ should’ve came out of your lips, but instead you quickly nodded, taking in his offer of being in his passengers seat.

“Is this spot in the middle of a forest..” Your voice fades as you notice how for the past five minutes, Jaeyun is driving down a dark path with nothing but trees. You thought you must’ve been the funniest person in the world, because with almost anything you said to Jaeyun, he would laugh at you. But it wasn’t that, it was the fact you were so gullible. “Trust me darlin’. We’re almost there.” He reassured you, a hand resting on your thigh.

Jaeyun wasn’t going to harm you. And that was a hidden promise he kept in his head to himself. He couldn’t stand the thought of there being a single scratch on you.

“So what is this spot, Jaeyun—?” Your eyes light up at the view of a huge field of grass by a small lake. Getting out of the passengers seat, you grab Jaeyun’s hand, walking along the grass, you were practically skipping. “This place is somewhere I get all of my things done.” He replies to you. You fidget with the bottom hem of your skirt as you’re reminded of his black duffel bag and the crow bar with blood on it. It was as if he could read your mind, “Nothing’s bad going to happen to you , Y/n.” He brushes off your doubt, the way your name effortlessly rolled out of his lips made you feel weak in the knees.

He was right, you both just simply sat in the blades of grass that went on for miles, talking about yourselves, getting to know each other; “I’ve always wanted to someone this special place of mine.” Jaeyun’s face was happy with content, now that what he said has finally happening, relaxing his back flat on the grass.

Admiring the view of the lake, and the man himself, “It’s such a beautiful place here, Jaeyun..” There goes your soft voice again, and your eyes of adoration. Jaeyun felt like he could become a mad man by any minute now, he felt the desire to keep you close to him, and he wasn’t planning on letting you go anytime soon.

That’s how you found yourself straddling his lap on the drivers’ seat of his car. His lips devouring yours, claiming you as his. You whine against his lips when you feel one of his hands move down to cup at your clothed heat. You hear him let out a deep chuckle as he pulls his lips away, leaving you to feel confused.

Realization hits you like a truck. You were about to sleep with a man you barely know. Despite feeling a deep connection and attachment to Jaeyun, you don’t fully know who he is at all.. Or what he does, despite talking for a couple hours by on the field of grass. “Something on your mind?” Jaeyun hums, his lips trailing along the soft skin of your neck, harshly sucking and marking dark purples spots that can be seen by others.

“Wait Jaeyun—!” You pull yourself away from him. “Hm?” — “What if someone sees us?” Hesitation in your voice at the idea of that. It’s not like you a virgin by any means.. You just haven’t had sex many times. And especially not at a place where people could see you, even if Jaeyun’s windows were tinted. “Doll. Only murderers would be at a spot like this, late at night. But no one’s here. And it’s just you and me.” Jaeyun coos.

You felt weirdly comforted by his words. Easing into his touch, placing your lips over his, it’s much rougher this time, his tongue dances his way into your mouth, it was so sloppy as the smacking sounds filled Jaeyun’s car. “Want more Jaeyun..” You pant, the sound of Jaeyun ripping your panties apart filling your ears. Gasping as your arms wrap around his neck, falling forward slightly as he handles you to where he wants.

“You want me to show you what’s in my disgusting, twisted mind? To ruin you and keep you to myself? Because baby, once I do all that, you can’t leave me.” He warns you, allowing you to rethink your doubts. But you want it all. You don’t care that you’ve met this man a few hours ago, an unknown man in your highly secured apartment, and how it’s 2:37 am in the middle of the night. You wanted to do something for yourself for once, even if deep down, you knew there had to be more to Jaeyun, he doesn’t seem anything like a saint.

You nod rapidly, “Give it all to me Jaeyun. Show me your world.” Your response makes Jaeyun let out a deep laugh at how easy it was to convince you with his words. But, he wasn’t lying in anything he said, Jaeyun was going to make sure you stay by his side, forever. You were easy to read, you were the type of girl that had loyalty painted all over her face. You needed someone to lead you in life, Jaeyun was the perfect person to do that for you. He wouldn’t lay a single hand on you.

“Have you done something like this before?” Jaeyun raises an eyebrow at you, his cold digits tracing along your folds, collecting your wetness making your breath hitch at the contact. “Only a few times.. and not anywhere outside either.” You admit, eyes shying away from his. Jaeyun’s free hand pulls up your chin to look at him again, “Was he good—?” Jaeyun’s eyes darken at the thought of there being another man before him.

“Mmph—! No! Not really—!” You shriek to reply when you feel one of his fingers plunge into your tight cunt, the warmness of your gummy walls clamping around his singular digit making the cold leave his skin. “Can barely take one finger..” He comments, fingers finding a pace comfortable for you. He adds a second finger in, “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll show you what it feels like to be fucked reaaaal good you’ll forget about all of the other times and only remember me.” Emphasizing that one word.

“S’ so good Jaeyun!” You cry out, nails digging into his shirt covered shoulders, the pain giving pleasure to him. You feel him quicken his pace, his thick fingers dragging along your tight warm walls, already having your head spinning and seeing the clouds. “Taking it like such a good girl..” He smiles, feeling his bulge strain through the tight confinements of his boxers and jeans at the sounds that left your lips. You tighten around his digits impossibly tighter when his thumb finds its way to rub at your clit, a sensation you’ve never really experienced before, and you surely want to feel this again.

“Feels good huh—?” Jaeyun asks, a smirk ghosting over his face at the sight of tears rolling down your face. Nothing but pure pleasure coursing through your entire body, and he hasn’t even stuck his dick into you yet. “You’ll always be mine.” Possessiveness filling his tone as he scissors and twists his digits, a whimper leaving your lips at the feeling of pure ecstasy, burying your face into the crook of Jaeyun’s neck to conceal your sounds.

“Don’t hide those pretty sounds from me.” He growls, the free hand that placed on your waist moving to tug at your hair, pulling your face away from his neck. “M’ close Jaeyun please—!” You plead, rolling your hips slightly, feeling his fingertips hit right at that one spot so good.

“Let go for me, darlin’. Show me how good I make you feel.” That was a demand that you didn’t mind to follow; body shaking slightly as you calm from the intensity of your orgasm; body flopping against Jaeyun’s chest. Tapping the side of your exposed thigh, pulling your skirt up; “Don’t get all tired on me doll. I’m not done with you yet.” You sit up, pulling your shirt over your head to leave you only in your bra, tits spilling out of the cups.

Jaeyun curses at the sight, hand moving to the back of your bra, unhooking it effortlessly and tossing it to the passenger seat. “So fuckin’ perfect.” He comments, hands moving to fondle with your sensitive tits, thumbs rubbing roughly over the erected nubs, making you few new sensations, but it wasn’t enough. You wanted the real thing, the million dollar prize, his cock inside you.

It was as if he read your mind, his hands leave your tits, making you let out a needy whine with no more contact on your body. Jaeyun tsks at your desperation, hands unbuckling his belt and pulling down his boxers along his pants. You freeze in place, thick cock shiny in glory in the poorly dim lighted car. Pink mushroom tip throbbing angrily, precum oozing out and down along his length.

Jaeyun just really can’t help but laugh at you. He was a predator engrossed into his prey, the way your eyes had a slight sparkle from the moment you locked eyes with him, to now; Eyes blinking nervously at the sheer size of him. “You can take me, can’t you, doll—?” Jaeyun asks, noticing the subtle shift of your gaze, as you slowly nod.

He moves his arms to rest behind his head, leaning back on the drivers seat, giving you a glance to make a move. “Jaeyun..” — “What’s on your mind doll—?” You take a deep breath, hands resting on his chest, “I’ve never really done this..” You feel embarrassed again, but your eyes don’t leave Jaeyun’s this time. “I know, baby. I just wanted to see if you could do it yourself.” “Can’t do it without your help, Jaeyun.” You frown, hand moving down to grip at his thick length, your hand not being able to fully wrap around it. Jaeyun hisses at the contact. Moving his hands to move your loose strands of hair behind your ear, he places a soft kiss on your forehead, brushing the side of your face. “I got you, doll.”

Holding your hips to hover your sopping cunt directly over his mushroom tip, your hands holding onto his shoulders for dear life. His placement on your hips allows him to circle your entrance over his tip, collecting your wetness with dripping along his thick length. You look down, not sure if you’re gonna be actually able to take it.

“Oh shiiit—! You’re still so much fuckin’ tighter than what I thought.” A long groan leaves Jaeyun’s mouth as he slowly pumps his cock into you, you feel every ridge and vein rubbing against your silky walls, bottoming out eventually. Fresh batches of tears cloud your vision as you’ve never felt anything this big stuffed into you, and Jaeyun was definitely bigger than that ex of yours that went down on you in the past. “S’ so big.” You whimper out, burying your face into Jaeyun’s neck and moaning against his soft skin. You could feel his tip prodding so deep inside you along with the slow strokes he gave you.

The first few thrusts he gave you were soft and tender, but Jaeyun reminded himself that he wanted to ruin you, to show you what it’s like to actually feel good from him only. “Oh goddd—!” You moan out when Jaeyun thrusts his hips up harsher, feeling him in your stomach as a small bulge is poking through your gentle skin.

“I’m far from being god, doll.” Jaeyun smirks, knowing he could quite literally be the devil. “Scream my name. Who’s the one making you feel like this.” He grins at your disheveled figure, desperately holding onto his shoulders as if you’re afraid to crumble and break apart. You’ve never felt like this before, his hips pistoning in and out of you at such a animalistic pace, you’re not sure if you could last longer, and you didn’t want to embarrass yourself by cumming too quickly. Screams of you saying Jaeyun’s name rings in his ear, he is overly joyed with your state.

He handles you like a rag doll. Hands on your hips, pulling you and down along his thick length, a white ring forming on his cock as you cream and convulse around him, feeling your orgasm approaching soon. “You close, doll—?” He asks, teeth nipping one of your ears. A mantra of yes’ leaving your mouth along with your heavy pants as you pathetically attempt to move your hips to meet his movements. The sound of your soft shrieks along with Jaeyun’s harsh grunts filled the car.

His movements not stopping or changing as you allow the coil in your stomach to snap, coating his cock in your creamy white essence, sobs leaving your mouth as you ride out your orgasm.

“Hold it out a little longer f’me doll.” You dive headfirst into overstimulation, Jaeyun continuously bucking his hips up to chase his own orgasm, hips stilling as he shoots thick strings of his cum deep into you. Resting his forehead over yours as you both take a moment to catch your breath. “Did so good for me.” Jaeyun sighs, pulling you off of him, leaving you now empty.

Jaeyun helps you put your clothes back on, but you have no panties. You frown, feeling his cum drip down your thighs. “Are you on the pill—?” You nod yes. Jaeyun sighs in relief, he couldn’t hold himself back today, pulling you back in for a kiss, a string of saliva connecting to the two of you when he pulls away.

“Jaeyun. How am I going to go back to my apartment with no panties..” You did not want the other residents to see Jaeyun’s seed drooling down your legs.

“You just keep your legs closed.” He laughs, spinning the ruined piece of article around his finger.

A week has gone by. There’s a pattern you start to notice. You only saw Jaeyun as soon at it hits dark, the familiar car parking at the alley across your apartment building. You never see him during the daytime.. And you still don’t know a lot about him. You’re drawn to him like a magnet, your friends don’t understand you at all.

“It sounds suspicious Y/n, I don’t know. You only see him at night?” Belle tells you, sipping her drink. You and your small circle of friends constantly ignored the warnings on the news for young adults to avoid roaming the streets past 8:00pm. All of your figured since there were a couple guys in the group, you guys would be safe.

“You don’t understand.” That’s what you say everytime any of your friends would comment on whenever you talked about Jaeyun to them. You felt frustrated, but they were only looking out for you, and you didn’t realize that. “We care about you, Y/n. But, it’s just the fact you’ve never seen this man in broad daylight..” Sungchan says, carefully picking his choice of words.

You guys were wrapping up this gathering to go home. Julie suggests Sungchan to walk you home as there had been an increase of stabbing reports happening around your street, double of the usual numbers. You accept the offer, since after all, Sungchan was only a friend to you..

“Are you sure you don’t need me to go up with you..?” Sungchan double checks, there are no other people around the area, and the cops are making their rounds at the neighboring streets. You nod, because you knew that Jaeyun would be here around this time and he would be the one protecting you incase anything happened.

“Alright then.” Sungchan waves a goodbye, hands in his pockets as he walks across. You turn, away, pressing the security code to enter the building.

What was not known is that Jaeyun is watching from afar, his blood boiled to see another man so close to you. He felt a primitive instinct to do something.

Your ears ring when you hear a familiar shout so loud, as if that person was pleading for help, you’re quick to turn, the security code to the apartment only having half of the numbers entered. Your hand flies to cover your mouth in shock at the sight across you; watching your own friend slowly fall to the ground, a knife lodged straight into his heart, pushing through his chest.

Whoever wanted to kill him, was quick to do it. Because there were no traits, and Sungchan couldn’t have been the one to stab himself. But Jaeyun happened to walk out, and Jaeyun just happened to be taking off black latex gloves and a mask and scanning the surroundings around him, not even amused at the fact there was a now dead body near his feet. Jaeyun simply just brushes it off and grins widely when he sees you across the alley. It was clearly also him who did that to Sungchan, and possibly Mr. Han on the fourth level, who had been actively trying to pursue you. It wasn’t a coincidence.

Tears flowed past your eyes as you froze. You were nonverbal as you simply started to sob into the killer’s arm. And you still weren’t convinced that Jaeyun did it, though the facts were so obvious. “Shhhh. Luckily I came here just in time to be here for you, doll.”

“He just— He— What if he walked up with me..” You cried, tearing soaking onto Jaeyun’s shirt. “You can’t control what happens to people, doll. I’m lucky that nothing happened to you.” Jaeyun responds, a smirk creeping up inside of his head knowing that he has you wrapped around his finger.

“Why are we going out of town—?” You ask Jaeyun, looking out of the windows of his car a couple hours later. You packed a mini suitcase with some clothes as Jaeyun instructed, telling you he wanted to take you to a place to spend some ‘quality time’ for the weekend.

It should’ve been alarming to you that you guys were practically in the middle of nowhere. “Doesn’t it feel so suffocating to be in such a busy city, surrounded by so many people sometimes?” His hand that was resting on the top of your thighs dragging over. It was pitch black, the headlights of his car being the only thing lighting up the road. “It’s just.. I only see you when it’s late at night. How come you never come to see me during the daytime?” Jaeyun sighs, speeding up the car a bit, jaw clenching tightly. You notice the way his jaw loosens once he turns around to glance at you adoringly.

“I’m a busy man, doll. But I always make time for you, don’t I?” Lies continue to pour out of his mouth, yet you never caught onto any of them, simply abiding anything he initiates without questioning.

There’s a radio in the run down motel room. The building is so outdated, it’s quite baffling how such a beat down place is still running. You don’t mind how shabby it is.

'Unsolved Murders in Seoul that are believed to be connected to each other-' Jaeyun shuts off the radio.

“That’s ridiculous.” He laughs, walking towards your figure that was standing where the radio was playing. “You’re so pretty.” Jaeyun mumbles, watching as tears pulled at your eyes, the radio reminding you of how you witnessed your friend slowly dying, and you did nothing.

The image still played in your head, how the blood on his wound oozed out, his weak pleas for help. And all you did was stood there frozen until you saw Jaeyun.

“Still thinking about earlier?” Jaeyun asks, fingers swiping the tears that poured down your cheeks. He was fake sympathizing with you, he didn’t actually care that you lost one of your closest friends, because he was the one that did it, and you’re blatantly choosing right now, to ignore all of the obvious keys.

“What if instead, I called for help? He probably would still be alive right now. And that’s all my fault. ” You stammer, body jumping as you felt Jaeyun’s large hands roam around your body, grasping at your breast through the thin material of his oversized t-shirt you were going to wear to bed, eventually pulling it off your body. “It would’ve been you dead instead. And I wouldn’t want it to be that way. I love you.”

Love? You’ve barely known Jaeyun for a good two to three weeks and yet you feel your heart swirl at the use of that word. You were sure you felt the same way he did. He held a possessive nature you couldn’t quite get a grasp on, but he gave you what you wanted. You were weak to his actions, there was no way he wasn’t the one who killed Sungchan, or was at least suspicious.

“I love you too..” You whispered, lower lip get caught between your teeth when Jaeyun places his lips over the soft skin of your neck, arms wrapping around your waist from behind. “Let me make you feel better. Make you forget all that guilt you have in your head.” He mumbles.

Turning you around, you stand on your tip-toes to place your lips over his, Jaeyun hungrily gaining control and devouring your lips, tongue licking up into your mouth, tangling along with your tongue. You whine against his lips feeling him bite your lower lip, not hard enough to draw blood, but it was rough enough for a reaction.

“So needy.” He laughs, watching the way your hands traveled under his shirt, attempting to pull it off over his head. He pushes your shoulder down, indicating what he wants you to do. You feel so tainted at how quick you were to sink to your knees, eyes looking up awaiting.

He had the eyes of a killer, how his eyes turned so dark when he had someone in the control of his hands. “What are you waiting for? It’s not gonna get sucked by itself.” Pulling down his boxers, his hardened cock springs out, tip pink and leaking with arousal. He watched amused as your eyes trailed to his, then back to his large veiny cock. Carefully placing your soft lips to envelop the thick mushroom tip, nasty sucking sounds filling the room as you slowly push your head forward to take in more of him, choking when you feel his tip hit the back of your throat when your a little over halfway. Loud groans leave Jaeyun’s mouth, not hiding the pleasure from you.

“Just like that shit. Let me fuck that cute mouth of yours huh?” You whine around him, nodding in agreement. You were being used like a toy, Jaeyun’s hands placed on both sides of you face as he pushed his hips forward, chasing for his own pleasure and finding satisfaction in the way you just took anything he gave you.

“God I love how nasty you’ve become for me.” He laughs, pulling out briefly to glance at your ruined state. Your eyes red, full of tears. And one of your bra straps falling off your shoulders, along with your hair all messy from Jaeyun’s grip earlier. “Please Yunnie.” You plead, hands pawing his thighs for him to do something about your own arousal that was leaking through your panties.

The way that nickname flew out of your mouth and into his head made Jaeyun a possessed man, gesturing for you to open up your mouth again, you whine but obey. “Don’t worry, doll. I’ll give you everything you want after you let me fill up that little mouth of yours.” Slapping his heavy cock on your tongue before thrusting back deep into it, throwing his head back at the warmth of your mouth, and how you sucked his base perfectly.

“I’m gonna cum, fuckkk. Such a good girl.” Jaeyun praises, hips battering sloppily as you feel him twitch in your mouth, filling your throat deep with his release, his cum spilling out the sides of your mouth, Jaeyun brings his thumb to swipe at the cum spilling out the sides of your lips, pushing his thumb in for you to suck. Opening your mouth afterwards to show him you swallowed every drop he gave you. A smile of approval on Jaeyun’s face.

Hovering above you on the bed, your neck is littered in dark purple bruises, soft sighs of content leaving your lips when you feel your breast being freed from the confines of your bra, panties peeling off quickly from Jaeyun’s hand as he kneels to be eye level with your dripping cunt. “Please Jae..” You whimper, fingers lacing through his dark brown hair strands, massaging his head slightly as your hooded eyes looking below your spread legs. You didn’t wait for too long when you feel him lick a fat stripe from your entrance to your clit.

“mmmh—!” You mewl out, nails digging into Jaeyun’s head at your head throws back against the bed’s pillows. Your sounds along with the nastiness of Jaeyun’s tongue darting around your dripping cunt, almost burying his face against it, groaning at your sweet taste as he pushes his tongue past your entrance, the warmness of your walls wrapping around his tongue.

His groaning against your cunt sends vibrations and pleasure travelling all over your body, eyes closing as you try to contain your sounds with the thin walls of the run down motel, feeling Jaeyun’s tongue explore every part of your lower half. Your legs start to clamp around his head tightly, feeling how he held the bottom your thighs to keep your legs spread for him, all exposed.

It was as if he was a starved man, devouring you as if it was his last meal, relishing in your wails and cries of the sensations of his tongue along with the pleasurable pain of your nails digging into his head. You were close, and Jaeyun knew that, bye the way your thighs started to slightly shake around his head, the way your fingers tugged chunks of his hair as you tried to ground yourself as your body gives out, finishing all over his lower face.

Your face tints a soft shade of pink as Jaeyun rises up from his eye level position, your release painted all over his face, watching how he used his backhand to wipe it off and lick it, moaning at your sweet taste.

“You can take more of me right?” He asks as he peels off his remaining clothes, looking at the way you rapidly nodded your head, strings of pleas leaving your lips to feel him on you again. A small place is placed on your lips, tasting yourself against your tongue.

You feel yourself being flipped onto your front, the cold sheets sending shivers over your body as Jaeyun handles you to the position he wants, back arching and presenting your continuously dripping cunt, hole clenching around nothing as you feel his hands travel around your lower half, hands squeezing at the soft flesh of your ass, aligning himself to your entrance and pushing in roughly and fast. “Shiiit. Still so tight.” Jaeyun hisses, allowing you no time to adjust, already setting a rough pace that had him lodged in you deep.

“Jaeyun—! Slower!” You moan, the pleasure of his thick cock already making you feel another orgasm approaching, not wanting to pathetically cum too quickly. Feeling him push against the back of your head into the pillows, not listening to you as his pace fastens, tip hitting your cervix repeatedly as all you could is just lay and take it all.

“You’re enjoying this a little too much.” Jaeyun teases, feeling the way your walls clamped around his thickness with each stroke of his harsh thrusts, wet sounds of his cock repeatedly sliding in and out of you filling the room. Your push your own face harder into the pillows, trying to contain your sounds as Jaeyun’s relentless pace didn’t stop, even as you finished around him for the second time, going into overstimulation as his hips continuously smacked against your thighs.

“More Jaeyun.” You whisper, turning your head slightly, even though you deemed yourself done, a part of you still wanted to take more, feeling yourself being flipped onto your back. God, you were such a sight for Jaeyun. Your doe glossy eyes meeting his darkened irises, silently begging for him to stick his cock back in you.

“Hold your thighs up for me.” He tells you, guiding you to make that happen. You were nearly folded in half, your puffy pussy on display, hole pulsating and begging to suck Jaeyun back in. A loud moan that other guests probably heard leaves your lips as Jaeyun re-enters you, this new position making him hit deeper in your cunt.

“Shitshitshit—!” You cry out, trying to hold yourself up as Jaeyun wanted as he relentlessly jackhammered his cock into you over and over again. He lets out a string of low groans, along with your high-pitched moans, feeling how tight you clenched around him. “Feels good huh?” A smirk plastered on his face as he looks down at the way his cock slid in you so deep, keeping up with his rough and fast place, moving to place one of your legs over his shoulders. Your head lolled to the side, overwhelmed with pleasure seeping into your body.

“M’ gonna cum again ‘Yun.” You whimper, feeling his tip make a small bulge against your stomach as your palm presses down against it. “Hold or f’me a little doll.” He grits his teeth, thrusts becoming more sloppy as he’s only focused on chasing his own release. Holding your hips so tight, you were sure there would be marks by the time you woke up in the morning.

“Good fuckin’ doll.” Jaeyun sighs, thick strings of his cum filling you so deep, as he helps you ride out your orgasm, shuttering around his cock. Your eyes are giving out, feeling Jaeyun crash his body to the open space beside you on the mattress. The darkness in his eyes was gone, only full with what you saw as love and affection. He mumbled another promise to you that had your heart racing naively.

“I will always take care of you, doll. No matter what it takes, I will do anything for you.” And he genuinely meant what he said, even if it took such unorthodox ways to keep you by his side.

The news broadcast on the television plays, the sound of the water running in the bathroom as Jaeyun is taking a shower. You’re wearing one of his t-shirts, lazily standing close to the television as you’re eating breakfast from room service. You’re half paying attention to what the news anchor is saying. But then you pause when you hear Sungchan’s death being mentioned again.

More details are added on, along with blurred footage of Jaeyun’s figure from hours ago, in the exact outfit you ran into him wearing, his face is covered by the mask. But you knew it was him. You couldn’t be naive to this.

Jaeyun is a murderer. And you were on the run with a wanted man that you were in love with.

Your jaw opens, dropping the fork, and eventually the plate with your food, nothing bothering to clean the mess up as you watch the news explaining more detail. You felt so stupid, not even noticing Jaeyun’s presence in the room as you stood there lifelessly trying to process this ‘newfound’ news.

And for once as your eyes meet Jaeyun’s, they’re filled with fear. His pupils dark and filled with wickedness. A sly grin is plastered on his face as he stares at you.

“Well well well, the little lamb has finally realized she’s fallen into the arms of its predator.”

— @00kittenz @pshbites @selleprotection @p4ranormaluv @slutforjaeyun @jaeyunsbimbo @faithnsstuff

note: thank u so much for 460+ followers 🥹🥹!! i appreciate all the support you guys give on my posts 🤧🤧🫶🫶

[foldingfittedsheets]

Today at work a little crow fledgling was just having the worst damn day. The little goober kept trying to shove its way into the door and screaming at its reflection while I was helping a lady look at a bed.

I pointed it out to her and together we regarded the infant screaming.

After she left my coworker came up and informed me there was a bird on her car. I went out to look and lo, the fledgling had scrambled up onto her windshield and was pecking forlornly at its reflection.

It stayed perched there in the hot sun, trying to move higher up the car with no success but too scared to fly down. She was agitated that it was on her car since she didn’t know if it would leave on its own.

“It’s a baby,” I told her, “It’s still learning how to fly.”

“That’s a baby?! It’s so big!”

“Yeah, it’s just a little guy.”

I went out to investigate. The parents began screaming and swooping. I placated them with crackers which they accepted without relenting their screaming. My coworker said she could now see that the creature on her car was indeed a baby with the sleek black parents swooshing angrily around in the air.

We regarded the baby together. After a while I started noticing it was showing signs of fatigue and distress. Mouth gaping but not begging for food, wings drooping. I went back out to check on it.

I was debating moving the baby; the day kept getting hotter and it didn’t have the energy or skill to relocate itself. My coworker also wanted the bird to stop pooping on her car. So eventually I announced, “I’m gonna move the bird.”

“Your gonna grab it? Aren’t you scared?”

I looked at her in bafflement. I grew up around every imaginable kind of fowl. The only bird I’d be scared of would be some of the big flightless ones. Even geese/swans are manageable if you just grab their necks before they really get flapping. The parents were not gonna go for my eyes like magpies and in general crows tend to recognize when you’re trying to help. “It’s just a little baby guy. It’s fine.”

I approached the baby amidst its parents shrieking crow obscenities down upon me. I scooped it gently like the burger.

I cannot begin to convey how soft that baby crow felt. It was the downiest most pleasant tactile thing that I’ve maybe ever held and the experience was only slightly marred by the goober trying ineffectually to bite me. It was stymied by the fact that it ain’t my first rodeo.

I brought it ten feet away to a nice shady tree. I held the baby gently so it could get its feet under it on the branch. It seemed a bit confused at this point but eventually gripped the branch and I stepped back and threw peanuts in self defense while the angry parents swooped showily around at me.

It stayed there pretty much the rest of the day. Its parents both checked in to make sure I hadn’t murdered it then flew back to where we could see a nest. So best theory is that this dingus was the first to start fledging and couldn’t actually return to the nest after launching.

I told my wife afterward and they went, “You. You touched the bird?!” My coworkers husband was also flabbergasted that I’d been brave enough to grab it. My coworker said she was just gonna shove it off her car with a broom.

As if they didn’t know who they married. As if I am not someone who would confidently help a stray cat or wrangle a chicken.

I informed them that barring gloves I had thoroughly washed my hands twice and it was worth it to get the silly infant off a slippery car and into the shade.

[chubby-bun-bun]

untitled (part 1)

You help out an injured crow. It seems to be a bit of a strange crow, though.

nav: one (current), two, three, four, five, six or: read on ao3

tags: sylus x reader, still linkon city but mc is not a hunter, basically an alternate universe, minor character deaths, mc has a distinct backstory and personality, slow burn, hurt/comfort, you’re lowkey a disney princess witch character who attracts crows 🐦‍⬛✨💅

314.27.

You exhale slowly. Barely enough to cover food for the next two weeks, until your next paycheck. That nasty cold last week really gutted this month’s budget.

With a heavy heart, you retrieve your card from the ATM and start your usual trek toward the city park, stopping by the familiar food cart that sells peanuts at a good price. (Yes, a questionable purchase, considering your financial situation. No, you will not acknowledge said questionable purchase.)

Linkon City in mid-December is bone-chillingly cold, blanketed in powdery snow—but that’s never stopped you from your daily visit to the park. The freezing temperatures tend to drive most people away, leaving the usually lively space quiet. You, however, can’t resist coming to see your friends.

Caw! Caw! Caw!

Speak of the devil. Well, devils.

A giddy smile tugs at your lips, and the exhaustion from the day evaporates.

“Hi!” you call out to the murder of crows circling above. Their midnight feathers gleam against the brilliant pink, orange, and purple hues of the winter sunset. You reach into the inside pocket of your weathered but ever-loyal overcoat and grab a handful of peanuts, tossing them onto the snow-free patches of ground.

The crows descend immediately, squabbling as they pick at the treats.

Moving carefully so you don’t spook them, you settle onto a nearby bench. A few of the bolder ones flutter down to join you, perching on the bench as their beady eyes lock on your face. Beaks held high, they wait expectantly, clearly hoping for more. You huff a soft laugh and oblige, tossing another handful.

Your peculiar friendship with these crows began a few years ago. The day of your family’s funeral.

A drunk twenty-year-old behind the wheel of his rich businessman father’s SUV, barreling down the highway at four times the speed limit. Your mother, father, and younger brother, on their way to your college graduation. A tragic case of wrong place, wrong time.

You don’t remember much after that. Everything that followed was all a blur. The driver didn’t really face any consequences, thanks to their family’s influence. Their lawyer presented you with a pitiful settlement offer (or, in hindsight, maybe you were more or less threatened into accepting it). Maybe it was the overwhelming sense of hopelessness at the time, or the suspicion that your lawyer might have been paid off by the driver’s family, but you ended up agreeing to settle.

It didn’t matter anyway. Your family was dead.

The funeral was a simple event. Some extended family came to offer their support and condolences. Once the day ended and everyone went home, however, you were left alone in your family’s house.

You don’t remember much, but you do remember standing in the middle of your living room, a growing tightness in your chest slowly overtaking you, as if your heart was being squeezed from the inside. The walls of the room seemed to close in around you, and suddenly it was impossible to breathe. Somehow, you ended up bolting out the door—leaving it wide open behind you—and ran. You didn’t know where you were going, but you eventually found yourself here, at this very park, sitting on this very bench.

A single crow had perched nearby, watching you silently. Your hand brushed against your coat pocket, and you found some leftover peanut shells from the funeral’s snack offerings. You absentmindedly tossed them toward the crow, and it hopped down to peck at them. There was something oddly comforting in the way it ate, its sharp black eyes darting back toward you as if to say thank you.

The next day, you returned. One crow turned into three, then six. Slowly, more joined, until it seemed like the entire murder looked forward to your daily visits and peanut offerings.

A sudden, loud thump behind you pulls you from your thoughts. You instinctively turn toward the sound, only to find… nothing. Frowning, you scan the area, glancing left and right, until your eyes land on a crow lying on the ground directly behind your bench.

You gasp and quickly stand, rushing over to it.

“Are you okay?” you whisper, crouching down and scanning it for signs of injury. It looks like it fell straight out of the sky.

The crow caws at you—loudly. Unlike the murder behind you, its caw is sharper, more jarring. It grates against your ears like nails on a chalkboard. Its eyes seem to gleam red when the light catches them at certain angles, similar to how a cat’s eyes flash in the dark.

Then your gaze drops to its left wing, which is bent unnaturally.

“Did you hurt yourself?” you murmur, leaning closer to examine it. The injury doesn’t look like a typical fracture. The way the wing bends reminds you more of a mechanical part with a screw loose than a broken bone.

It caws again, louder this time, as if trying to get your attention.

You glance up at the sky and realize it’s grown darker. Heavy clouds swirl above, signaling an impending snowfall. Behind you, the other crows begin to disperse, their farewell squawks echoing as they take flight.

Looking back down at the injured crow, you watch as it tries to take off, only to crash back onto the ground with its unusable wing.

“Um, would you like to stay with me until your wing feels better?” you ask hesitantly.

The crow tilts its head to the side, almost as if it understands you. You miss the subtle garnet glow in its eyes as you carefully scoop it into your arms, cradling it gently to avoid jostling its injured wing.

“I’ll help you out until you’re better,” you say softly, already walking toward home. “I don’t have much, but you can have the rest of the peanuts I bought earlier.”

The crow doesn’t resist, settling into your arms. Its body relaxes against you, and you tighten your hold to shield it from the cold winter air.

You know your groceries won’t stretch far for the rest of the month, but your conscience won’t let you leave an injured animal out in the snow. Hugging the crow a little closer, you feel a small smile tug at your lips when it starts to coo softly.

You don’t notice the faint whirring sound beneath its gentle cooing, like the hum of tiny mechanical gears.

note: not sure where I’m headed with this tbh, but it’s kinda like an alternate universe of the game’s main story. still set in linkon and the concept of evols still exist, but mc is basically an average citizen. (lowkey gonna treat this whole thing as a massive projection of recent irl feelings teehee.) we’ll see how this goes!

nav: one (current), two, three, four, five, six or: read on ao3

check out my other works!

[monserelates]

Collateral Damage; James Potter

f!reader x james potter

summary: When someone makes a sexist comment during Quidditch practice and James doesn't react, how will it go down?

warnings/notes: james is kind of an idiot in this (he makes up for it I swear), angst, reader is a quidditch player (its relevant to the plot), use of y/n, platonic!sirius x reader banter, not proofread, light sexist comment, big argument, curse words, happy ending (?)

word count:1.6k

It started like any other Gryffindor Quidditch practice.

Late autumn sun low in the sky, golden light spilling like spilled ink over the pitch. You were already irritated — Kendrick had been pushing your buttons all week, and James had rescheduled this practice twice. Now you were all out here, winds whipping across the field, and Kendrick was smirking like he’d already won something you didn’t know was up for grabs.

You were Keeper. You knew your job. You didn’t need James yelling plays every five seconds like you were a first-year.

“Move left faster next time!” James barked, flying alongside you, too close, too sharp.

“I did move,” you snapped. “If you wanted a puppet, maybe train one.”

His jaw clenched. “I’m just trying to win us the Cup.”

“And I’m trying not to murder you midair, so we all have our battles.”

That got a low chuckle from Henry Wood, who hovered nearby, eyebrows lifted in mild amusement. “Might let her win that one, James.”

James didn’t answer. Just blew the whistle and shouted another drill.

You tightened your gloves, seething.

Then Kendrick happened.

He caught a Quaffle with a dramatic flourish, zoomed past you, and crowed, loud enough for half the school to hear: “Don’t worry, Potter �� she’s not here for skill. Just here to look pretty while she misses every shot.”

The world snapped sideways.

You felt your stomach bottom out. Your face went hot with rage and shame.

You looked at James. Straight at him. Waiting.

Do something.

Say something.

Anything.

But he just hovered there, like an idiot, mouth slightly open, like he was stunned. Like maybe he agreed.

Sirius was the one who snapped.

“Oi, what the fuck did you just say?” Sirius growled, flying toward Kendrick like a storm cloud. “Wanna say it again with a mouthful of teeth missing?”

Y/N’s blood boiled. She waited — waited — for James to speak up. To say something. To tell the boy off. To take her side. But instead, James just stared at her, expression unreadable, jaw locked.

The silence screamed.

Y/N turned sharply on her broom, face burning hotter than any firewhisky. “Nice, James. Real leadership. Keeping the team united and all that.”

You flew hard toward the ground, ripped your gloves off, and stormed off the pitch.

“Oi! Y/N!” James shouted after you.

You turned sharply, fists clenched. “Don’t you dare.”

He landed, brows drawn. “It was just a stupid joke. I didn’t say it—”

“No. You just let it hang in the air like it was okay.” Your voice was shaking now, hands trembling. “You let him undermine me, and you—God, James—you didn’t even flinch.”

He flinched now.

“Y/N—”

“We’re supposed to be a team. You’re supposed to be my friend—and you let that little coward humiliate me in front of everyone.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“You didn’t do anything. And that’s worse.”

The rest of the team hovered awkwardly above, pretending not to watch. They were watching.

You turned, boots crunching against the grass, heart pounding against the ribcage of something that had already shattered.

..

You didn’t show up to dinner.

Didn’t go to class the next morning.

You lay facedown on your bed, ignoring Marlene’s muttered curses about Kendrick, Dorcas’s offers to hex him into oblivion, and Lily’s gentle hand rubbing your back.

You didn’t cry. Not then.

Maybe you were being dramatic. You can't help the fact you like to be alone. It may sound kind of sad, but that's just what you seem to know.

Not until everyone was asleep. When the candles were low. When the ache behind your ribs bloomed into something hollow and hot and silent.

You curled into yourself and whispered, “I thought he was different.”

No one heard it. But you felt it. And it felt like mourning something no one else could see.

..

Somewhere down the hallway, in the staff room,

McGonagall sipped her tea, eyes sharp over her glasses.

Flitwick looked up from his notes. “You heard?”

“Everyone heard, Filius. Half the pitch did.” She sighed. “I had twenty Galleons on them confessing by winter break.”

“Potter just set the bet back three years,” Hooch muttered, slamming her broom catalog shut.

“I’m raising it to five,” Sprout said darkly.

Slughorn just sniffed. “They’ll come around. Youth and heartbreak are so poetically intertwined.”

“She nearly punched him.”

“Poetry!” Slughorn said, grinning.

..

James tried everything.

Flowers charmed to float outside your dorm window.

Notes spelled into the condensation on your bathroom mirror.

He asked Sirius to talk to you — Sirius told him to shove it. “You blew it, mate.”

He asked Lily to help — she didn’t even blink. “You don’t deserve her silence. You deserve her rage.”

He cornered Dorcas outside Potions.

“She doesn’t want your excuses,” she said flatly. “She wants her best friend back. Too bad he forgot how to be one.”

He stopped going to Quidditch practice.

He barely slept.

He’d lie awake whispering, “I’m sorry,” to the cracks in the ceiling.

But nothing worked.

You didn’t speak to him.

Not once.

..

It happened at breakfast.

The Great Hall buzzing, laughter rising like steam.

You were sitting with Lily and Dorcas, quietly spooning porridge, when a loud bang echoed through the room.

A chair scraped back.

A foot on a bench.

Then a foot on the table.

Your head snapped up.

James Potter was standing on the Gryffindor table, toast in one hand, wand in the other, looking deranged.

Oh hell-to-the-no.

“Excuse me!” he shouted.

The Hall went silent.

James turned, slowly, facing the end of the table. “Oi, Kendrick.”

Kendrick looked up, confused. “What?”

“You insulted one of the best Keepers this school has ever seen. You made a disgusting, sexist remark in front of her entire team, and I, being a bloody coward, said nothing.”

Students gasped. Someone dropped their fork.

James turned, facing you now.

“I didn’t defend you. And I should have. Not because I’m your captain. Not even because I’m your best friend.”

His voice cracked.

“But because I love you.”

The air went still.

“I love you,” he said again, softer. “And not in the way that fades when we graduate or when Quidditch ends or when you find someone smarter or funnier or less of a prat. I love you like I can’t breathe right without you.”

You stared at him, pulse pounding in your ears.

What in Merlin's ear wax is happening right now.

“I know I messed up. I’ll spend the rest of the year earning your trust back. Or the rest of my life. Just… say something. Please.”

Kendrick stood, starting to protest.

James rounded on him.

“And you—I don’t want you on the team. You don’t get to wear our colors if you can’t respect the people on it.”

Hooch stood from the staff table, clearly impressed. “He’s finally learning.”

McGonagall muttered, “Took long enough.”

Sirius leaned into Remus. “Do I owe you five Galleons or do I still win if they snog in the next ten minutes?”

Remus just shook his head, smiling.

You stood slowly.

Walked down the aisle of the hall, every eye on you.

James looked terrified.

You walked right up to him.

Stared.

Then said, “You better mean every word of that.”

“I do.”

You smirked.

And punched him in the arm. Hard.

“Good.”

James was willing to wait this and 3 more lifetimes waiting for a taste of your lips.

..

The next morning was crisp and bright, with clouds like ripped cotton and the scent of cut grass thick in the air.

James was already waiting on the pitch when you arrived, broom slung over his shoulder, a sheepish sort of energy radiating off him in waves. The rest of the team trickled in slowly—clearly curious, clearly eavesdropping, pretending to stretch while absolutely not stretching.

You walked past them without a word.

James straightened up.

You raised your chin. “You’re on goalkeeping today. I want a challenge.”

He blinked. “You… want me to—”

“Let’s go, Potter,” you called, already kicking off.

It was easy, natural, the way flying always was. But the air between you buzzed. You hurled a Quaffle at him with more force than necessary. He barely caught it, laughing under his breath.

“Still angry?”

You smirked. “I haven’t decided yet.”

Another Quaffle. Another dive. He missed this one—on purpose, you were sure.

“Oi, don’t go easy on me,” you snapped.

He swooped beside you, hovering a little too close. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“You’re dreaming something,” you muttered.

“Mostly about you.” he grinned.

You snorted, the sound catching you off guard. The wind rushed past your ears. His eyes were warm—so warm you had to look away.

For a few minutes, you played without words.

Until James broke the silence.

“I meant it, you know. Every word I said yesterday. I—” He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was a coward. And I know one speech doesn’t fix it.”

You hovered in the air, just a little above him. “It doesn’t. But showing up helps.”

He smiled—wide and crooked and boyish.

The team was still watching. Pretending not to, but watching all the same.

James shifted closer. His eyes flicked to your mouth, then back up to your eyes.

“I, uh…” He licked his lips, then leaned in—hesitantly, unsure.

You didn’t move. Just watched him.

But instead of kissing you, his lips brushed your cheek—light as a sigh.

He pulled back instantly, eyes wide like he hadn’t meant to.

You blinked.

James looked like he might combust.

“Sorry, I—I didn’t want to assume, I mean—not yet, but—unless you want to, which, I—”

You raised an eyebrow. “You always ramble this much?”

He flushed. “Only when I like someone enough to completely embarrass myself.”

You turned back toward the goalposts, heart thudding.

“Try not to let that Quaffle in this time, Potter.”

He grinned, dazed. “Yes, ma’am.”

[getouyuri]

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

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?

content & warnings — MDNI 18+, fem!reader, normal modern au, yakuza au, humor, smut, fluff, pet names, 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 🫶🏽. full masterlist here.

writing © getouyuri. fanart © artofzolaida. dividers © sister-lucifer. wc: 21k.

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— 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’re quietly browsing through a website, trying to find something that’ll stick.

You can hear the 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 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,” Satoru says with a little waver to his voice.

“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 about him.” “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. Just to make 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 (his skin tingles whenever he sees the flogger), 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. To hide it there forever and never look at it again.

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 side-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 you both 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.”

(Yet you don’t ask him to do anything about it. That should’ve been the first sign— maybe if he had paid a little more attention, he wouldn’t end up in a future mess.)

“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 because he can’t help himself. 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. You 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 and asks for seconds, 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. It all happens 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.

(And tried really, really hard to resist the urge to grind against your ass.)

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.

When he peeks over you shoulder at your screen and sees the documents pulled up on your phone, he mentally sighs. You’re such a workaholic.

“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 like a puzzle falling into place.

“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 undercut, 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 start of 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 sarcastically 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 literally led me here. You tricked me!”

“Did I?”

“You’re sick. Vile,” he pouts. “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.

“Do you think you could 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.

(“Want a goodbye quickie?” “No, Satoru.”)

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.

Yes, okay, he misses having you beneath him, gasps escaping your lips as he pistons into you. Yes, he misses you riding him like a pro, body lazily undulating and your hands shackling his wrists so that he can do nothing but lie there and take it.

But it’s not even the sex he misses when you’re gone. It’s not entirely 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. Satoru 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 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 and haven’t yet peeled yourself out of.

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. It takes everything in him to not sprint. “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. Two weeks if he counts the distinct lack of intimacy.

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 in 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 away that I didn’t do,” 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. You know exactly what you’re doing.

“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 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 offer him no modesty, baring him wholly to you.

“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 the underside of 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, but matching the tempo of your breathing. 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 slurs, 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

[tangyneon]

lychee pops!

It's Tokyo, summer of 2005, and Gojo Satoru is thriving.

He's free, he's fabulous, he's fifteen—and way too busy being iconic to miss anyone from Kyoto. Like, please.

pairing: gojo satoru x fem!reader tags: teen!gojo; teen!reader; fluff; mild angst; humor; gojo and you have been engaged since childhood owing to an agreement between his clan and yours; neither of you really knows what that means now; mutual pining; some might describe gojo's dynamic with you as an unestablished relationship; few might describe it as a long-distance relationship; word count—1794. warnings: malfunctioning cursed charms and kitchen distasters. notes: the jjk hi movie frames have left me terribly unwell. never mind me, though—hope you'll enjoy reading this, babes!! ❤️❤️

Tokyo smells different.

This is the first thing that Gojo notices after stepping off the train and into the hustle and bustle of the city. There's the sharp, biting tang of fuel and exhaust, there's the slightly burnt smell of warm asphalt and the dry undertone of the concrete and dust. There's the cloying blend of perfume and cologne, made far worse when mixed with the stench of sweat and body odour. Even the cursed energy in the air feels quite different—more raw, more chaotic, much less calculated...

Gojo likes it.

Or. Well.

The boy is deciding to like it.

After months of—no, an eternity of—dealing with shouting, threats, three different elders trying to bribe him in three different ways, and one disgustingly dramatic fainting episode by yet another elder, he's finally here. And he thinks it's totally worth it.

His room is small and full of dust, but it is his. His side of the dorm smells like his deodorant and microwave cup ramen. There's a tiny balcony right next to it, that overlooks an alley where he saw a cat fight with a crow this morning. On the other side of his bed, there's Geto, who acts like he is an eighty-year-old grandpa and reads out loud from his philosophy books and acts way too proper in front of their teachers. On the far side of the room, there's an empty bed, in which Shoko crashes once in a while, who drinks cough syrups like herbal tea and smokes cigarettes like hell and has already said she'll kill him, then resurrect him—just to murder him all over again—if he dares to steal her snacks a second time.

It is loud, it is weird, it is likely cursed too—but in all the best ways.

Gojo should be completely, deliriously happy now.

And he is. He really is.

But still, the boy finds himself just lying on the bed, his phone on his chest, his unguarded eyes fixed on the ceiling fan as if it'll transform into a divine messenger any instant now, and drop a divine message or two from the heavens.

Then—the phone buzzes.

Gojo doesn't even need to check the name.

He knows it is you.

It has never not been you.

You always call after dinner. Neither too late nor too early. You always wait until your clan elders are done with their evening work, and your family members have gone to bed, and it's finally safe to whisper. He can already imagine you tiptoeing to the farthest corner of your room with your phone tucked between your ear and shoulder and your ugly pink blanket wrapped tightly around your frame.

Gojo waits for a moment. Then, he flips his phone open, watching its screen light up with the [chatterbox CALLING...].

One ring.

Two rings.

Three rings.

He picks up after the fourth ring.

"Yo," he says, hoping he sounds as nonchalant as he feels right now. He frowns when he ends up sounding a bit too eager, a bit too warm—nearly stupidly so—however.

"Hi," your voice comes through a second later, very soft and just a bit shaky. It's only one word, but you say it like you mean it, like you were not too sure he would answer—which is why Gojo doesn't really mind when he tries not to smile, then fails.

"Took you long enough," he mutters, shifting onto his side so his hair flops back from his forehead—not that it is that long, though—"I was starting to think maybe you forgot your beloved betrothed, left to rot out here in the cursed wastelands of Tokyo."

"You have been there for less than a week, 'Toru," you huff—amused, he can tell. "And Tokyo is hardly a wasteland. Tokyo is Tokyo."

"Which is the biggest lie ever," he says, dead serious, "There are vending machines here that sell hot corn soup. In a can. Can you believe that? Hot corn soup in a can!"

There's a pause. A brief pause.

"...Okay, that is horrifying," you finally reply, sounding vaguely disgusted.

"Right?" Gojo exclaims, almost triumphantly, "I feel cursed just standing next to it. And Shoko drinks it."

"You need to report her to someone."

"I could," he says, but it comes out more like a whine, "but I think she would dissect me if I tried."

You giggle at that—the sound of it barely more than a breath, yet it's real and sweet and bright, and it fills the spaces between and behind his ribs like the warm spring sun. Gojo presses the phone closer to his ear.

"You sound good," you say after a while.

"Why do you sound surprised?"

"I'm not. I just..." He hears you falter for a beat, then speak again—softer this time, "I just—I'm glad. You were so tense before you left. Especially during the ceremony."

He shrugs, only to realise a moment late that you cannot see it. He settles on a careless hum, instead, "Those old geezers were breathing down my neck. Kept saying I would 'dishonour my role' by leaving the estate."

"Dishonour it how? By getting an education?"

"By thinking for myself, apparently."

He gets a sympathetic hum for that. And the quiet that follows feels soft, he thinks—definitely one of the comfortable ones—only for you, ever the chatterbox, to break it not even two full seconds later.

"And, 'Toru," you ask, "did your room end up okay? Is it strange, living with other students?"

"It's fine," he answers easily, "Geto is neat. Sort of a clean freak, though. Shoko is messy—way more than me. I took the bed near the window."

"Of course, you did."

"Of course, I did," Gojo echoes back, grinning at the chuckle you give, "Gotta have a dramatic background for my morning monologues, you see."

You snort. "What, like... 'Alas, o cruel world, my breakfast cereals expired yesterday'?"

"No, like—" Gojo deepens his voice dramatically, "—'The weight of the Gojo clan bears heavily upon my shoulders. Woe is me, for I am but a vessel of power and dashing good looks'."

A loud laugh erupts out of you at that—the sound of it so full and so open, it crackles in his ears and makes his chest hurt in a fashion he isn't too certain he has the training to identify.

The boy does not mind the pain, though. Not really, anyway.

"You're such a drama queen," you gasp out between giggles.

"You love it," he shoots back, flipping onto his stomach and grinning into his pillow.

You suddenly pause. And then—

"...I do."

Gojo almost doesn't hear you at first. But when he does, he thinks it's too soft, it's too blunt, it was said in a way too uncomplicated for it to have been by anyone who isn't you.

His smile stutters. It nearly collapses. He stares down at the triangles on the bedsheets, heart suddenly doing something irritatingly stupid inside his chest.

He changes the subject faster than he has ever teleported.

"So, well, um—what's going on in Boredom Central?"

You snort again. "Besides the elders calling me in for 'refinement sessions'? Nothing much, I guess... I did nearly get killed by a few cursed charms, though—"

"What!?" Gojo chokes.

"Your fiancée was nearly killed by cursed charms this morning," you repeat cheerfully, clearly mistaking his shock for something entirely different, "According to my aunt, I must not have handled them with enough respect. According to me, the charms were clearly made by someone moronic—why else would a charm backfire on its first use, hm? They clearly weren't made well."

"Your aunt's husband is the one who supplied those charms, right?" he asks slowly.

"Yeah, so? My point still stands."

Your reply draws a bark of a laugh from Gojo—the noise of it, short and sharp yet breathless. And it's not until he hears himself that he realises how tightly he has been holding onto his breath ever since arriving in Tokyo.

Not willing to go too much into what it may mean, he sobers himself, and listens as you talk about your day. How you caught your cousins sneaking out of the estate to go to a baseball match. How your mom scolded you for saying "UGH, I hate this," in front of an ancient scroll. How you tried to make his favourite dango, but almost burnt yourself in the process.

Gojo makes the appropriate noises as you speak—laughter, outrage, exasperation—but he mostly just listens. To your voice. To the many small shifts in your voice. To the way it never makes him feel like he's the strongest, or the most important, or the heir saturated with way too much power for only soul to hold.

To you, he is just 'Toru.

And he likes that. Maybe a little more than he ever should.

"...Hey," you say after quite some time, your voice much quieter now, "You're really okay, right?"

"I told you, I'm great," he quips, as casually as ever.

"I know, I know. It's just that... you sound tired, 'Toru."

Gojo falls silent for a beat—then sighs. It's an almost inaudible sound, but he thinks he can feel the weight of it settle some place deep in his bones, if only for a second.

"I think I am," he admits, slowly, softly, "But not in a bad way. Just... new place. New people. New everything. I'm learning how to be me, and not just what the elders want."

You hum in agreement, and a moment later, your voice follows—so gentle, it barely rustles the line.

"You can be you with me too, you know."

Gojo's throat tightens, just a little. "Yeah," he says, clearing his throat, "Yeah, I know."

"Good," you hum, the smile evident in your voice even if he can't see you right now—and then you yawn. The boy grins—suddenly feeling himself back in familiar territory again.

"Falling asleep on me already?" he smirks.

"No, no," you mumble—then yawn again. "'S just warm. And it's late."

Betraying his intention, his smile softens into something annoyingly yet unsurprisingly affectionate. He does not bother to fight it. "Go to sleep then, dummy."

"No... you hang up first, 'Toru."

"No, you hang up first."

"No, you!"

"No, you!"

A sleepy laugh escapes you. "We are ridiculous," you mumble.

"We've always been ridiculous."

A tiny giggle answers from the other end.

There's a beat. Then, your voice drifts back, soft and sleep-drunk, "So... four rings tomorrow?"

"Four rings tomorrow," he echoes, his tone light and easy—before a yawn escapes him this time.

You giggle again, and the line goes quiet.

Gojo stays exactly where he is, phone cradled to his chest, and a soft, contented smile curling at his lips—as if he doesn't want the moment to end just yet.

find the sequel fic here!!!! © tangyneon 2025 || please don't plagiarise, translate or repost this || characters used here aren't mine || header is from pinterest || masterlist.

[tojisbbg]

compass

❝i think i need you with me for all-time, when i need new direction for my mind.❞

♡ sylus ♡

sypnosis: april showers bring may flowers, transitioning from winter to spring; life will once again feel warmer and brighter. but, who knew that instead of getting flowers... the rain has brought you an injured crow.

wc: 3.5k

a/n: hehe, hello sweeties. i am back with another lads fic and this time i present to you with our babygirl sylus (who also happens to be my main). i thought of this cute little idea for him because it's been storming all week, so hope you guys like it! ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡

reblogs, comments and likes are always appreciated <3

content: sylus x fem!reader, sylus gets turned into a crow (lmfao), crackfic/fluff, not edited.

⋆.˚𓅆࿐⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.˚𓅆࿐⋆

you stirred awake, groaning as you managed to peel one eyelid open. your curtains were still open, but you noticed how it was darker outside than before, your windows still wet as you could hear the pitter-patter sounds of the rain. you tapped your phone screen, showing you that it was nearly seven in the evening.

it's been storming frequently this past month, and this week by far had the most rain. nonetheless, you were grateful that you had a light schedule for work.

you were in the process of training to be a hunter under the deepspace hunter association, but your classes canceled for the week due to the weather. so, everything was online and easy.

sitting up, you rubbed the remaining sleep out of your eyes. you scanned your room in search of your cat, piki, who initially joined you for your nap earlier. however, it seems that she had abandoned you so soon.

you got off your bed, slipping on your slipper before exiting your room. the house was dark, making the atmosphere more gloomy, so you decided to turn on your lights before lighting the candle on your counter.

"piki?" you called out for your calico, shimmying on the smooth wooden floors as you looked for the feline. however, she was nowhere to be found.

"what the hell?" you furrowed your eyebrows, now internally panicking 'cause where the hell did your damn cat go?!

before you could go into a full meltdown, you heard the familiar jingling noise of a bell, exhaling in relief. as expected, your cat entered through the small flap on your main door.

you crossed your arms over your chest, sighing like a disappointed mother as you prepared yourself to give your naughty child an earful.

"piki! i've been looking everywhere for you- oh my god!" your eyes widened as you noticed the feline look up at you with an innocent look—

with a crow in her mouth!

you couldn't even process the whole situation, did your cat just murder an innocent crow? was it alive? by the looks of it, either it was one hell of a nonchalant crow or it really was dead.

"bad girl, piki, put him down! oh my god!" you scolded, watching her spit the poor bird onto your floor. you bent down, looking at the crow that was drenched from the rain and some remnants of piki's spit.

"oh no... i'm so sorry.." you whispered, eyes softening as you took a gentle finger to stroke the top of the crow's head. your touch didn't go unnoticed, as his wings twitched.

a strangled caw left his beak as the crow struggled to pick himself up. you scooped him up in your hands, careful of his wet black feathers as you examined his wings.

"looks like you hurt yourself, little guy. don't worry, i'll help you." a warm smile etched on your lips, talking to the crow as if your words could be understood.

you stood up, bringing the crow to your bathroom as you gentle placed him in your sink.

"let's clean you up first." you turned on the water and began to rinse off piki's spit as the bird obediently let you touch him.

after doing so, you turned off the faucet and grabbed the small hand-towel to dry him before bringing him into your room. you placed the crow on your desk as you sat on your chair.

"i never cared for a bird before, but i'll try my best." you assured, grabbing the first aid kit from your drawer as you set it down; pulling out some medical tape and bandages.

you carefully held his injured wing, wrapping the bandage and tape around it to secure it. the crow occasionally cawed and flinched, making your heart clench.

"i know, i know, i'm sorry. just a bit more." you comforted the bird with a soft voice, finishing up your work.

you placed the lat strip of tape on to seal everything. a satisfied grin danced on your lips, happy with your skills.

"there, all done." you chirped, noticing how the crow now turned away from you, not meeting your gaze.

"aww, no need to be embarrassed. it's okay." you chuckled, stroking the top of his head. the crow immediately turned his head towards you, an angry caw squalled out of his beak.

"a thank you would've been nice, y'know." you teased, making the bird go quiet.

the crow stood up, slightly wobbling as he tried to walk with his feet; but it was more so like a little limp. you didn't know what happened to him (praying to god piki wasn't the culprit for his injuries) but you knew that it would take him some time to heal. the crow suddenly lost his balance, falling on his butt before staring up at you with big, black beady eyes.

"hey, you don't have to push yourself so hard. you can stay here until you get better." you gently pet him, feeling how soft the black feathers encasing him were.

and just like that, you spent the rest of your evening with the crow perched on your desk, like a showpiece; watching you complete your report. surprisingly, he was well-behaved, not cawing to disturb you.

you soon finished, placing your pen down before turning your attention to the bird.

"hmm... i can't just keep calling you my 'little guy' or 'birdie'. i should give you a name." you suggested, about to indulge yourself into a deep pondering moment; only for him to spring to life and cawing, taking you by surprise.

he lifted himself up before walking over to your report. then, he bent down and begin to tap his beak on the paper to different letters.

"what are you doing?" you asked in bewilderment.

you once read in your biology textbooks that crows are one of the most intelligent animals to ever exist; having amazingsocial skills and intelligence.

but this was just....incredible—

a bird telling you his name.

so, you followed the letters he pointed to.

s-y-l-u-s.

"sylus?" you called out-loud, making the crow caw in agreement.

"what a pretty name for such a handsome bird. someone must've named you that, huh?" you smiled fondly, petting him once again.

and just like that, the crow—well, sylus, became a part of your routine.

⋆.˚𓅆࿐⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

sylus woke up and tried to stretch out his little legs, unknowingly stretching out his injured wing as a small caw left his beak. he noticed the figure sleeping on the bed, glancing at the clock that showed it was well past noon.

he hopped off the desk and onto the chair before hopping across to the bed. with small, wobbly steps, he managed to bring his tiny body to her pillow. then, he softly bent down and began to peck his shiny, black beak on your forehead.

your eyebrows knitted together at the feeling of something poking you, opening your eyes to be met with tiny, beady ones looking at you.

"sylus?" you groggily called out, the crow cawing in response.

you sat up, stretching your arms before looking down at him as he jumped onto your lap. you chuckled, using one had to scoop him in your hands while the other came in suit to stroke his feathers.

"good morning to you too." you hummed, feeling the bird nuzzle into your palm.

he was cute and soft.

your eyes trailed away and fell onto the clock hung on your wall, eyes blowing open as you realized-

"shit, i'm late!" you gasped, carefully setting sylus to the side as you began to scramble to get ready.

the crow watched you rush. how your fingers fiddles with your white button up as your mouth simultaneously chewed on your toast. the way you were packing your bag while fixing your hair at the same time.

you were a mess, but a pretty mess in his eyes.

as you walked to the door, you quickly remembered something.

sylus heard your footsteps coming back into your bedroom, a piece of buttered toast in your hands as you set it on a paper-towel on your desk.

"i don't know what crows eat, but you can munch on this for now. be a good boy, sylus." you stroked the top of his head before leaving.

⋆.˚𓅆࿐⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

the days begin to pass and you grew comfortable with your little friend.

sylus became your alarm clock, pecking your forehead with his beak exactly at six in the morning to wake you up on time for work.

talk about punctual, seriously, he must've been a businessman of some sort in his past life.

the would come breakfast, the crow perched on your shoulder as you whipped up something quick. your hand coming up occasionally to let him nibble on while you ate as well; shimmying around your house to prepare to leave for the rest of the day.

then you would come home, greeted by piki and the crow who ran to the door. you'd sit on the couch, petting sylus as you talked to him about your day.

you'd bathe him, being careful to wash his delicate feathers before drying him. surprisingly, the bird had good taste in food.

also, he was so well-behaved.

can you believe the crow is potty trained?! of course, his body is too light to press onto the flush button; so you'd be surprised to see the two small pebbles of poop in the toilet bowl. the crow not meeting your eyes as you flushed for him.

although piki wasn't the type to feel threatened by other animals, she was envious of how much your attention went towards the bird. so, one night, you heard loud cawing in the middle of the night.

you looked down from your bed and saw an alarmed sylus panicking, eyes terrified before you noticed piki by the door; hissing.

"oh my...sylus? did piki scare you? there, there, it's okay. i gotchu." you picked him up before placing him on your chest, petting him to calm down his trembling body.

"you can sleep with me tonight." you gently placed him on your pillow, watching the crow settle in with a small dent from his weight. you reached for the covers before going to bed with him sleeping beside you. seeking warmth and comfort, sylus scoot closer to you, nuzzling into the crook of your neck; making you smile as you placed your palm behind him to assure him he was safe.

over the course of the days, you've grown a huge soft spot for the crow. nonetheless, he became fond of you too.

⋆.˚𓅆࿐⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

you dropped something under your bed?

sylus is already running under the crack to get it for you.

scared of a little bug on your wall?

don't mind if he indulges in a little sweet treat after dinner.

need someone to fetch you something from a different room?

just say the word and your wish is his command.

so naturally, it would be hard to say goodbye.

you unwrapped the bandages from his wings, seeing him flap it with ease now.

"all better." you chuckled, hearing him caw before he experimentally took flight around your house. sylus was elated, feeling like someone just freed him from a cage. but, he ended his flight, finding his spot on your shoulder.

"well, lets get you back out there. i can't keep you glued to me forever no matter how much i love you." a sad smile was plasted on your face, walking to the door as you unlocked it, stepping out side.

you placed your hand out, watching sylus fly onto your palms; looking up at you as he tilted his head to the side. your eyes welled with tears, feeling a rush of emotion as you really did grow attached to the bird.

"you're always welcomed to come back to me any time, sylus. i'll miss you." a stray tear escaped your eyes, as you brought the crow close to your cheek, hugging him.

sylus rubbed his head on your cheek, trying to engrave your scent onto his feathers.

a small caw left his beak before he took off.

⋆.˚𓅆࿐⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

within the next few days, you'd notice how a small rock of some sort would be left on your front door. you'd then hear the familiar cawing of a familiar crow, catching him fly away in the distance; too shy to greet you.

but, his gestures wouldn't go unnoticed.

of course, sylus wasn't always a well-behaved crow; he could be rather naughty.

you still remember how you planted some flower in your garden, only to come back home later that day to see them destroyed. you saw the soil with some kitty paw prints and the prints of a certain bird.

so you nagged both at piki and sylus.

the next day when you came home from work, you saw the crow waiting in front of your door step, a small flower dangling on his beak.

sylus noticed you and immediately flapped his wings as he saw you bend down. he dropped the flower in front of you, looking up to see your reaction.

of course, your heart melted at the sight and action, giggling at the silly crow before poking his beak.

"you really are a bad boy." you smiled at him before petting his feathers.

⋆.˚𓅆࿐⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

you were sat on your couch, crocheting a small sweater that you had in mind for a certain little birdie. until you heard a bunch of cackling and cluttering sounds coming from outside followed by strangled cawing noises.

you quickly dropped all your things and bolted out the door, investigating the ruckus.

your eyes widened as you saw three teenage boys holding the familiar crow hostage. one of them tightly gripped sylus while the other threw rock at the bird; as if it was some kind of target.

"the fuck are you kids doing?!" you yelled, running towards them. the boys looke at you, a sinister grin painted on their faces.

"this little shit kept raiding my mom's flower garden, it's time for some payback." one of them snarked, making your stomach pool with guilt.

the pretty flowers you've been noticing on your doorsteps were left behind by sylus and you knew he stole from their garden to gift you those flowers.

"fuck your mom's flower garden, give me my damn crow." you demanded with a grave tone, eyes glaring darkly at the boys.

they gulped in fear, watching you reach for your rake in a threatening manner; quickly dropping the bird before running away.

you threw the rake to the side, rushing over to sylus as you bent down to scoop him in your arms.

"oh, you poor baby. i'm so sorry, god, it's all my fault." you held him closely to your hammering chest, heading inside your house to patch him up.

his cries were painful as you bandaged his wounds, drops of blood staining your fingers and desk. your eyes watered at the sight, lips quivering as you tried your best to offer him some words of comfort.

"it's okay, honey, i'm almost done." you whispered, placing the last bandage on.

later that night, you set him on your pillow, stroking his feathers as you hummed a small song. you watch the crow relax under your touch, slowly closing its eyes before falling asleep.

"sweet dreams, sylus." you mumbled quietly, leaning down to press a small kiss on his beak before laying besides him to sleep, your palm gently resting on his body.

the following morning, you stirred in your sleep as you felt a huge lump next to you. a confused groan left your throat, curling your fingers as you swear you could feel warm skin under your finger tips.

you opened your eyes, before letting out a blood-curdling scream at the sight. you scooted backwards until you tumbled off your bed, your scream and the loud thud of your body woke up the man sleeping beside you.

he jolted awake, sitting up as his eyes opened; bright ruby orbs staring wide at you, silver hair tousled and he was shirtless.

"w-who are you!?" you stammered, heart racing as you were confused and a little scared.

"looks like that potion wore off." his voice was deep, a husky chuckle rumbling in his chest as he examined his hands.

"the hell are you doing in my house?!" you asked again, voice more firm as you demanded answers. the man simply looked down at you, lips curling into a smirk.

"you were the one who brought me in, sweetie." he replied casually, a playful glint present in his eyes.

"don't be ridiculous, i have never met you in my life! and- oh my god, sylus... where's sylus?! he was sleeping next to me, you probably squished him to death! my poor baby!" you cried out, standing up to frantically look for the potentially dead crow.

the man watched you in amusement, rolling his eyes before sighing.

"i did not squish him because i am him." he calmly spoke, making you glare at him.

"first you kill my crow and now you tell me this bullshit? just shut up and leave my house before i call the cops, dude." you snapped, making the silver haired man face palm himself.

"for fucks sake, y/n, i'm sylus. i was that stupid crow that your damn cat found that night 'cause i broke my wings. you took me in yesterday 'cause of those stupid teenage fools capturing me." he truthfully recited, making you stop in your tracks.

"b-but... how is that possible? you're human." you were confused and astonished at the same time.

"yes, my... trustworthy henchmen recommended me a potion that would allow me to shift into the form of a crow because i'm currently a criminal on the run and needed to gather some intel. i had a mechanical crow, but it broke and making one would take too long; so i took it upon my own hands. unfortunately, those idiot didn't tell me how long the effects would last. the first time i happened to injure my wings from flight... i crashed into the tree outside your house." he confessed, making you snort a laugh.

"that's funny." you bit your bottom lip to stop the giggle that itched to come out of your throat.

"yeah, yeah, laugh all you want." sylus sighed, crossing his arms over his bare chest.

he was completely naked under the sheets, so you offered him to wear your robe. it wasn't much coverage, insanely tight around his more larger and muscular figure; and fit like the length of a mini dress because he was tall.

now you both were at the table, eating some cereal because you felt too lazy to prepare breakfast.

"thank you for taking care of me while i was a crow. not many humans have such compassion for animals like you do." sylus suddenly blurted out, making you stop mid-chew as you looked up at him.

you took note of how handsome he was. his facial features struck out and were sharp; yet his garnet eyes were beady and resembled a crow.

"you're welcome." you smiled.

⋆.˚𓅆࿐⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

the following few days, you'd receive gift bags on your front door from various luxury brands.

the items ranged from purses, belts, jewelry and at some point even a gun!

you knew that this kind of behavior, that similarly resembled a certain crow's could only mean that it was none other than sylus who was behind this.

one day, you caught him in the act, standing behind the silver haired man with crossed arms over your chest. he was dressed in a black leather jacket, leather pants and black boots; a motorbike parked at your gates. sylus turned around with a smirk, sensing your presence.

"it's not polite to sneak up on me like that, sweetie." sylus chuckled, towering over your smalled frame.

"uh-huh, and it's not polite to leave such expensive gifts and fleeting without any explanation." you retorted.

"i'm simply paying my debt to you." he defended, making you huff in annoyance.

"you are not indebted to me, it was really no big deal. besides, these things are too expensive!" you grumbled, making him wave his hand in a dismissive manner.

"i can afford it and more. this is my way of thanking you, so just accept them, sweetie." his lips twitched into a smile, making your heart stutter.

"fine. but at least stop disappearing before i could even thank you." a grumbled left your lips, making him chuckle.

"you make my heart feel nervous, i can't help it. but, i'll make it up to you. how about i take you on a joyride tomorrow?" he suggested, pointing at his vehicle, making you chuckle.

you walked closer to him, tiptoeing before wrapping your arms around his neck.

"where you wanna take me?" you asked teasingly, pressing yourself further onto him. sylus's breath hitched at the sudden proximity, wrapping his arms around your waist.

"guess." he breathed out, rubbing the small of your back.

"i get off at five in the afternoon tomorrow." you replied, before pressing a small peck on his lips, making his brain short circuit. he finally came back to his senses, smiling before leaning down to press a more long-lasting kiss on your lips.

"perfect, tomorrow it is, sweetie."