#directing her like a border collie

[rowanthestrange]

I feel like the TARDIS having a giant laser gun could’ve solved more problems than just this one.

[okwonyo]

✉️ GIVE IT TAKE IT ◞ ◟ them as meet cutes.

❪ 𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐔𝐑 ❫ ｡ 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝖺 𝗅𝗈𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝖼𝖾𝗌, 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝖺 𝗅𝗈𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝖿𝖺𝖼𝖾𝗌, 𝗒𝖾𝖺𝗁. 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗇𝗈𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎.

(ᴗ_ ᴗ。)⠀ enhyepn ୨୧ fem!rea 14OO fluff established relationship ── pet-names kissing skinship recueil ｡

분지 ܃ writing this was very, very fun ! enjoy 🎀

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HEESEUNG

you love going to basketball matches.

your heartrise is ridiculously high, when the pastime comes. you watch, with heart palpitations due to the game, the kiss cam go around the crowd. the palpitations get worse when the prettiest guy you have lied your eyes on is shown but it takes you a while to realize that he is sitting right next to you.

it takes you a while to understand that he is sitting right next to you. the sight of your friends hand tapping your shoulder makes you notice that you are the one who is supposed to kiss him.

he is even prettier whereupon you turn your head to his direction. so much, that your mouth fall agape at the sight of his pretty smile. “is it okay?” his voice is tender as he asks.

the crowd’s cheers get louder when you nod. he leans in, cup your face in the softest manner, and gives you a lingering peck that leaves your eyes fluttering open.

“my name is heeseung, by the way,” he tells you with his hands still on your cheeks and the taste if your lipstick still on his lips.

JAY

monday is always the rush. the feeling of freedom and being rested on the weekend doesn’t linger much, usually. going back to work is always a huge slap, no matter how short the weekend was.

but you will admit that today, you are having a wonderful day.

you don’t know if it’s because of the sunny look the sky is wearing or if it’s because you woke up with the sound of the birds chirping instead of your usual alarm— today is a great day.

there is still time when you get out of your apartment, therefore you decide to go get a coffee at the cute place in front of your building.

there is surely an angel on your side today, because as soon as you get ready to pay for your coffee and little snack, a man stops you, “can i?”

you turn around to see a tall dark haired man in a white button up, slicked back hair and dizzying cologne. speechless in an understatement in this kind of situation. today is a great day indeed.

JAKE

it happens when you decide to take a walk in the park next to your apartment building. the weather being too nice to not take advantage of it, you go out, on your own.

during that walk, you encounter a few dogs owner with their cute dogs— you pat the few ones who comes your way with a sweet smile before waving at the owner.

but this one is different. because that cream border collie runs to you, full force as if you saw each other before. and you can’t send a confused look at it’s owner because they are not there.

“hi, pretty,” you praise with a laugh as you lower yourself to be on its level. you pat her gently, and it seems to like, “are you lost?”

the dog doesn’t give you a proper answer and decides to try lick you instead. taken aback, you back up a tad with a chuckle coming out of your chest. too busy with the cute border collie, you don’t notice to man running towards the both of you.

he stands in front of you for a moment, and when you look up, your heart skips a beat. “you found her,” he smiles. he gets on one knee to pet his dog, you assume. he eyes are gentle as he looks at you, “thank you.”

SUNGHOON

you catch a glimpse of his beauty once and are unable to get your mind off of him.

he was there the first time you went to the gym, and he has been there everyday since then. for months, you saw him workout in his tank tops from afar, flexing his perfectly sculpted muscles.

you have to bite down your lips and fight the urge to stare at him for too stare at him for too long as you throw your head back— a sigh of despair leaving your mouth.

sometimes, you eyes meet and you hold eye contact for a few seconds. you are always the first to turn your gaze in front of that handsome man. and it gets worse when he offers to be your spotter.

“are you okay?” the man asks from behind you while you get mentally ready to do pull ups and have this angel touch you. a nod is all you give him as an answer.

his hands are huge and soft against your hips. he holds you tenderly, giving you his help for your exercise. he talks, but you don’t quite hear— too busy drowning under the softness of his touch.

SUNOO

you could take it as a lesson to not look at your phone while you are walking. especially in crowded areas like these, with this much people, with this fast rhythm. but you don’t.

perhaps, you were beyond taken aback when your body hit what felt like a walking wall. your body quite much recoiled against whatever you walked into. however, it took you a while to understand that it was someone.

your eyes were shut close due to the shock when strong hands gripped your shoulders and prevented you from falling to the ground. your head hit the person so hard that you feel a bit dizzy.

when your eyes open again, they are unable to look at anything else but the well-sculpted body of that man in front of you. his chest and arms are perfectly hugged by his compression shirt and you understand why your forehead hurts a bit.

“are you alright?” you feel as if you were in a dream when you finally see his face. he looks like an angel sent from above— the kind that guides and protects you. you can’t believe this cute face owns this kind of body. “i’m sorry, i didn’t see you.”

his smile makes him ten times prettier. you smile as well, “i–it’s okay,” there is a sudden shyness and nervousness creeping into your cheeks as you stutter.

JUNGWON

you are waiting for your friends near a crossroad, absentmindedly looking at the cars running on the road, your wired earphones playing a song in your ears.

the gentle breeze brushes over your skin. it tingles you as well as something else you cannot quite wrap your head around. it presses on your skin, burns you to touch your soul in the most pleasing way possible.

you look around, to see if there is anything touching your o r anyone staring at you but the pressure leaves as soon as you does so. you go back to staring at the cars from earlier.

after a moment, the pressure comes back. then, a finger taps your shoulder; hesitant and timid. you turn around as you take off one of your earphones to see the most ethereal man you’ve ever seen.

“sorry to bother you, but i saw you from afar and—” his smile digs his dimples and makes your heart stutter. he presents a rose to you, “i wanted to give you this.”

you open your mouth, unable to say anything. you wrap your fingers around the beautiful flower and chuckle at the cute unknown.

RIKI

sleeping this late is never going to happen again; that’s what you swear to yourself as soon as you open your eyes in the morning. tiredness weigh on your shoulder during the entire day.

it gets worse when you get into class, and impossibly worse when you get into the train to go back home. the thought of the comforting material of your bed makes your eyes close themselves without any warning and soon you are fast asleep.

half asleep, you feel your body fall to the side. you are too tired to stop it however, and you let if fall on the nearest thing to you. it doesn’t seem like a window to you.

it takes you a while to acknowledge that it’s someone’s shoulder. most likely someone who you don’t even know. the said someone staying still for an embarrassing amount of minutes is what leaves you speechless.

when you loo at them, they are already staring. your heart jumps in your chest as you recognize the face of your train crush. “i’m sorry!” you whisper loudly, jolting fully awake, red in the face.

the goodlooking man laughs, “it’s okay, you seemed really tired.”

taglist open

[getouyuri]

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

ᯓᡣ𐭩 pairing — oyabun!gojo x secretary!reader

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

word count — 21k (woops)

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

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

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

It starts as a drunken dig.

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

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

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

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

“Ew,” Shoko mutters.

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

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

Everyone ignores him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You can hear the 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.”

“Aht aht, try again.”

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

“Yeah, sure.”

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

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

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

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

It’s safer this way— juggling the idea of it disguised as a joke, pushing and poking at each other with little quips to read the other’s reaction. 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, 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 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.”

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

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

Interesting.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Get on with it then.”

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

Wrong answer, forehead.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Whatever my wife wants, my wife gets.”

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

Since you don’t like relying on a personal chef, you whip up storms in the kitchen. 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

[softfem-dom]

I am absolutely feigning for some more hybrid!outsiders content 🙏

girls love puppies hybrid! outsiders headcanons

synopsis :

what would happen if you came back home with a pack of seven dog hybrids after a visit to the kennel?

or the challenges of living with seven teenage boys with dog traits.

worcount : 3k — masterlist 𝜗𝜚 navigation post

tags/warnings : third person pov, canon-typical violence, cuss words, dallas being dallas, mentions of living in the streets/being homeless.

You felt too alone inside the huge country house you had inherited from your late father, alongside his whole company. It was too much space for just one woman and the dust seemed to collect everywhere. Your days had narrowed down to doing chores around the house, going out grocery shopping, and sitting on a chair infront of your desk —signing away paperwork. You had had your life handed to you, completely resolved, in a silver platter. So, in spite of not listening to the tedious silence, you decided to take a walk to the local kennel and see if any of the hybrids there caught your eye. If you got lucky, you'd take home one or two to keep you company. Upon your entering, your eyes were immediately drawn to the hybrid sat on the furthest corner from the bars of his cell. Tan skinned, with a scar going from his cheek down to his chin, and with the darkest —messier— curls you had ever seen. His black ears, fluffy, were slightly pinned back as he stared into the wall with a dejected look in his brown eyes. "what about that one?" you politely interrupted the worker showing you the hybrids in the different cells. She stopped her rambling, looking at the direction you were pointing, before her eyebrows raised. Before she could speak, though, a loud growling was heard coming from a different cell to the one you were pointing at. The girl, probably not over twenty, chuckled nervously as she readjusted her collar. "oh, um, yeah, that's- that's Johnny" she tried to speak, but the growl got louder. "there's a problem, though.." "what problem? I'm not worried about paying for vaccines and all that" you answered kindly. "no, uh, the problem is that.. to get Johnny" she turned towards the cell were the growling was coming from. "you'd have to get Dallas" Before you could answer that you'd gladly take those two, she continued. "and to get Dallas, you'd have to get Darry.. and to get Darry you'd have to get Sodapop" she kept on "and to get him you'd have to get Ponyboy, and if you get Ponyboy you'd have to get Two-Bit, and if you get Two-Bit you'd also have to take Steve.." When she finished talking, she sent you an apologetic look —assuming you wouldn't be interested in taking seven stray hybrids home. To her surprise, and the hybrid's, you just stayed silent a few seconds before speaking up again. "very well then" you said, eyes drifting back to Johnny. "I'll take them"

⮞ so that's how you ended up with a pack of seven stray hybrids in your home.

⮞ intrusive thoughts : 1 - you : 0

⮞ Johnny is a groenlanden belgian sheepdog, characterised for their black furr. Known for being very intelligent and affectionate with their packs, but aloof and cautious of strangers.

⮞ Dallas is a wolf-dog hybrid, not from any specific breed, just a pup that someone abducted and trained into a hound dog. He's tougher, meaner and colder than the others, also his canines are sharper and his bark louder.

⮞ Two-Bit is a border collie, known for their high energy so when they get bored they may develop some.. behavioural issues and start acting out. They like having things to do, tasks to accomplish, and a lot of playtime.

⮞ Steve is a belgian malinois, they like working and are incredibly focused when doing so. They are incredibly loyal and, while not typically 'cuddly' dogs, tend to form extremely strong bonds with their owners and will stick close to them.

⮞ Sodapop is a golden retriever (obv) since they're known for their friendly, loyal, and gentle nature. They’re often described as one of the most social dog breeds since they tend to get along with everyone (kids, other pets, strangers, etc..)

⮞ Ponyboy is a greyhound. Greyhounds can be a bit reserved with strangers but are not typically aggressive. They are often quite affectionate with their family members, seeking out attention and being very gentle in their interactions. Despite their reputation for speed, they tend to be calm and laid-back dogs in the home.

⮞ Darry is a german shepherd, known for their loyalty, intelligence, and versatility. They’re often described as one of the most trainable dog breeds, which is why they excel in a variety of roles. Protective and fearless, excellent guard dogs. They tend to form strong bonds with their families, though they can be reserved around strangers.

⮞ at least now your house is never silent. There's always someone laughing or barking somewhere.

⮞ Two-Bit and Soda were the first ones to warm up to you.

⮞ to say Soda's tal was wagging like crazy all the way to your home would be an undersatement. ^ he is the passenger prince. always.

⮞ Pony got sick in the drive home btw (he's not built for cars lol)

⮞ Darry was cautious of you, but extremely polite and respectful too since you had adopted them all and he knows better than anyone what you're gonna have to deal with 😬

⮞ Dallas was a downright asshole.

⮞ he kept growling at you all the times you got 'too close' to him or Johnny.

⮞ Darry had to hit him in the back of his head to get him to 'shut your traps'.

⮞ Steve was more on the neutral side of things, he was glad and honestly surprised someone had taken them all in but he was still a bit cautious.

⮞ Johnny just stuck to Dallas and Ponyboy, not really approaching you out of the polite side of things (like saying good morning, or hello, or giving you an unsure smile whenever he walked by you)

⮞ over time, though, Johnny started to relax when it came to you.

⮞ after, maybe a week or two, Dallas dropped his shitty behaviour and took up a more relaxed (yet still asshole-ish) route when interacting with you. ^ he started to get flirty, too, but in a strange way (like a bit mocking idk)

⮞ Darry is actually the most helpful lol

⮞ he is dedicated to helping you wash the dishes, do the laundry, and he's the designated handyman whenever something stops working or the boys break something.

⮞ he will always go with you if you have to go shopping somewhere, especially if it's already getting late outside. He gives you scary dog priviledges

⮞ Dallas will absolutely go through your things. It's his favourite hobby.

⮞ whenever he gets bored, boom, suddenly he's in your room looking through your drawers searching for whatever he can get his hands on.

⮞ sometimes he'll drag Johnny along and the poor sheepdog will we whisper-talking to Dallas the whole time trying to get him to stop. He'd die if you ever caught them looking through your things.

⮞ one time you caught them while Johnny was trying to stop Dallas from getting his hands on your silky drawers and his cheeks had never burnt so red. ^Dallas just smirked at you like the cocky shit he is.

⮞ Two-Bit is all about running around and being restless, he has the highest energy you've ever seen.

⮞ The best way to get him down from an energy blast is whistling for him and putting on Mickey Mouse on the TV. That's the only way he'd sit still.

⮞ Dallas and him have started a 'game war'. In which the game consists in seeing who can sneak up on you from behind and get to lift your skirt.

⮞ Darry actually gave them the worst scolding they've had to endure after finding that out. ^safe to say Two-Bit spent the rest of the day with his ears down, and cheeks permanently flushed, in embarassment.

⮞ Steve is a complete goner for your car.

⮞ you're a wealthy woman, with the company and money you've inherited, and you have a damn black cadillac parked in your front door.

⮞ he is crazy for it, trying to keep a straight face while his tail is wagging like a helicopter when you suggest letting him drive it. he actually popped a boner just from the thrill of driving it btw lol

⮞ Ponyboy is the calmest, and he likes to lounge in your room where the boys don't usually get in. He plays the guard dog whenever he catches Dallas trying to sneak into your room btw.

⮞ He likes to go through your books and then talk to you about them.

⮞ He actually is like having a teenage son that only comes talk to you when you're already tucked in bed and about to go to sleep like "hey mom I just remembered what I dreamt today-"

⮞ Sodapop likes to follow you around the house, he doesn't like being alone and will literally glue himself to you if it's a stay-in day. He's fr going to lay down next to you or on you if he ever catches you napping.

⮞ he's the kind of hybrid to sneak up into your room late at night and ask if you're cold. Before you can answer he'll sneak under the sheets to steal your body warmth because he is cold.

⮞ Dallas is actually only vulnerable when the vet check ups come around.

⮞ He's going to be grabbing onto your sleeves, literally digging his fingers onto your arms, when it's his turn to go in. He'll have the widest look to his eyes and the most nervoust smile to his lips you've ever seen.

⮞ he'll be anxiously rambling about how he doesn't need any vaccines while trying to keep up his facade.

⮞ after getting the shot he always is a changed man, well, hybrid. He's the quietest you'll ever see, with a 100 yard stare (so dramatic) and he'll actually let you carry him back to the car.

⮞ once home he'll lay down on the couch for the rest of the day and won't move, he's so dramatic. He'll literally be staring at the ceiling like he was thinking over his whole life.

⮞ one time Johnny came by to ask what was going on with him, and he lit deadpaned with a "I've been violated today"

"C'mon doll, c'mon-" Dallas was trying to convince you, trying to appear put-togheter, even while his voice was cracking mid-phrase and his hands were clawing at your sleeves. You tutted at him, your hands on his arms as you gently tried to pry him off of you. "Dallas" you spoke, voice firm yet affectionate "It's just a vaccine" "but I don't need it, doll!" he downright barked, his eyes wide as he stared up at you, grabbing onto your sleeves while the vet and her assistent nurse tried to get him off of you. "'ve been a stray in NY streets, man! I don't need no stupid shot!" now he sounded almost agressive, snapping his jaw and growling at the nurse that tried to grab his tail. "yes, you do" you replied calmly, trying to get him to level down, but his hands only tightened on your sleeves. He pushed himself against you, chest against chest, in his frenzy to get away form the nurse. "GET YOUR HANDS OFF OF ME!" he barked when the vet finally got her hands on his tail, with that grip he was vulnerable. With a firm tug, and a growling bark, the vet managed to get him off of you and onto the table. With the nurse holding him down as he kept looking at you —giving you his most pleading eyes. Safe to say, you left that room with the toughest and tuffest member of his pack tucked into your arms. His forehead on your shoulder, legs dejectedly around your waist, and his arms hanging lifelessly by his sides.

[onlyrains]

[5:21pm]

genre: comfort, fluff wc: 1.1k ┊not proofread!

you are nothing near from being the greatest singer of the century, to begin with. you're not even a singer at all. but layla, a border collie of your best friend's–jake, might be your first fan ever.

whenever she sees you around in some comfortable circumstances, she's never hesitate to lay down beside you and sometimes even rest her jaw on your thigh. on top of that, one day when jake come to your place to check on you while you lay sick on your bed, she also lies and put her paw on your arm.

she keeps ignoring her nature as one of the most active and energetic breed and you have a soft spot for her also. so of course, you always gladly sing for her. you even made a playlist to sing for her, which full of coldplay's old songs that you found she loves the most.

as an owner, jake found this quite beneficial sometimes when he needs to done his things but very much confused at the same time. what's up with your voice? he's a good singer too. people even recognize him for that. but why's his dog, his best buddy, his love, never react the way she does for you?

"she's my child, jake." you always say.

"stop saying that. i literally clean, do the chores, and work for her?" and he always replies.

today, as he promised yesterday, he came to your place with layla. and no, you're not sick today, it's apparently the opposite. he arrived with a pissed, frustrated face and refuse to talk fifteen minutes ago. he's just walks around your living room with his disheveled white office shirt.

you continue to read your book while playing with layla's hair and humming to coldplay's song. you make sure to open your bedroom door widely to let him know that he can come in when he's ready. it's not the first time you've seen jake in this state and you know the best way to deal with it is just let him do anything he wants. he will talk about it when he's tired.

speaking of which, the tail of your eye catches his movement towards you. well, maybe it is a very serious matter since he has never got tired this quick.

"what's up?" you snap, closing your book on your stomach. layla got up at your sudden movement as she sees her owner walks in your direction. she jumps on the floor and her favorite song is now long gone.

"jake?" he sits on layla's spot earlier and lets out a deep sigh.

"it's work." his eyes looking at the white sheets beneath him and draw an imaginary circle with his index.

"i know. wanna talk about it?"

he drags his body to lay next to you, head burried in your pillow while his arms stretched out to his side and your neck, almost choking you.

"i don't know, girl. i'm just... tired."

"is it that bad?" you ask carefully.

he nods. "there's a problem with the project and this mf blame me for it," he groans. thank god your pillow muffled his voice.

"oh? what a prick."

"can you sing for me?" he raises his head.

you never turn your head so fast.

"what?" you blurt out a laugh.

he lies on his side, perfectly facing you. "oh, c'mon. you always make layla chill out with it."

"but you're not layla?"

"i'm her owner, you know. she's my daughter. like father like dau–"

"okay, stop. you started sound silly,"

"babe, c'mon. i just need to sleep. you know how much effort i put on this project? i barely had a proper sleep,"

as soon as that pet name came out of his mouth you know it's hard to win over him. he will starts pleading as soon as he can, so you let out a heavy sigh and stretch out your arm reluctantly.

"c'mere,"

the next thing you know, he already burried his head on your shoulder. well, actually, this is your first time being this close with him in this kind of position despite your nth years of friendship.

so when he’s seemingly already found his spot on the crook of your neck, you can't help but squirm a little, but jake is too quick to catch your waist to prevent you from moving anywhere.

"don't move." he says against your neck.

you bite your inner cheek to hold back a sharp gasp that almost come out of nowhere.

you take a deep breath before placing your hand on his head, brushing his hair lightly. you decide to continue to sing to spark, which was previously forcibly cut off.

"my heart is yours," you start to whisper.

"it's you that i hold on to,

that's what i do,

and i know i was wrong,

but i won't let you down,

mmm, yeah, i will, yeah, i will, yes, i will," your voice get slightly lower.

"i said, oh,

i cry, oh,

yeah, i saw sparks,

yeah, i saw sparks." you massage his scalp lightly.

"sing it out,

la la la la la la,"

you feel his breathing becomes steady while in fact he's just enjoying his action to inhaling your scent that mixed with a soft fragrant from your newly washed sweater. he has never been this relax in a long time.

you keep on with the lyrics in humming as your eyes glued to the plain ceiling of your room. you feel his arm is still lazily attached to your waist then what are you doing, really? is it normal to cuddle your friend from high school? is it okay to comfort your guy friend like this?

you haven't finished think about that but jake already raised his head.

his eyes slightly red from the drowsiness that suddenly hit him but the smile on his mouth is as wide as ever. "y'know, layla actually has a good taste."

a heat suddenly strikes your cheek, causing it to turn to a shade of red.

his head turns to his dog on the floor. "dang, my girl is talented, for real."

you roll your eyes at him. "okay, now move."

he's quick to back on his previous spot, even more suffocating right now as he pulls you impossibly close to his body.

he tilts his head upward to face you. his wet eyes stares at you so innocently, which quite opposite to his actions that practically hugging you so tight while trying to sleep.

"ey, c'mon, don't be so stingy," he snuggles to you, again.

you bite your lip this time. maybe you just as tired as him, but you swear, you saw the sparks.

[doberbutts]

Is the high level of inbreeding in dobes more because "undesirable" traits are common so those dogs get weeded out (whether actual bad things or just not fitting the breed spec), a small number of breeders having the monopoly, or because they are all related anyway so there's no way of avoiding it without an outcross program? Is something like the Doberman Preservation ​Project a realistic future for the breed?

The doberman breed is in the current shape its in due to multiple genetic bottlenecks- some simple stupid breeding decisions and others due to active war zones and the consequences of wars- paired with people who are stubbornly refusing to even try to make it better because they have convinced themselves that what they're doing is right.

Fenris is my lowest COI dobe to date [23% iirc] and while not the lowest I've seen in the breed [19%], still a huge improvement over to 50-60% breed average. But people have argued again and again that lowering COI means making breeding decisions that produce inferior dogs, and so many refuse to even consider it as a possibility.

(For non-dog people, COI is coefficient of inbreeding, and it is a look at the numbers behind how inbred a population is. You want as low of a number as possible. 25% is equal to immediate siblings. Ideally we'd want single digit numbers, with anything over 10% being a major problem to fix. To compare, my chihuahuas are something like 6% (Fae) and 0.02% (Tater). Sushi is a direct line breeding aunt-to-nephew so she's up in the 40s.)

(It doesn't necessarily mean a dog is immune to genetic predisposition to bad health, as evidenced by Tater's CM diagnosis, however it does seem to correlate directly with longevity and likelihood of developing these problems, meaning Tater unfortunately just lost the genetic lottery)

In other words, it is certainly possible to reduce the COI of the breed by HALF with smart breeding decisions, and people are plugging their ears going LA LA LA LA I CAN'T HEAR YOU because it means actually going out and looking past the popular sires and taking a chance on a dog that might not be your exact type but will still improve the next generation. This is not just a show line problem because I spend the majority of my time with working line dobes and working dobe people and this is an incredibly annoying problem there too. Fenris himself has popular sires in his pedigree, both the show half and the working half, so it is demonstratably very difficult to avoid.

I do think a well executed outcross project is needed, however... the problem I have is that the current proposed projects all suck. There's not a lot of direction outside of throwing things into the pot and seeing what sticks, and a lot of the resulting dogs quite frankly aren't what doberman people would be looking for anyway. Farm collies? Bulldogs? Bullies? Carolina dogs? Border collies? Pyrs? Why??? None of these are going to make a dog that has the temperament that draws people to this breed.

There are. A bunch of breeders who are waiting for an outcross project that actually makes sense. They've even posted in various outcrops groups that they would support a project if it had certain specifications. Many have said, get yourself a nice female and title her out in a bite sport and do all the doberman health testing even if she's not a doberman and we'd be interested in contributing semen. The response almost invariably has been "but I don't want a protective dog". Then what are you doing in a DOBERMAN project??? So of course the chief complaint is that most of these projects are not looking to make dobermans, they're looking to make their own breed and just have a doberman paint job. Well, sorry, but most involved doberman people want a DOBERMAN, not just a dog that looks like one. This is the only AKC recognized breed with the sole function of personal protection. They are protective dogs. Either accept that, or get interested in a different breed.

I have heard increasingly concerning things regarding the temperament of the doberman diversity project dogs, which does not surprise me unfortunately as none of these dogs are in any way sourced from dogs with verifiable correct temperament. What do you get when you cross a Craigslist Corso with a Craigslist doberman? Well the first generation might be okay for people who want pets but apparently the ones that have worked in protection are awful at it. Same with the malinois crosses- of course, you took a lukewarm malinois and bred it to a z-list doberman and you're surprised that you got a bunch of lukewarm at best pet dogs.

I think the only project I solidly am somewhat interested in is the bandog cross, and that cross works just fine but then of course it does because in that country, bandogs are exclusively military, police, and security dogs, and she bred it to a igp3 doberman. Unfortunately the doberman died before his 10th birthday, so now we're all waiting to see what happens with his progeny.

[jam3sacaster]

in dire need of taggie’s bsf!reader x patrick THE ABSOLUTE ANGST PLS

omg YES PLS 🤩🤩🫶🏽

“You have so much celestial light.”

(Rivals) Patrick O’Hara x Reader

Suggestion by this sweet anon 🫶🏽

18+ FANFIC / Implied smut & GORGEOUS Patrick 🥰 Reader character aged at 21. Hope you enjoy! 🩷 (Tumblr give us Patrick gifs NOW)

The bluebell woods leading the pathway to The Priory were in full bloom under the gleaming summer sunlight — creating the most magnificent artwork of indigo petals across the dew-topped fields. Taggie O’Hara was sprinting frantically after Gertrude, who had taken a rather unwelcome liking to a passing fox. Duchess, your much more affable border collie, stayed put by your feet, although the temptation to bound after Gertrude was increasing. “Taggie! Don’t run, it just makes her worse.” You called after your copper-haired friend, keeling over in a thunderous fit of laughter. Unable to resist temptation any longer, Duchess bolted off to your right but you, entirely unfazed, allowed her to.

“Hello, beautiful.” A buttery soft voice spoke beside you. Glancing upwards, the breath caught in your throat. A statuesque man — chiselled jawline, long ringlets of chocolate brown curls and rippling biceps that bulged from his tight shirt. “Duchess, here girl.” You called out, but she was lay on her back, excitedly squirming as the man knelt beside her and stroked her chest. In the distance, Taggie was some yards ahead, her willowy limbs unable to keep up with the pace of her sprint. “It’s terribly uncouth to ignore somebody’s compliment.” He spoke again, jokingly. Blushing furiously, your look of bewilderment was seemingly diminutive in comparison to his. His emerald green gaze couldn’t remove its hold from you, and his jaw was agape — he was transfixed.

“Patrick O’Hara, your future husband.” He introduced himself, rising to his feet and advancing towards you. Taking your hand, he blessed it with a gentle kiss. Your already flustered cheeks were now glowing the most mortifying magenta. “Patrick? You’re Taggie’s…” You began, but with a self-righteous smile, he finished your sentence. “Brother, yes. I imagine she’s told you about me, as I’ve been told many a story about you. Thank you for looking after her.” Patrick’s voice was charmingly solemn now, and it made your heart flutter like the frantic wings of a bumblebee inside your chest.

Attaching Duchess back onto her lead, you both began to follow in the direction of Taggie, although she was so far in the distance by now that her copper hair appeared as a small amber beacon leading the way, something you and Patrick both shared a delightful giggle over. “Do you have a girlfriend at university then?” You questioned, as nonchalantly as you could muster. “No. The girls at Trinity don’t have enough celestial light. When you find the one, the light just blinds you intensely. It’s very important.” Patrick informs you, taking a hold of Duchess’ lead. “Do I have celestial light?” You continued to probe, stopping dead in your tracks and batting your wispy eyelashes towards him. “Oh darling, you have so much celestial light.” Patrick beamed in response, turning on his heels and leading you down to the river bank.

The tranquil rushing of the river instantaneously steadied your heartbeat. Setting up camp on two large, jagged rocks, Patrick released Duchess from her roped restraint and cackled as she bounded across the river bank, most certainly in search of Gertrude. “What has Taggie told you about me then?” You inquired, your delicate voice sounding otherworldly serene against the babbling brook. “She’s told me that you’re an angel. I always thought that was just an expression until now. But darling, you are heavenly.” Patrick whispered the honeyed words, and enchanted shivers reverberated throughout your body. “Oh, Patrick. Don’t be silly.” You muttered, inching closer towards him.

Brushing a lock of leather black hair away from your eyes, Patrick took a moment to inspect you further — pin straight hair that framed your soft jawline perfectly, a buttoned nose & cerulean eyes that twinkled so majestically that they appeared almost lilac. “Here you are.” Taggie panted breathlessly, much louder than that of the two exhausted dogs sat by her feet. “Gertrude followed the fox to its den, and then went sprinting off with Duchess.” She puffed, slipping down beside you and resting her rouged cheek on your shoulder. “Tired, Tag?” Patrick smiled — but there was a disheartened tonality in his voice. “Exhausted! And I’ve been looking for you two for ages.” She sighed as you patted the top of her head softly.

“Anyway. Umm, I’ll head back to The Priory. I’m sure Mum will want to see me. I’ll see you later.” Patrick sighed, and jumped to his feet. “Oh Patrick, wait…” You exclaimed, but you faltered sorrowfully as he had already begun to trudge across the damp leaves, head hanging.

“I waited for a girl like you to come and save my life…” - Out of My League, Fitz & The Tantrums.

[ofstarsandvibranium]

Beachfront Bliss

Fandom: Top Gun: Maverick

Pairing: Billy "Fritz" Avalone x F!Reader

Summary: You're walking your dog, Delilah, along the beach until she decides to chase after a handsome man playing football with his buddies.

Manny Jacinto Characters Masterlist

The sun is slowly setting on San Diego. You'd just gotten home from work and now you're getting your dog, a border collie named Delilah, ready for her walk. She's excitedly shaking her tail as she stares up at you while you hold her leash.

"Wait," you command and Delilah sits, watching you expectantly.

You clip the leash onto her collar and open the front door, "Good girl!" Delilah promptly races out the door, only stopping when the retractable leash has met the end.

"Come!" you call for her and she rushes back to your side, sticking to it as you walk down your street and towards the beach.

As you grow closer, the sounds of the waves crashing on the shore become louder. Once pavement becomes sand, you slip off your sandals, stuffing them into your tote bag as you continue to walk.

There isn't a lot of people on the beach since it's midweek. However, you do see a group of people playing football.

The commotion alerts Delilah as the two of you near the group. There's boisterous laughing and hollering. The group spreads out as you grow closer, so you walk further away to not potentially be hit.

You avert your attention ahead, moving on from the football group, however, Delilah seems very keen on watching them, trying to stay in place.

"Come on, Lilah!" you lock the retractable leash and give her a warning tug, urging her to continue walking, "Let's finish your walk!"

Your commands fall deaf on her ears as she watches the group continue their game of football. One of the men throws the ball and another tried to catch it. The ball grazes his fingertips and causes the ball to go flying in your direction. It falls a few feet away from you and, before you could even blink, Delilah pounces at it. The sudden movement frees her leash from your hand.

"Delilah!" you shout as your dog starts running around the beach with the football in her mouth.

The group of people all laugh and begin to join you in the chase for your dog. Delilah clearly thinks it's a game as she dodges and weaves through everyone's legs. Men and a few women topple into the sand as they attempt to catch Delilah.

You and the others eventually start to slow down, growing tired of your dog's antics.

You stand there, hands on your hips, looking at your dog like a disappointed mother. She meanders over with a pep in her step and drops the football at your feet.

You sigh, pinching your nose, "Thank you, Lilah." You pick up the football and hand it to the nearest man. His tanned skin and toned chest are on full display. He's wearing classic ray bans and a smile that makes your heart stop for a moment.

"Sorry about her."

He chuckles, "Don't worry about it. Never thought it'd be a dog to take down a group of Navy Pilots."

Your brows shoot up in surprise, looking at the group of people around you, "You're all in the Navy?"

He nods, "Yup and I think you just proved to our Captain that we need to work out more."

You giggle, "Yeah. Again, sorry about her. She's probably a little stir-crazy. Haven't been able to take her out as much due to work. As you can see, she has a lot of energy."

The man kneels and begins to pet her, "She's cute so I'll forgive her. What's her name?"

"Delilah or Lilah or Deli."

"Well hello, Delilah, I'm Billy, but my friends call me Fritz."

"Fritz?" you look at him confused as he rises to a stand again.

"My call-sign."

"Frtiz! C'mon, man!" one of the guys hollers.

"I gotta-"

"You should-"

Both of you speak at the same time and stop with a chuckle.

Fritz holds his hand out, "It was nice meeting you..."

"Y/N. Nice to meet you Fritz," you shake his hand, "Enjoy the rest of your day."

"Thanks! You too! Maybe I'll see you guys around again!" he gives you a wave and heads back to his Navy friends who were all in position for the next game.

You watch them for a little bit, admiring the very attractive group of people before you. Then you chuckle, ruffling Delilah's fur before tugging her along. She's apprehensive, wanting to go back to "playing" with her new friends.

"C'mon, princess. We gotta go back home and start making dinner." Delilah reluctantly proceeds to follow you through the sand, leaving her new friends behind.

_______________________

It was your friend's, Jackie's, birthday and she wanted to do a bar crawl. You were one of the designated drivers so you've mainly stuck with water throughout the night and keeping a careful eye on your friend.

The next bar on her list was called the Hard Deck, which is apparently home to a lot of Navy officers. When you hear this, a part of you hopes you might run into Fritz, but there's no way, right?

Your group clamber into the bar, which was jam packed considering it was a Friday night.

"It's my birthday so feel free to buy me drinks!" you're already drunk friend hollers. A few men already begin to approach her ready to fulfill her request.

You tell your other friend, Abby, that you're going to find a table for your group. She gives you a salute and turn back to watch the rest of the group.

As you're weaving through bodies, you suddenly bump into someone, spilling their drink.

"Shit! I'm so so-Fritz!"

He looks at you in surprise, "Hey! Y/N!" then looks at you confused, "I'm kind of surprised to see you here."

You snort, "Yeah, um, not a place you'd usually find me at on a Friday night, but it's my friend's birthday," you point over your shoulder to Jackie with her birthday crown on her head and down a shot as your friends and a few Navy men cheer her on, "We're doing a bar crawl, but I'm the DD."

He nods in understanding, "Got it."

"Actually, you don't happen to see any free tables, do you? That's what I was doing before I bumped into you. Also, I will definitely get you a replacement drink for that!"

He chuckles, "It's fine. Really and you and your group can join me and my buddies."

"You sure?" you look at him apprehensively.

"Yeah, besides, I know a few of them will definitely pay for your guys' drinks," he gives you a smirk.

You snicker, "Alright. Let me go grab them."

"I'll follow you," he places his hand on your lower back as he follows you back to the counter where your friends are gathered.

"Hey!" you tap Abby on the shoulder, "This is my friend, Fritz," you point to him over your shoulder and he waves.

Abby gives you a questioning look, "Friend?"

"The guy I met on the beach because Lilah stole their football?"

"Ooooh!" she waves at him, "Hi!"

"Hi! I told Y/N that you guys can share tables with my buddies and I."

"You sure?"

"Oh yeah. Some of them will most likely pay for your drinks too."

Abby snorts, "Well I can't deny free drinks." She proceeds to tell the other women the plan and grabs Jackie's hand, leading her away from the men chatting her up.

She stumbles and you catch her, "Easy there, babe!"

Jackie spots Fritz over your shoulder, "It's my birthday!"

He laughs, "So I heard. Happy birthday!"

"Thanks!" she looks to you and not so secretly says, "He's cute!"

You chuckle, "Yeah, babe. Let's go to the table, 'kay?"

She nods, "Okay," and follows you and Fritz towards the back of the bar. He stops at three tables filled with the same group of people you saw on the beach weeks prior.

"Hey! Beach Girl!" a brunette with a thick mustache calls out.

You wave, "Nice to see you again."

"What're you doing here in our neck of the woods, beautiful?" the tall blonde one asks with a grin that makes you roll your eyes.

Jackie stands beside you and you gesture to her, "It's my friend's birthday. We're doing a bar crawl. This is one of our stops. Jackie, say hi."

Jackie waves, "Hi," she looks at everyone in awe, "Why are all of you guys so hot?!"

You facepalm, "Jackie's filter flies out the window when she's drunk," you explain to Fritz.

"The guys are gonna love it."

The men let the ladies have their seats, standing around them and making conversation.

You continue to stand beside Fritz, fanning yourself. He looks at you in concern, "You okay?"

"Just getting a bit warm."

"Wanna step onto the deck? It's just out there," he points to the double doors behind you. You take a look at your friends and make sure they're okay before you step out.

Once you're outside, you give a sigh of contentment. The cool breeze immediately chills your body in a welcoming way.

You rest your back against the railing so you can still keep an eye on your friends. Abby looks at you through the window giving you a questioning thumbs up. You smile giving her a thumbs up back and she goes back to her conversation.

"When did you guys start the crawl?"

You look at the time on your phone, "About two hours ago, but Jackie and a few others pregamed. So by the time we hit like the second bar, they were far gone already."

"How many more bars are on your list?"

"Jackie wanted to hit ten, but I'm not sure if we'll even get to the fifth one." There's cheers from inside as Jackie downs yet another shot.

"Not much of a drinker?"

You scrunch your nose and shake your head, "Nah. This overall thing isn't really me, but Jackie's one of my best friends, so I'll come out of my cave for her."

Fritz's nose crinkles as he laughs and you think it's the cutest thing ever.

"How's Delilah?"

"Good. She's happier now that work is starting to slow down and I can take her out for longer walks though."

"She hasn't stolen anymore footballs, has she?"

You snort, "Fortunately not, and she hasn't managed to take down another group of Naval officers either."

"Hey, she took us by surprise. We'd already been out there for a while, our energy was already low."

"Suuure. Keep telling yourself that, Fly Boy."

The two of you stay out there for some time, getting lost in conversation and each other's company. You've discovered that not only is Fritz handsome, but he's funny, kind, loyal, and a nerd. He has his parents and two sister back at home. He's a very family-oriented person and you admire him for that.

You two lose track of time and before you know it, Abby is coming out to you two.

"We're calling it a night. Jackie's is so far gone and some of the other girls are getting there."

"Alright. We should start closing tabs then."

"His buddies took care of it," she nods to Fritz.

You and Fritz grin at each other, "Told you," he says.

"Well, thank your friends for me. And thanks for keeping me company out here."

You step to leave, but Fritz stops you, "Wait, actually, is it okay if I get your number? I'd like to take you out some time."

You smile and nod at him, "Yeah. Of course!" you two quickly exchange numbers and promptly head back inside with Abby.

You gather your friends up, Fritz and his buddies helping you and Abby walk Jackie and the others out.

Your group piles into yours and Abby's car, waving at the group of men, "Thanks again, fellas!" you yell out before driving away.

Fritz stands there with his buddies and once you're out of sight, they begin to badger him about getting your number.

He reluctantly says that he did and his pals cheer him on with pride.

Before he goes to sleep that night, Fritz sends you a text:

It was nice chatting with you. Let me know your schedule so we can plan that date. Hope your friends don't give you too much trouble.

Sweet dreams. - Fritz

[hexxxcapades]

i need to blabber about my animal choices for when i doodled some of the Conclave characters as animals here

Sister Agnes -- Domestic Shorthair Cat

I felt a cat suited Sister Agnes's energy (quiet, watchful, unwilling to interfere until the pivotal point, where she strikes and aims true) well. I considered using a rabbit for her (docility, humility, etc.) but rabbits are typically perceived as agitated/anxious, which is the opposite of what she is. Her breed is nonspecific, but I drew heavily from the British shorthair, and I plan to make her markings emulate Siamese or Burmese cats.

Cardinal Tedesco -- Domestic Longhair Cat

Like Agnes, I didn't want to label Goffredo as a particular cat breed (I think it would be interesting if belonging to a particular "pure" breed is some kind of socioeconomic marker, but that's another conversation), though it's pretty obvious that he appears to have a good bit of Maine Coon in him. I chose this breed because of its somewhat imposing/imperious appearance, though they are purportedly "gentle giants" (which Goffredo is....definitely not). It's pretty obvious that he wields his appearance---the full cardinal regalia, the golden pectoral cross, etc.---as a tool to establish dominance, so it seemed fitting to model him after this breed.

Cardinal Bellini -- Greyhound

I chose the greyhound more so for the appearance than anything else. They're lean, wiry, and elegant in appearance. However, I do think there could be some parallels between their temperaments/breed traits and Aldo. For example, intelligence = self-explanatory, laziness = Aldo's unwillingness to take decisive action, non-confrontative nature = Aldo talking shit about Goffredo behind his back but never quite facing him head-on, independence/introvertism = Aldo's failure to win over his fellow members of the Curia, and so on.

Cardinal Lawrence -- Border Collie

While watching this movie with a friend, we both remarked on how Thomas's taciturn demeanor just seems like a really thin veil for deep-seated anxiety/agitation. Where Aldo is kind of outwardly neurotic, Thomas directs it all inward. He's giving working dog breed that is both severely overstimulated and severely understimulated at once, and is thus thinking about gnawing his own leg off 24/7. Someone get him a chew toy or something, damn. Also, herding dog as the manager of the sheep?? As the guardian of the lamb of God?? The symbolism is just too good to pass up.

Cardinal Benitez -- Goat

Initially, I was thinking something like rabbit, possum, or perhaps even a bat---all diminutive and meek/shy animals. But in the end, I went with a goat (breed nonspecific again), just because something appealed to me about the imagery of a lamb of God, just...slightly to the left. A prayer answered, but not in the way one might expect. Also, just like Vincent, goats tend to be hardy and have a strong stubborn streak. One of his horns is broken---a very visible marker of the hard circumstances he has experienced. He's the first bovid (mammal belonging to the cow/sheep/goat family) to be elected Pope. This mirrors Cardinal Adeyemi, too, who I plan to make some sort of West African cattle breed. Racial/national divisions aren't easy to represent in this context, but I tried my best! 🤞🏽

[enchantedflameandflower]

Vincent Stevens x reader fic Part 2! by @kus-babygirl

mood board by @kus-babygirl

Vincent x reader multi-part romance! This was all entirely written by @kus-babygirl and her idea as well. I’ve done all the editing and added some bits here and there and she’s asked me to post for her. If you leave a comment make sure to tag @kus-babygirl!

tag list: @jynx15 @karlurbanism

(Part 1)

Part 2

The blare of your alarm wakes you early the next morning, reverberating loudly off the walls of your small apartment. You groan a little before switching it off and sit up in bed, instantly remembering what happened the night before with your new boss, Vincent Stevens. 

"Fuck," you groan to yourself. You hope you still have a job when you go in today. 

After grabbing a scolding shower to wake yourself up and getting dressed in a white blouse, black trousers and a blazer, you grab yourself a quick cereal bar to eat in the car. You check the time, 7:30, and pull on your sneakers. The heels last night killed your feet so you ware going for comfort today. You grab your phone and bag and make your way of out the apartment, locking it up. 

As you make your way out, you quickly say hi to Oliver, the doorman at your building. He is a good guy and always looks out for you. You rush to your car, and on the way to your new work building, you stop at a bakery that is about 8 minutes away and grab two coffees and a mixed tray of bagels, which consists of plain, cinnamon and raisin, blueberry, and poppyseed bagels. 

You get back to your car with your goodies, and make your way to your new office. Once there you find a parking space and head inside, stopping by the front desk to tell them you’re the new receptionist for Vincent Stevens. The woman gives a look of surprise and disbelief, probably because of the thought you would actually want to work under him. Secretly you can"t blame her. There’s probably many women that would refuse to work with him.

But you’re ready to look past the affairs because there might actually be a reason why he did it, bad marriage or something else. You can’t look past the murder accusation, though, if you found out that is true, but all the evidence seemed to suggest he was definitely set up.

The woman quickly composes herself before directing you towards his office, while also giving you a pass key for the building and your new login information for the computer. You smile politely, thanking her before making your way up to his office. 

When you arrive at the office, you put your stuff down on the empty desk, before walking over to Vincent’s door and knocking. You get no answer, so you figure he hasn’t arrived yet and you settle at the desk, logging into your computer while making a list of things you want to get for your office, if you are allowed to decorate it. 

Not even 10 minutes later, Vincent walks in with a border collie beside him. He startles when he sees you sitting there, shocked that you still wanted to work for him after last night. "Hey," he says, looking at you nervously. 

You lift your head up and smile slightly when you see him. "Hello, Mr. Stevens," you say, getting up and grabbing a coffee and the bagels, and offering them to him.

He looks at you curiously, obviously wondering why you would get all this stuff. 

"It’s a peace offering,” you explain quickly. “I wanted to apologize for what I said last night. I’m not going to make any excuses, but I was a tiny bit drunk. That still doesn’t excuse what I said, and I shouldn’t have said it to you, knowing you were my new boss. I’m kind of buttering you up to keep my job,” you admit. 

He chuckles softly, shaking his head while taking the coffee and a poppyseed bagel. "Please call me, Vincent. Mr Stevens makes me feel old. And don’t worry, sweetheart, your job is safe. I should be the one apologizing after flirting with you like that. I guess after all of the aff-" 

"I know what you mean," you interrupt, blushing at the nickname, but knowing he probably doesn"t want to talk about the affairs and everything else with you.

You put the tray back on your desk before looking at him, and his dog comes over and starts sniffing at you.

"That’s Finn, my dog. He comes to work with me, because I don’t want to leave him alone at home. I hope you’re okay with dogs," he says, looking at Finn, 

You smile, kneeling down and giving Finn some love. "I love dogs," you happily smile. 

"That’s good, he will take any amount of that," he chuckles, watching you. 

After a few minutes of petting Finn, you stand up, grabbing your coffee and taking a few sips of it. 

"You got your pass key and log-in information alright?" he asks. 

You nod, "Yeah, I did, thank you. What would you like me to do today?" 

"Just basically take my calls and set up meetings for me. Write appointments down, the usual stuff." He smiles, making his way towards his office with Finn in tow and taking a cinnamon and raisin bagel on the way. 

"Okay, that I can do," you smile back from behind your desk. 

After taking calls all day and scheduling meetings, it’s time to finally go home. 

Vincent walks you down to your car, waving goodbye when you leave the car park. You go into your apartment and crash on the sofa, feeling absolutely exhausted from the day. You can’t help but smile realising you might have a small little crush on your boss, but you decide to bury it deep, not wanting to ruin the friendship that is slowly starting to form.

[thejakeslayla]

I have a script idea in my mind, but if you don't want to, you can of course not write it.

I had a fight with Jake this morning and i got angry and went to the club with my friend to drink. The end of the night, i was so drunk, my friend called my bf Jake, and asked him to pick me up. Then while Jake is trying to drive me home we start arguing about why I went to the club and why get so drunk. Later, when he sees that we are really bad-drunk, he worries about me and takes good care of me.

I'm sorry if it's too much, you don't have to write it. I hope it didn't sound like an order. I dont want to be misunderstood. :(

╰─▸❝ going through hard time in your relationship with jake ❞

idol!jake x gn! reader ୨୧ genre angst, fluff at the ending ୨୧ warnings profanity, alcohol, neglect of relationship and a dog, arguments, kissing, sfw intimacy (jake helping reader change) ୨୧ wc 3k

you woke up unusually early today. your boss had called you two days ago and requested that you come in earlier due to the recent workload at your company. you agreed to the request, and the night before, as you prepared to wake up early, you asked jake to walk layla, your adorable border collie puppy.

as you left the bed, jake sensed the absence of your warmth and presence. he shifted in bed as you gathered your things from the desk. glancing in his direction, you greeted him with a smile, taking note of how he was presently rubbing his sleepy eyes. he appeared incredibly endearing, with disheveled hair and a groggy expression on his face.

"where are you going, angel?" he asked, his morning voice, with its deep and soothing timbre, melting your heart. you packed everything into your bag and approached the bed. you playfully tousled his blond locks and planted a gentle kiss on his forehead.

"i'm going to work, baby. don't forget to take layla for a walk, okay?" you reminded him, thinking that he might still be half-asleep and not thinking clearly. as you began to move away, jake grabbed your wrist, preventing you from getting too far.

"what? I have morning practice today, i can't," he said, and you looked at him, realizing he was fully awake now and understanding the situation.

"jake, I told you yesterday right after you got home. do you even listen to me when i talk to you?"

you understood that your boyfriend had a busy schedule, but lately, it felt like he wasn't fully present when you spoke to him. he used to pay attention to even the smallest details of your conversations, but recently, he seemed to forget the topics altogether. when the first week passed, you attributed it to him being overworked, as it had happened before, but now it had been weeks.

he didn’t have time for you, which you at some point got used to, you understood, it was his job. but layla was his puppy, he was the one to grow up with her and you just came into his life, when layla was already there. at the very least, he should be able to spare some time for her, a single walk wouldn't hurt him. 

you sighed, your expression becoming more irritated. he remained silent for a while, and when he finally responded, you couldn't help but explode in anger.

“y/n, i can’t. just walk her today, please.” 

he had the audacity to ask you to walk her, even though you did it every day. it's not like you didn't enjoy it; in fact, you loved it. but you weren't the rightful owner of layla. sometimes it felt that way, as you were the one feeding her, playing with her, taking her to the vet, and walking her.

“jake, literally what the fuck is wrong with you?” you exclaimed, unable to contain the anger that had been building up over the weeks.“are you aware that layla is also your fucking dog? i moved in with you, and yes, i agreed to take care of her too because i treat her like my own, even though she isn't.” 

“i get that and i truly understand that you’re too busy to spend time with me, but she’s a fucking dog!I can't explain to her that her dad is a neglectful owner who's too busy with work to even walk her when i'm busy!” you shouted. “you're not the only one with a job here. i've had to leave early numerous times to take care of her or handle things for you because you were too busy.” 

“show her that you love her at least! you already don’t show me that, so do it for her!” 

with those words, you left, slamming the bedroom door behind you. your whole day was now ruined. you despised how jake had been treating you and your precious "puppy daughter" lately. you noticed how layla always waited by the front door, ignoring your calls when it was bedtime, falling asleep on the doormat rather than in your bed right behind you. she was always near you, ready to comfort you when you cried because of jake's absence. she missed him as much as you did, but she was a puppy who wouldn't understand why jake wasn't home.

you said goodbye to hear, promising her that you'd be back soon. leaving the house, you felt a heavy weight pressing down on you with each step. a knot of anxiety and unbearable sadness twisted in your stomach.

on the other side, jake remained in bed, utterly shocked by your words. when he realized that he should probably apologize and agree with you, that he had been a terrible owner to layla and an awful boyfriend to you, it was already too late. you had left.

he looked at layla, who appeared clearly clueless, wagging her tail as she noticed that jake was awake. he patted the mattress, inviting her up.

as you arrived at the office, your coworker and best friend of several years instantly picked up on your bad mood. she didn't press you for details, knowing that you would open up during lunch. 

and it did happen. as you took another bite of your rice, she sat down next to you, and it took only a few minutes for you to vent and share the morning's argument with jake 

"i just don't understand. it's not like i don't enjoy taking care of layla, but it feels like he's changed. we used to take walks with her together, play with her together, and—" you sighed, toying with your food as your mind filled with memories of you and jake spending time together.

"i absolutely adore her. it really feels like she's just my dog, like she's not jake's dog anymore. but he told me when i moved in that she's our dog now, that we'd both take care of her." 

"i don't know anymore. i just want to get absolutely wasted tonight," you concluded, looking at your best friend.

"well, you could say that you three are like a family now. it says a lot about jake if he's treating layla and you like that. i don't even want to imagine if layla were a human, not a dog." 

and you thought about it. jake wouldn't treat his own human daughter like this, would he?

you didn't even realize when the scenery changed, and you found yourself in a nearby club, sipping on your second, or maybe third, drink. you were ready to order another one when your friend stopped you.

"remember that you're lightheaded, okay? i don't want you to end up sick from another drink." you could tell she was concerned, but you paid her no attention. your goal for the night was to forget all your problems.

after about two more drinks, you danced for a solid hour, immersing yourself in the crowd, engaging in small talk, and meeting new people. one drink too many, and your head landed on the table. everything was spinning, and your stomach felt uneasy. you tried to calm yourself with deep breaths, you weren’t ready to go home, you didn’t want to see jake just yet.

as you closed your eyes to rest, you immediately regretted it as everything spun even faster.

"y/n, you don't look well. i think that's enough for you," your best friend's soft voice whispered near your ear. 

"maybe you should pick up the phone and ask jake to come get you?" she asked. you had been ignoring jake's calls since you finished your first drink. it was even later now, and your phone showed 23 missed calls and 31 messages.

"he's probably worried about you, y/n. you should at least text him that you're okay."

and as she said that, your phone rang again. you weren't quick enough, as your best friend picked up the phone.

"hi, umm... i work with y/n. she's okay, yes. she's safe, but... well, she's drunk. i told her to call you, but she keeps saying she doesn't want to talk to you. i'll message you the address. please come get her."

and just like that, almost ten minutes later, you heard his voice. god, how much you hated his beautiful voice right now. 

"y/n! princess, my dear," you heard him getting closer. he wrapped his arm around your waist as he sat next to you. "why didn't you tell me you were going clubbing?"

"leave me alone, jaeyun. i don't want to talk to you," you mumbled, trying to move away, but he was simply too strong.

"it's okay. let's just go home and talk, okay?" 

you couldn't resist his firm grasp, and he easily guided you into the car. with all the movement, your stomach churned, and you had to fight the urge to throw up. as you got into the car, jake handed you a bottle of water and fastened your seatbelt, but he didn't start the car yet.

"can we talk?" he asked, his voice gentle and quiet.

“there's nothing to talk about. just drive me home," you replied, ignoring his extended hand holding the water bottle.

“y/n–“ 

"there's nothing to talk about!" you shouted, frustrated and intoxicated enough to raise your voice. 

“can you at least fucking listen to me?” he also raised his voice, trying to be heard over you. 

“listen, i know i fucked up. i walked layla this morning, i left work early, and i spent time with her. i understand how you felt, and—“ 

“you don’t understand shit.” you spat out. “you have no idea how much you've hurt me.” 

“but layla is fine–“ 

"it's not about layla! for weeks, i've been wondering why you're avoiding me, because that's how it feels. you're only home to sleep and, sometimes maybe eat, when you feel like acknowledging your girlfriend. but oh, sorry, you don't even listen to her!" you cut him off, too angry to hold back, the alcohol removing any filter.

"i really don't get what changed. i don't understand what i did to deserve this treatment. but if this is what our relationship is going to look like, i don't want to be in it." 

jake’s eyes widened, shocked that you could actually break up with him. you – the love of his life, his princess, his angel, his everything. e was one hundred percent sure he couldn't live without you. his source of happiness, you were his source of happiness. he grabbed your wrist, gently squeezing it. 

“y/n, don’t say that.” he finally spoke, and you finally realised how hurt he was, the sadness in his voice evident.

“drive me home.” 

and he did. he helped you out of the car, and you clung to him as if your life depended on it. he guided you to the bed and left you there to change, going to fetch water, a bowl in case you needed to vomit, and some medicine to prevent a hangover the next day.

as he returned to the bedroom, you were lying on the bed, still in your clothes, wrapped in a blanket.

"hey, angel. here, drink some water, okay?" he said softly, brushing the hair from your face. he helped you take a few sips, but you ended up chugging the entire glass.

"let me help you, okay?" he said, helping you sit up. he handed you one of his t-shirts and a pair of your pajama pants. he sighed when he turned around to you and you were laying down again. after yet again, forcing you to sit up, he grabbed the end of your blouse. 

“may i?” he asked and when you nodded, the cold air attacked your warm skin. you groaned at the feeling. “here, here. one second, princess.” he said, noticing your reaction. he helped you put on the t-shirt and quickly moved to your pants. you accidentally kicked him a couple of times as he tried to remove your clothes, but it wasn't hard enough to hurt him.

once you were changed, he wrapped the blanket around you. then he left the bedroom again, returning with another glass of water. as he set it down, he noticed you had already fallen into a deep sleep, your cheek pressed against the pillow as you hugged a plushie.

he remembered the day he had won that plushie for you. you had joked that it was a miniature version of him, as it was a golden retriever plushie. secretly, he had sprayed it with his perfume every time he had to leave for a tour, leaving you with it to cuddle at night. 

he adored the way you looked when you slept, your face so relaxed, your body rising and falling with your steady breathing. you appeared innocent and pure. he couldn't resist himself, and despite the strong smell of alcohol on you, he placed a kiss on your forehead and then your cheek.

his hand almost unconsciously moved to your head, softly stroking your hair as he sat beside you.

"i'm so sorry, angel," he whispered, still admiring your face. "i should've known better. i should've realized you were hurting."

"i love you so much. if i could, i would go back in time and fix everything. spend more time with you, appreciate you more, and show you just how much i really love you."

if only jake knew that you weren't asleep, that the moment he had touched your head, you had awakened. you couldn't help but feel sad, heartbroken even, as you heard his words. 

"i'm so sorry for being a bad boyfriend, a bad dog owner, and just... overall a bad person. i got so caught up in my work that i forgot i also needed to take care of you. you're way more important than work. you're the love of my life, the person i want to spend my future with. i have so many plans that involve you, my angel."

"jake..." you whispered, slowly opening your eyes.

he withdrew his hand, realizing that you had heard everything he had just confessed. instead of saying anything else, you opened your arms, inviting him into a hug 

"i love you," you said, as he wrapped his arms around you.

"i love you so much, y/n. i'm really sorry. i'll spend more time with you, i promise. i'll be better," he spoke softly, right next to your ear, then pressing a gentle kiss on your cheek.

"it's okay, jake. i understand. it's your job, and you have to be there most of the time. i just wish you were home more often."

"i will, i promise you that, love."

in the following days, jake made a sincere effort to keep his promise of spending more time with you. he adjusted his work schedule to free up some evenings and weekends, ensuring that he had quality time to devote to both you and layla.

one sunny saturday morning, jake surprised you with a homemade breakfast in bed. it wasn’t perfect, the toast slightly burnt and your coffee had too much sugar, but it just made the whole gesture more adorable. he'd even prepared layla's favorite treats, and the three of you enjoyed a cozy meal together. it was a simple gesture, but it meant the world to you.

as the weeks passed, you noticed a positive change in jake's behavior. he was more present, attentive, and genuinely engaged in your conversations. he made an effort to plan special outings and romantic date nights, just like when you first started dating. it was as if he had rediscovered the magic of your relationship.

your bond with layla also strengthened during this time. you both took her on long walks in the park, played fetch and each day jake sent you at least one article on how to take better care of your dog. it was clear that he was determined to be the best dog dad he could be.

one evening, as you and jake cuddled on the couch watching a movie, he turned to you with a heartfelt expression. "y/n, i can't thank you enough for helping me realize what truly matters. i was so consumed by my work that i lost sight of the most important things in my life—you and layla."

tears welled up in your eyes as you reached out to hold his hand, your fingers interlocking with his. the emotions swelled within you, and you felt a profound connection to the man beside you. "jake," you began, your voice filled with sincerity, "we all make mistakes. what matters is that we learn from them and grow stronger together. i love you, and i'm so glad to see the changes you've made."

jake leaned in and pressed a soft, tender kiss to your forehead. the affectionate gesture sent a warm shiver down your spine, and you nestled even closer to him, finding comfort in his embrace. as the movie continued to play, all while their loyal four-legged companion, layla, lay at your feet, contentedly dozing off, feeling the warmth of her family surrounding her.

as time went on, the two of you learned that love wasn't just about saying "i love you." it was about showing that love through actions, and jake had proven that he was willing to do whatever it took to make your relationship stronger.

. . . . . -ˋˏ ✎ author's note! oh my!! i enjoyed writing this one so much, thank you for requesting with so much details, it was easier to understand your request and write what you actually wanted! hope you enjoyed ♡ requests: open © 2023 — all rights reserved to user thejakeslayla, please do not steal, plagiarise or translate any of my work !

[stay-mon-army]

Lost Dog Meet Cute

Word Count: 2,192 words

Pairing: Jay (Enhypen) x fem!reader/OC (written from Jays' POV, no name used)

Warning(s): lost dog, jokes of someone killing someone for losing their dog

“I can’t believe you let her leash go.” Sunoo shakes his head, his mouth open as he looks at Ni-Ki, who stands with his hands on his hips, looking around as though the run-away dog will simply reappear magically.

“I didn’t let her leash go, you pushed me and I dropped it.” Ni-Ki stresses, pointing a finger at Sunoo, which he promptly swipes at. Sunoo makes a face at Ni-Ki before turning away, also searching for the cream border collie that had raced into the mass of people milling around Han River about a minute ago.

The dog in question wasn’t even either of theirs, it was their best friend Jake’s dog. Well, to be more exact, it was his family’s dog – they were visiting Jake on holiday here in Korea from Australia and had brought the dog, who had missed Jake the most. However, one of the excursions that Jake wanted to take his parents on was unfortunately not dog-friendly, meaning he would have to leave the dog at his apartment until they returned. In the hopes of keeping Layla from wrecking any havoc, and from leaving presents all over Jake’s floor on his return, he asked his friends if they would be willing to take Layla on a walk around mid-day. Being a border collie, she needed the exercise, he said, and really she wouldn’t be too much trouble because of how well-trained she was.

The only problem with the plan was that he asked two of the worst friends, as neither of them had ever had to deal with a dog as lively as Layla before. She was spunky and friendly, and ran up to EVERYTHING within the length of her leash. Sunoo and Ni-Ki also had a tendency to bicker. In the midst of a typical bicker session, somehow the leash slipped from Ni-Ki’s hand, allowing the lively dog the chance to run free as far as she desired. Which apparently, was out of eye shot of either of the boys now standing dogless in the middle of the lawn of the Han River.

“Well, what do we do now, genius? Just stand here staring until she finds her way back, or worse, gets hit by a car? Come on, we have to start looking for her!” Sunoo grumbles, crossing his arms and starting to stalk off in the direction he thinks Layla disappeared in.

“Hold on, I’m going to call the guys. Maybe they can help look.” Ni-Ki calls, pulling his phone from his pocket. Sunoo spins around his arms straightening at his sides quickly.

“Don’t tell Jake.”

“I won’t! Jesus.” Ni-Ki shakes his head again at the boy before him, making a face, before lifting his phone to his ear, making his first call of the afternoon.

~~~~~

Less than an hour later, Ni-Ki has enlisted the help of their four other friends, who have spread out in the general area of the Han River that Layla was last seen. They split up and decided to search individually, in the hopes of finding her before she’s dog-napped, or worse.

One such friend, Jay, is more than a little rumpled from the flight over here. Ni-Ki hadn’t told him what the emergency was when he called, only that Jay needed to get to him and Sunoo ASAP. Needless to say, Jay had ran straight out of his senior seminar class, heading for them as quickly as possible, resulting in a very wind-swept, wrinkled, untucked mess of a look. Jay couldn’t fully blame the two though; if they didn’t find Layla before Jake came home, they might be at risk of loss of life. That dog was everything to Jake.

Jay looked under bushes, behind trees, at every passing couple, just trying to find that damn dog so he could go apologize profusely to his professor and hopefully save his attendance grade. He’d worked so hard to have good attendance this semester; he was going to be pissed off if this dropped his grade any more than a point or two.

Jay stops in his tracks then, looking closer at the young girl sitting with a dog that looks oddly like Layla. She’s sitting cross-legged on her picnic blanket, book beside her abandoned as she rakes her fingers through the dogs fur, scratching her nails against the dog, whose tail is wagging a million miles an hour. She leans forward, pressing her face into the dog’s neck. The dog turns to lick against her cheek, making the girl pull back to laugh, her mouth split into the most breathtaking smile.

Jay can’t take his eyes off the way her eyes light up as she tries to keep her face away from the assault of licks the dog is attempting on her nose. He finds his lips turning up at the sound of her raucous laughter, out of place in the otherwise quiet and serene park. The dog yaps loudly and the girl yaps back jokingly, making the dog pull back, stretching down in a playful stance like it’s about to pounce on her.

Jay shakes himself out of his trance, blinking away to look at the river quickly. God, was he a psychopath? Staring at some stranger in the park, he was going to get himself slapped or arrested for stalking if he kept that up. What was he thinking?

But then he pauses, turning back to the girl, or more specifically the dog. The leash around its neck is bright purple with silver paw prints scattered along its length. Exactly like the leash that Ni-Ki said Layla was wearing when she managed to break out of his grip.

There’s no way. He thinks to himself. Watching the two together, it’s clear that they’re dog and owner. No one would be that carefree and friendly to a dog they didn’t know, surely. Plus, the leash was a popular brand in Korea, every pet store sold them.

But cream border collies weren’t popular in Korea last he checked. Because of the size of apartments and lack of personal lawns, most people kept small dogs. He decided to just go up and ask. What was the worst that could happen, she says it’s her dog?

As he steps forward, he sees her grab the dog by the collar, reaching down to grasp the dog tags dangling there. Owners wouldn’t normally do that…

Then, the thing that solidifies that this dog is their missing pooch.

“Layla? What a pretty name. Let’s find your parents, huh, Layla?” With another scratch to the top of the head.

“Hey, excuse me!” Jay calls out, raising a hand as the girl turns. He jogs the last little way over to her, stopping a comfortable distance from the edge of her blanket. “I’m so sorry, but I think that’s my friends dog. We’ve been looking all over the park for it.”

He’s sure that his cheeks are flushed pink at the way she’s looking up at him from the ground, her eyes boring holes through to his soul. It was like she could read if he was lying through just one look. Of course, he wasn’t lying, but that didn’t make him any less nervous.

The girl hums, her eyes sweeping Jay, from his face to his feet and back. Her eyes squint and her lip quirks up for a second at the corner, before straightening back out in a look of obvious uncertainty.

“How do I know you’re telling the truth? I can’t just give away this precious girl to someone claiming to know the owner.” She looks around as if she would even know what Jake looks like if he was here. “Why don’t you go get your friend and he’ll confirm that it’s his dog?”

Jay tenses, looking around the park as well.

“Um, well you see, my friend doesn’t know that we lost Layla…” He starts, but then quickly looks back at the girl, who has one eyebrow quirked now. “Well, I mean, I didn’t lose Layla, our other friends did. Jake is out with his family and asked Ni-Ki and Sunoo to take Layla on a walk, which was really his first mistake because those two can’t be left alone together on most days, so of course they started bickering and Ni-Ki let go of her leash and then she ran off because she was probably tired of all their fighting, but they called us to help look because they didn’t want Jake to fi-”

The beautiful girl before him starts up that raucous laughter again, throwing her head back, her hand against her check, her hair caught in the wind. She looked like a dream and Jay pauses mid-sentence, forgetting what he was saying anyway because wow she was like a nymph, like something mystical, straight out of an ancient legend. She was smooth and charming and so natural, as though she was the most real, connected person to this world and Jay’s heart nearly stops as he traces the lines of her face with his eyes.

Forget the dog, he needs to know all he can about her.

“How about this,” she starts, when she finally gets her breathing under control, “I’m going to call the number on her collar. If the person who answers says they know you, you can take the dog?” She’s smiling up at him and he notices the faintest hint of glitter on her lips, as though she had on lipstick that has since worn off.

He nods, afraid of what he’ll say if he dares open his mouth, and watches as she pulls out her phone and dials his friends number.

He no longer cares if Jake finds out about Layla getting away from Sunoo and Ni-Ki. It’s not his business, he won’t be in any trouble once they get home. Especially since he’s the one who found her in the end and will be bringing her home safe.

The girl calmly explains the situation into the microphone of her phone, watching Layla who has now begin rolling around in the grass, her legs sticking up and her tongue hanging out. She glances up at the boy above her, asking him his name. He stumbles through it, heart pounding in his chest, and finally she smiles, thanks the person on the other end and hangs up.

She eyes Jay one more time, all the way from top to bottom, like she’s still not so sure about his motives, before she holds up the leash to him. He stands there frozen for a moment, the wind pushing his hair into his eyes, which he quickly brushes back.

“Well, I guess you’re who you say you are. Maybe you should be in charge of getting her back home so your friends don’t lose her again.” The girl shakes the leash when it’s clear that Jay is stuck in limbo for a moment.

As though he’s shocked back to life, Jay reaches out quickly, almost snatching the leash from her hand, slipping his hand through the loop to make sure Layla doesn’t get any new grand prison-break ideas. Before Jay can think better of it, he’s opening his mouth, and more than the originally intended “thank you” comes out.

“Can I have your number?” He’s definitely beat red by now – his heart is pounding in his ears and his hand is nearly shaking at the thought of getting rejected out here in public by this person who he is nearly certain is his soulmate.

The girl flashes him this award-winning grin, as though she knew he was going to ask that, like she was planning on it.

“Is seeing my new favorite girl part of this exchange?” The girl reaches out to scratch behind Layla’s ear, who licks her cheek in return, earning yet another siren-sounding giggle into the air.

“If that’s what it takes, I’ll dog-nap her myself.” Jay says, hoping that comes off as funny as it did in his head. He’s relieved when she laughs again, this time at his joke, which swells him with pride.

She picks up a pen laying beside her, grabs his arm and quickly jots down her number on the inside of his wrist. The whole time, he’s acutely aware of the way his skin tingles at the points were her fingertips graze him, as though her very touch holds fire.

When she’s done, she lets him go like nothing happened, pets Layla one more time, picks up her book, and waves at Jay, essentially excusing him, although he doesn’t mind. He waves back, lightly tugging Layla’s leash to guide her back towards where he knows he left the others. He’ll have to break the news to Sunoo and Ni-Ki that they’re likely to have their last few hours on this earth soon, before Jake comes home and murders them for putting Layla at risk, but for now he doesn’t worry about that. All he can think about is how he’s going to open when he finally messages mystery girl.

It’s only when he makes it back to his friends that he realizes, he never caught her name.

[aetherdoesthings]

what pet each straw hat member would get

forethoughts: i went to a really cool pet shop. that's all. also, this is just my interpretation of what pets each straw hat member would get!

characters included: luffy, zoro, nami, usopp, sanji, robin

luffy would have a golden retriever. both are very high energy and loves to play around non stop. i feel like luffy would spend his entire day playing with a retriever (if he has not eaten it yet/tried to eat it) and chasing it around on the sunny. also, a retriever is very loyal, just like how luffy is to his crew.

zoro would have a border collie or a german shepard. both border collies and german shepards are disciplined, easy to train, and high energy to train with zoro and keep up with him. german shepards also have a very good sense of direction, which will 100% help zoro. i can see a border collie/german shepard curled up next to zoro as he naps on board (also that scene in skypiea where he drinks with a wolf is just 🤭)

nami would have a cat. maybe a siamese cat. the cat curls up near her desk (or on her lap) as she works on her maps, sleeping peacefully. that is, assuming the cat doesn't ruin her workstation by spilling ink over maps or messing the area. i feel like the elegance a siamese cat has would compliment nami's own sense of style, as well bringing that rich and sosphicated sense. nami would 100% buy cat clothes too.

usopp, hear me out, would have a ferret. a ferret's curious and mischievous nature aligns with his imaginative and playful personality, enhancing his storytelling to luffy and chopper, adding ambience or crawling up their backs for horror stories (idk spooky stuff?).

sanji would have a cat(s). perhaps an orange tabby to remind him of nami, or a russian blue for robin. he would keep them in the kitchen, making gourmet food for them and always treating them like princesses. he would also have them stay in the kitchen every night to keep watch of luffy sneaking in to steal food, consequently training them to scratch the living hell out of luffy if he tries to take any food.

robin would have a russian blue cat. her elegance and beauty matches the same as a russian blue; the two just align. robin would be reading in the library or studying poneglyphs, and the cat would be either curled up on her lap or somewhere near her asleep. robin would always shower the cat with affection and treats, and go out shopping with nami to buy clothes for their cats.

[blu3-ja3]

TIME TO MEET JUSTIN'S OC! ENJOY!

Roach has been doing well with raising Ripley, a 7 months old Border Collie mix breed. O'Connor found the mutt when she was only a few weeks old out in the rain near the entrance to the base. As soon as O'Connor walked into the rec room holding the little bundle in her arms Roach was attached to her hip. He followed every direction Doc gave to him until she was certain the puppy was healthy and warmed. No one had ever seen Roach so quiet, even when the sergeant had a rough day and chose to be mute, his hands would be flying, signing constantly in BSL. The boy was constantly moving, impossible to pin down.

O'Connor took the chance and gave Roach the small pup, instructing him how to care for the little one. And he did just that, there were weeks where Roach would walk around with a hoodie on backwards just so that little Ripley would be warm and close to the boy. And when Roach was sent on a mission he vetted every single private on base at the time, to make sure they were capable of watching his dog while he was gone. He somehow managed to convince Ghost to help him intimate the chosen private.

Soap was initially hesitant, the Scottish man didn't like dogs even if it was just a puppy. But Ripley managed to wiggle her way into Soap's heart. Gaz loves playing fetch with the pup once she was old enough to understand. Ghost on a few occasions was caught baby talking to the small dog and playful tapping the pup with his boot. O'Connor was happy that Roach has someone who has just as much energy as he did. She learned rather quickly a tired Roach was a safe Roach, the boy was much less likely to hurt himself if he was napping. Price was more than happy to allow Ripley to stay on base with Roach, she was wonderful for morale.

There was one small problem, the pup was growing up. Ripley wasn't formally trained and had no certification for Price to keep records of. So he and O'Connor got together and searched for someone to help Roach train Ripley. Price asked Laswell if she has any recommendations for either a K9 unit trainer, O'Connor was looking for a therapeutic animal specialist. Eventually both were found. They approached Roach and asked which he'd like for Ripley. It took Roach two days to ask for the therapy specialist.

'I don't want Rip to be hurt out on the field, I don't think it'd go well for anyone.' Roach signed to O'Connor and Price. A week later O'Conner introduced Samuel Gibson, the gentleman who'd be training Ripley.

Samuel was roughly the same age as Soap, and about the same height if a little short (5'4"). He had warm brown skin and tattoos from his neck down his arms and further, his right leg was a prosthetic. Sam had long curly black hair and bushie brows. He had deep chocolate brown eyes and a strong angular nose. He had a large swath of well kept stubble that framed his broad lips well. He had several ear piercings and a septum piercing. And Roach definitely didn't notice the tongue piercing that he caught glimpses of when Samuel spoke.

Soap and Gaz were quick to joke with Roach regarding his crush on the Australian man. Never directly around Sam because they're gentle men and would never throw their friend under the bus.

Roach's crush was evident to all who watched the pair work together with Ripley. The way Roach would just stare at Sam, how he blushes every time their hands would touch, how he'd stop everything he was doing to pay close attention to everything Sam said. Roach was generally a happy fellow but with Sam around it was almost like looking at the sun how brightly the boy beamed.

It helped that Ripley took to Sam's training wonderful. She was quick to learn and obey new every command Sam gave her.

It was only 2 months into Ripley's 2 years of training when Roach came to the team asking for advice. Gaz and Price were in a relationship currently and though Soap and Ghost had yet to make anything official it was a not so well kept secret amongst the 141. Roach was worried though, Sam is a civilian and it's very difficult to maintain a relationship as a soldier even with another soldier. They've all heard horror stories about soldiers coming home to partners who've cheated or just straight abandoned them. O'Connor was a very good example of such horror stories.

"Do you trust him?" O'Connor was the first to say anything after Roach ranted to them.

'Yes, he's sweet and kind, Rip loves him, you all seem to get along well with him... He makes me feel so bright !' Roach was squeaking while signing a slight blush peaking out from under his mask. 'He's learning BSL so he can teach Ripley to respond to them! He's wonderful but what if he doesn't swing that way?'

"You'll never know unless you ask Bug, be honest and open. And Roach, no matter what happens we're here for you." O'Connor smiles as the boy nods.

A few days later Roach approaches Sam with a small origami flower that Soap helped him make. The team was at a distance watching from different hiding places, Ghost had disappeared the closest to the duo but no one could find him. They watched as Roach spoke gesturing wildly with one hand, he left still behind his back. Once he was finished speaking he pulled the little oragmi flower from behind his back. Sam's hands gently took the flower before taking Roach's hand.

Everyone dispersed after that leaving them to have a more private moment once satisfied that nothing would happen to their boy. Roach would eventually rope everyone into helping him set up a date on base. But as a surprise to Roach the team set up an evening out on the town.

O'Connor sat up dinner reservations at a local restaurant, giving her bank information so they could order what they please. Soap sat up an evening stroll through the local botany and aviary house after hours. Price approved the full day off and gave Gaz his card to take Roach to get a new outfit to wear for the evenings out. Ghost was their escort for the night (he was the only one Price trusted with his car).

Roach hugged all of them once he met back up with them at a local pub after the date, Sam hanging on his arm when they first entered. The two kept the night going by drinking and chatting in the back booth.

After Ripley is officially certified as a therapy dog, the 141 still sees Sam. At events where civilians are allowed on base like birthdays, holidays, and visitation day. When Price lets them go off base Sam appears with his little Corgi; Boogs, so their dogs can play together while they go out to whatever date they're on. Anytime the 141 has to leave for missions Ripley went to Sam's care.

COD Master List

[stardustshelb]

"Strawberry" Part One

Word count: 6,749

Chapter One

“Are you sure you can’t drive me to the airport in the morning?” I asked Kenneth wearily. I knew he was reluctant to allow me to go to Nashville for Riley’s bachelorette weekend. He says he’s worried about my safety, but I know the truth is that he doesn’t want me to go out without him, especially with a group of girls.

He groaned, “I have to be at work by 8 a.m. and your flight leaves at noon. I’m not sure if you know how time works but–”

“My plane leaves at 2 p.m. I have to be there by noon,” I interjected before he finished his insult.

“Whatever. Either way, I can’t swing it. Just drive yourself or get one of your friends to give you a ride,” he said as he shut the bathroom door in my face.

He knows good and well that Riley and our other friends live hours away in other states. Everyone got out of this town the second we graduated college. Well, everyone except me. Kenneth took over his father’s business so I stayed behind too. I don’t resent him for it; I love my small town. I love that my family is no more than 15 minutes away in every direction. I love my job and my students. I love my  simple two-bedroom home where I spend most of my evenings alone with Sassy, my border collie. I love my comfortable life. But I hate that my best friend since middle school took a marketing job that required her to move 738 miles away from me.

Life sometimes gets lonely when your closest friends are your coworkers who are old enough to be your parents. Finding a teaching job in this small town was easy because I went to school here. My classroom is the same classroom I once sat in to learn 9th grade English; now I am on the other side of the desk.

When Riley asked me to be her maid of honor, I cried tears of joy… and jealousy. Kenneth and I have been together since we were 16 years old. Although we celebrated our 10-year-anniversary in August, we were quickly approaching the two-year-anniversary of our engagement. Riley met her fiancé less than a year ago; yet, I am the one putting on a bridesmaid dress before a wedding dress. 

“Can you turn off the light?” Kenneth’s question snapped me back to reality. I looked at the piles of folded laundry on my side of the bed with my barren suitcase next to them.

“I’m still packing,” I said.

“Well, some of us don’t get to go to Nashville. Some of us have to go to work to help fund a trip we don’t even get to go on,” he responded.

Ouch. Yes, it’s true Kenneth is the breadwinner. His father’s business is lucrative and Kenneth does well for us. He has asked me to quit my job time and time again since he can support us financially. Everyone knows a teacher’s salary isn’t much to brag about, but I still feel pride in bringing home a paycheck every month. I love my job too much to quit. It’s already lonely in the evenings; I can’t imagine staying home all day by myself too. 

“You know I booked the cheapest flights I could find. Everyone else is flying in together and I am arriving a day early because tomorrow’s flights were more expensive than–”

“Turn off the light!” Kenneth snapped.

I collected my laundry piles and tossed them into my suitcase before shoving it to the floor. I guess I will have to finish packing in the morning after he leaves for work. I put my phone on the charger, turned off the light, and climbed into bed. Sassy jumped into bed to sleep by my feet, our nightly routine. She has always been my protector. I am going to miss her so much while I am gone, but I am looking forward to this miniature vacation. I haven’t had a trip to look forward to since my senior year of college. Kenneth is always too busy with work for us to have a vacation together. He doesn’t like to fly but he also gets car sick. If anywhere I wanted to go required more than two hours on the road, count him out. Plus it will be nice to see Riley again. I shut my eyes and tried my best to fall asleep. I am used to going to bed angry. Anger is like melatonin to me at this point. But the excitement and longing kept me awake. I pulled my headphones out of my nightstand and connected them to my phone. I scrolled through my Spotify playlists until I found one to soothe me to sleep. I selected “Boyfriends” by Harry Styles and the irony wasn’t lost on me as I drifted off…

Chapter Two

I collected the parking ticket from the machine as I drove into the airport’s economy lot. I found a spot closest to the entrance, but I knew I was still going to have to walk a billion miles. The economy lot is furthest from the airport but it’s the most affordable option. I wanted to save every dollar I had for this trip, so I figured it was a small sacrifice. I parked and started to collect my things from the trunk of my car. I grabbed my carryon suitcase and hung my purse on its handle before I started my trek to the airport. Anxiously double-checking every item on my pack-list in my head, I walked through the double doors of the airport. I made my way up to security and got in line behind what seemed to look like the entire population of my town. Luckily, the line moved fairly quickly as I approached the TSA agent’s desk. I placed my luggage on the conveyor belt, removed my sandals, and emptied my pockets. 

The large woman in the TSA uniform waved me through the body scanner. “Come on through, sweetie.”

I stood on the yellow marker and held my hands above my head. I knew I had nothing on me that would set off any alarm, but this moment always made me hold my breath. 

“You’re good, sweetie. Have a good day,” she smiled as I breathed a sigh of relief. I collected my things and scurried off to the side to put my shoes back on. When I grabbed my phone from the security tub, I noticed that I had two missed calls from Kenneth. 

I called him back as I tried to make my way through the crowd, pulling my luggage behind me. He answered on the first ring. 

“Why didn’t you answer my calls?” he asked with a bit of anger in his tone. 

“I was going through security. I couldn’t be on my phone,” I explained.

“Well, I only have so long of a lunch break and I wanted to check in before you got on your flight. What time are you set to land again?” he asked.

“3:30 p.m. for the hundredth time,” I sighed.

“Ok, you need to text me as soon as you land,” he commanded.

“Sure thing,” I replied.

“Alright, well I’m gonna get back to work,” Kenneth said.

“Hey, don’t forget to give Sassy a treat after she goes outside because that’s what she’s used to. Oh, and don’t forget that she likes to have dinner at–”

“I’ve owned the damn dog just as long as you have. You don’t have to give me instructions,” Kenneth cut me off.

“Can you send me pictures of her throughout the day? I’m really going to miss her,” I pleaded.

“You’re going to miss the dog more than me,” Kenneth scoffed.

I thought about that comment for a moment as I approached my gate. I glanced over the TV screen to verify my boarding time. 

“Wow, you don’t even deny it,” Kenneth said.

“I’m sorry. I got distracted by my gate. It’s really busy here. I will text you when I land. Please send me pictures of Sassy. I will keep you posted. I love you,” I nearly lied into the phone.

“Love you too,” he said halfheartedly before ending the call. 

While pulling my belongings behind me, I found a spot to sit down in the waiting area of my gate. The airport seemed to be a madhouse, but it looked like my flight wouldn’t be so crowded after all. There were more empty seats than I expected. I checked the “Nashville Babes” group text on my phone. I’ve had the notifications silenced for weeks because I can’t stand getting notified every 10 minutes. I asked Riley to text me separately if there was anything I really needed to know. I hate that I appear to be an unsupportive maid of honor, but seeing my phone light up constantly throughout the day–and night–has been a nightmare for my anxiety. Riley knows and understands that I get overwhelmed easily. She took charge of planning her own bachelorette weekend because she knew I would get stressed out. I still feel guilty about it, but she assured me that she truly wanted to plan it. I wasn’t going to argue. She’s always been the most supportive and constant person in my life. I hate that I am secretly jealous of her when I should be reciprocating the support. 

“Now boarding Group A!” the airline attendant announced over the gate’s speaker. I checked my boarding pass: Group C. Once again, I took the most affordable option on the cheapest flight I could find. Being last to board on Southwest meant that I am doomed to a middle seat between two strangers. I just hope that whomever I get stuck between put on deodorant today. When I say I’m looking forward to a vacation, I mean I am looking forward to a break from 15-year-olds’ body odor. One of the many drawbacks of being a teacher. 

“Excuse me,” a man in a white sweater and khaki pants said as he tried to shuffle by me. I thought he looked funny wearing both a baseball hat and sunglasses indoors. That doesn’t look suspicious in an airport. I moved my things from his path and he headed to board the plane. So he’s in Group A… This guy has money. Well, maybe not. He is flying Southwest after all. I’m sure I could have booked Group A tickets, but I didn’t want to ask Kenneth for any more money than I already needed. This trip was fully funded by me and I was proud of that. Well, until Riley picked the most expensive Airbnb in Nashville. I almost fainted when I received her Venmo request. I was grateful she didn’t charge me extra for staying one night by myself since I had an earlier flight. I swallowed my pride and asked Kenneth if I could have an extra $400 to add to my savings to help with my portion of the bill. He gave me the money with no issues, but he has enjoyed holding it above my head every chance he’s had.

Once I heard the announcement for Group C, I grabbed my things and headed to stand in line to board. I glanced at the Nashville Babes group text: 80 missed notifications. I cleared it from my phone as I opened the Southwest app to show my boarding pass. Once I was scanned in, I headed through the hallway to board the plane. I stepped on the aircraft and gazed over the heads of strangers who were all avoiding eye contact. I knew they were all pleading to themselves that I wouldn’t take their middle seat. The flight wasn’t too packed, but there were no empty window or aisle seats left. Wonderful. I scanned the rows once more looking for any open overhead space when I noticed someone’s eyes locked on me. Eyes that I hadn’t seen before; yet, a face that looked all too familiar. The Group A stranger had removed his sunglasses and was staring at me. I started to move down the aisle when he whispered to the guy in the row with him. Whoever he was, he looked angry receiving whatever news he just got. No chance I want to sit between a bickering couple. I located a row nearby filled with two women who looked rather normal. I went to lift my luggage to put in the overhead space when the Group A stranger grabbed my suitcase.

“Allow me,” he said with a smile that displayed the tiniest of gaps between his unusually white teeth. But rather than placing the suitcase in the compartment I had decided on, he placed it in the compartment above his row. 

“Would you prefer the window seat or the aisle seat?” he asked.

“What happened to the man who was sitting with you?” I answered his question with a question.

“I asked him to sit elsewhere. I figured you’d prefer a better spot,” he smiled that smile again.

Bewildered, I responded: “I’ll take the aisle.” No way would I be confined to the window seat with this strange man trapping me in. I needed an escape route in case he was a pervert or something. 

“Perfect. I love to watch the clouds anyways,” he said as he shuffled into the row. I followed suit but sat to keep an empty seat between us. 

“Why didn’t your friend just sit in the middle if you wanted to give me a good seat?” I asked confusingly.

“That’s my–um–assistant. He can stand to sit elsewhere for the short flight since I see him all of the time. I’d prefer to sit next to someone more pleasant anyways,” he joked. 

God he’s adorable. A little too forward but adorable nonetheless.

“Well, I appreciate you doing that for me. I figured I was going to have to sit between two strangers, but an aisle seat is definitely a welcomed surprise,” I said.

I opened my phone to inform the Nashville Babes that I had boarded and would be landing in roughly an hour and a half. I completely ignored the hundreds of messages that came before mine. I was about to put my phone on airplane mode when I received a private text from Riley.

Riley: “You ok?”

Me: “Yes, of course. I’m so excited to see you! Get ready to lose oxygen from my hug when I see you tomorrow.” 

Riley: “Just checking. Haven’t heard from you in a couple days. Let me know when you land and when you make it to the Airbnb. Safe travels, love.” 

I sighed as I read her message over and over. I smiled and held the message down to “love” it before searching through my purse to retrieve my headphones. 

“Already getting the music out and we haven’t even heard the safety instructions yet. I think you need to pay attention,” I heard the adorable stranger say.

“There isn’t much I can do if there were an emergency. Knowing that I need to breathe oxygen through a mask that will drop in front of my face is all I need to know,” I said with a laugh.

“Just make sure to put your own mask on before you help me with mine,” he said.

“Who says I would help you?” I turned to him and asked.

“I helped you with your luggage. I helped you get an aisle seat. The least you can do is help me breathe,” he said with a smile that displayed his perfect teeth again.

I laughed and replied, “Ok, well I am not banking on there being an emergency, so no need to worry.”  

“Does anyone ever bank on an emergency?” he asked. Smart ass.

I rolled my eyes and placed my headphones in my ears. I opened my Spotify app to find the playlist I downloaded to prepare for the flight.

“Who are you listening to?” the stranger asked. I am beginning to wish I had sat between the two women after all. Not having to play 20 questions with this guy would have been worth sacrificing the extra space I had in this aisle seat.

“Nobody yet as I literally just opened the app,” I responded.

“Can I give you a song suggestion?” he asked.

“Um… I guess?” I replied questioningly.

“May I?” he asked as he reached for my phone.

“I’m not giving a stranger my phone,” I said with a shocked expression to my tone. The nerve of this guy.

“What am I going to do? Run off with it? You’ve got me trapped in,” he smiled showing that cute, tiny gap again. 

“No thanks,” I said as I went to start my music. 

Suddenly, he unbuckled his seat belt and stood up from his seat. I stared at him wide-eyed as a flight attendant stopped by our row to say, “Sir, please stay seated and buckle your seat belt.” 

He waved to the irritated attendant and displayed a soft smile as he sat in the middle seat beside me. Immediately I was hit with his fresh cologne scent that made me crave more as he started to buckle the seat belt. You have got to be kidding me.

“What are you doing?” I somehow yelled and whispered simultaneously.

“Please let me pick a song for you to listen to. Then I will leave you alone. I promise,” he said with a slight pout to his lips. God, his lips. How did I not notice those yet?

“Give me your phone in exchange,” I said with an air of confidence in my voice.

“Ah, so she’s smart and she’s beautiful,” he said as he reached into the pocket of his khaki pants. I tried to hide the blush that I could feel warming my cheeks. I couldn’t remember the last time I received a compliment.

“I’m not unlocking it, but I will let you hold it for ransom,” he said as he held his phone out to me. I took it from his hands as his fingers brushed against mine. I felt an immediate rush of energy run through me as our hands briefly touched. What was that? I handed him my phone and watched as he typed the words “Greta Van Fleet” into the search bar in my Spotify app. He made a face that almost seemed disappointed, and then clicked  to download the band’s complete playlist. He attempted to hand my phone back to me, and I stared at him confusingly as I reached for it. I was too busy watching him with my phone; I never even glanced at his lockscreen. Before I gave him back his phone, I tapped the screen to see what his background was. On display was a photo of a crowd of lights, but the photographer must have been standing on the stage when they took it. There had to be thousands of phone flashlights in this one photo. It reminded me of tiny stars in the midnight sky. 

“I took that picture, ya know?” he said with a proud smile.

“Are you a concert photographer?” I asked. 

He let out a wild laugh and then glanced down at my phone’s screen, “It’s almost finished downloading.”

“I thought you said a song suggestion. A. One. Singular. Not a whole playlist,” I said.

“I mean… I wanted to give you options,” he said.

Waving his phone to him I asked, “So, is this crowd picture from this band’s concert?”

“Yes,” he said, like there was more he was wanting me to ask. I decided to have the upperhand and gave him his phone back without asking another question. I watched my screen as the playlist was nearly completely downloaded. 

“I’m Josh,” he said like he was annoyed that I hadn’t asked for his name yet.

“Hi, Josh,” I replied disinterestedly. 

“And you are…?” he asked.

“I’m about to listen to this playlist,” I said with a matter-of-fact tone.

“Smart, beautiful, arrogant…” he muttered under his breath.

“I’m going to pretend that I didn’t hear that,” I said as I put my headphones in. “You can move back to the window now.”

“We are about to take off. If I stand up, I’ll cause a scene and then we’ll be delayed. Then I’ll probably become a flight risk and be forcibly removed off of the plane. Everyone would be recording the fiasco and posting it online. Let’s just avoid all of that and I’ll stay seated here,” he said with a smirk.

“You have quite the imagination…” I said hiding my smile.

“I’m sacrificing a coveted window seat for you. I hope you know that,” he replied.

“I never asked you to change seats,” I said.

“No, but you didn’t object either,” he responded with a smug expression on his face.

Once the playlist completed its download, I switched my phone to airplane mode. I sighed in frustration and scrolled through the playlist to view the songs. Whoever this band is, they have quite a discography. I wanted to ask him which song I should start with but I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. I scrolled until the title “Trip the Light Fantastic” caught my eye. Intrigued, I selected the song and tilted my head back to listen to it. Before I shut my eyes, I noticed Josh was staring at my phone to see which song I chose first. I closed my eyes and relaxed as the lyrics danced through my ears. I have never heard anything like this before. I was so entranced in the music that I didn't even realize we were now speeding down the runway about to take off. The music, plus the feeling of lifting off the ground, was nearly overwhelming in the best way possible. I felt like I had stepped into the song itself. When the song ended, I didn’t want to open my eyes. I wanted to stay in this moment for as long as possible. 

“What did you think?” I heard Josh ask as I removed my headphones.

“Wow,” is all I could formulate. My thoughts ran wild and I wanted to describe the feeling I just had, but I couldn’t put it into words. 

“What did you think about the guy’s voice?” he asked.

“The dude is talented as hell. I just wish I could understand everything he sang,” I said.

There was that wild laugh of his again. “Yeah, I think the band receives that criticism a lot,” he said with a shrug. I truly wanted to listen to another song, but I didn’t want him to know I was so interested in this band. I guess one could call me stubborn. 

“While I love to share music with new people, I’d love to talk some more if that’s alright with you,” he said sheepishly.

“I feel like you would talk to me even if it weren’t alright with me,” I said sarcastically.

“Smart, beautiful, arrogant,” he repeated. I playfully pinched his arm. 

“Hey!” he exclaimed as he rubbed his arm.

“I let it slide the first time. I wasn’t going to let you get away with it again,” I said.

“Now that I’ve been physically assaulted… Are you going to Nashville for business or pleasure?” he asked.

“I’m attending a bachelorette party,” I said.

“For you or someone else?” he asked, looking down at the dainty ring on my finger. The same ring that has been without a wedding band companion for nearly two years. The same ring I wanted to leave inside the jewelry box before I left my house this morning.

“It’s for my best friend Riley,” I said with a sadness that I couldn’t hide like I normally do.

As if Josh sensed the change in my mood, he completely turned his body to face mine. I could tell that he positioned his head to get me to look at him. I locked eyes with him and it was like I could actually see the wheels in his head turning. 

“How long will you be in Nashville?” he asked.

“For four nights. I had to take two days off from work, but I’m looking forward to it,” I said with a forced smile.

“You don’t sound like someone who is excited to attend a bachelorette party,” he said.

“It’s just a lot, but I am excited for Riley,” I said trying to convince the both of us that I really was excited.

“What do you do for work?” he asked while continuing to hold eye contact. As I stared into his dark brown eyes, I studied the long lashes that I would kill to have. 

“I teach 9th grade English,” I responded.

“Smart, beautiful, arrogant, and a world changer. A difference maker. One who shapes the minds of our youth. You’re a hero to our doomed society,” he said. I felt my cheeks redden as I processed the way he just described my job. I don’t normally feel appreciated at work, not even at home. It felt good to have someone remind me of my purpose. 

“Sometimes I feel like I’m just a glorified babysitter,” I said with a nervous laugh.

“You should never feel that way. I think you have one of the most important jobs in the world. I’m just a concert photographer,” he said with a tone that I couldn’t quite place.

“Thank you. I appreciate it,” I said, finally giving into a real smile. I watched his eyes fall to my mouth and I could feel a million butterflies in my stomach. Why does he have such an effect on me? I shook the thoughts from my head as I opened the Southwest app to see how much longer our flight had. A little over one hour to go with a stranger who makes me feel better about myself than anyone has in years. Maybe I should take a nap.

“What’s on the agenda for your bachelorette weekend? Bars and strippers?” he asked with a smile.

“Definitely the strippers. That’s a necessity,” I responded with a smirk.

“Well, when I’m not taking pictures at concerts, I happen to moonlight as an exotic dancer,” he said returning the smirk I gave.

“I’m sure you make more money taking pictures,” I said biting my lip.

“First you physically assaulted me and now you’ve verbally assaulted me,” he said. 

“I’m sorry,” I said, covering my face from the embarrassment of inadvertently insulting him.

“No, you’re right. The crowd usually pays me to keep my clothes on,” he said tilting his head down in shame. Unlikely.

“What’s your stripper name?” I asked. Before he could answer, the plane suddenly dropped in altitude. I heard screams from the rows behind us. I gasped and grabbed his hand before shutting my eyes. The turbulence was over quickly as everyone seemed to breathe a sigh of relief at the same time. I slowly opened my eyes to realize everything was ok. I didn’t realize I was still holding Josh’s hand until he asked, “Are you ok?”

“Yes, sorry about that,” I said as I quickly jerked my hand back to my lap.

“No need to apologize for the hand-holding. It was nice while it lasted,” he said with a wink.

“Who was the first person to cross your mind when you felt the plane drop?” I asked him in a serious tone.

Without hesitation, he responded, “My mom.”

“Tell me about her,” I said.

“She’s the most important person on the planet,” he said looking at his hands. “She has given up so much for me and I hope I make her proud.”

“I’m sure you do,” I said while trying to swallow the lump in my throat. I’m not sure if my nerves were shot from the temporary panic or if his sentiment was getting to me. 

“Who did you think of?” he asked.

“Honestly… I thought of myself,” I admitted with shame.

“Really? Elaborate on that,” he said as I could tell he was giving me his full attention.

“I’m sure I sound narcissistic, but I thought I was about to die without having lived, and then I’d leave a legacy of nothing behind,” I said with a sigh.

“I know I don’t know you. Shit, I don’t even know your name. But, I can tell that your death would most definitely leave an impact on people,” he said.

“Nothing like discussing death with a total stranger,” I said with a light laugh.

“Death doesn’t scare me. I know it’s not the end. I just enjoy my life and the love I can give to the world while I’m here in my physical form. The love I provide won’t leave when I fade away,” he said. I stared at him like I just heard one of the most philosophical phrases come from another person’s mouth in years. He’s insightful and adorable.

“I got that from a song, by the way. It’s on the playlist I downloaded to your phone. Don’t be too impressed,” he said with a laugh.

“Ah, plagiarism,” I said.

“That’s actually my stripper name,” he said with a smirk. 

“Now I definitely know you aren’t making any money,” I said, trying not to laugh.

“How about I give you a glimpse of my routine and you tell me what I can do to improve my shtick to make more money?” he asked.

Stunned by his foreward remark, I immediately felt guilt running through my veins. This is the most flirting I’ve had since high school. I’m not used to this sort of attention. I looked down at my hands in my lap. 

“I’m sorry if that was too much. I–” Josh began to say.

“No, no it’s ok. I was just worried I wouldn’t have enough money in my purse to get you to keep your clothes on once you started,” I said stifling a giggle. 

“Alright just kick a man while he’s down,” he said as he clutched his hands over his heart. He threw his head back acting like he was wounded and I eyed his neck. His adam’s apple protruded, making me feel weak. 

“I wonder if there is a doctor on board to help you,” I said sarcastically looking around the plane.

Suddenly he rose out of his seat and shouted, “Is there a doctor in the house?”

Completely stunned, I stared at him with wide eyes. I cannot believe he just did that. I watched a flight attendant quickly make his way over to our row. Oh my God.

“Sir, are you having a medical emergency?” the flight attendant asked him. Next to the attendant stood Josh’s assistant, the angry man who changed his seat earlier. 

“No, no, I am ok now. Sorry for the alarm,” he said, trying not to laugh. His assistant rolled his eyes and quickly returned back to his middle seat. I’m sure he is used to Josh’s antics by now. The flight attendant gave a displeased look to both of us before walking away. I felt like I had just received punishment for a crime I didn’t do. Guilty by association. 

“That was so not funny!” I exclaimed with a sigh.

“I can’t help myself sometimes,” he said with a smile. This dude is nuts.

“You’re a lunatic,” I said, getting my headphones back out.

“No, wait. I am sorry,” he said. “I’ll move back over to the window seat and leave you alone,” he said with a sense of shame in his voice. I put my headphones in as I watched him change seats then position his body to where he was looking out the window. I was no longer in his line of vision. I opened my Spotify app and his Greta Van Fleet playlist was there. I hesitated. I wanted to listen to another song but I also wanted to block this guy from my mind and listen to my own music. Against my better judgment, I selected “Light My Love” from the playlist. I closed my eyes and listened to one of the most beautiful songs I had ever heard.

Chapter Three

I was six songs deep into this playlist when I felt someone tap on my arm. I reluctantly opened my eyes for I was enjoying being in a complete and utter trance of this band. Josh looked sheepish as I removed my headphones. 

“Do you care to let me out to use the bathroom? I really need to stretch my legs,” he said. Without responding, I shifted my body and moved my legs into the aisle to give him a clear walkway. He shuffled past me and I got a whiff of his cologne again. He smells so damn good. Maybe I’m being irrational for giving him the silent treatment. I’m 26-years-old but I’m acting like I’m 12. I decided to act more civil once he returned to our row. I don’t want to look too anxious, but I couldn’t help but watch the bathroom door awaiting his return. After what felt like an eternity, I decided to do something irrational. I can be crazy too. I took my headphones off and left them in the seat as I shoved my phone in my jeans pocket. I stood up and started to make my way to the bathroom to check on him. As I got closer to the door, it opened and he exited. I wanted to retreat back to my seat from pure embarrassment, but there was nowhere to turn. He looked up at me and scrunched his eyebrows together like he was confused. As he should be. I decided to try to play it off that I needed to use the restroom rather than run back to my seat like I desperately wanted to. As he moved past me, his body brushed against mine and I felt every nerve from my toes to my scalp tingle. I felt like I could no longer breathe. I made my way into the tiny bathroom and stared at myself in the mirror. “Get it together,” I said aloud to my reflection. I took a few deep breaths and made my way back to my seat. I made the mistake of looking at him because his deep brown eyes were once again locked on mine. A shiver immediately ran through me. I sat back down in my aisle seat and tried to think of something to ease the awkward tension.

“What has been your favorite song off the playlist?” he asked, breaking the silence.

“That’s difficult to say. I have genuinely loved all of the ones I’ve listened to so far,” I said with a smile. His cheeks almost looked like they were a new shade of pink. Was he blushing? I quickly added, “Thank you for sharing this band with me.”

“Thank you for listening,” he said back with a smile. I bit my lip as I felt like the awkward tension was over. However, a new tension was forming. 

I checked the Southwest app and realized we were set to land very soon. I put my headphones back in my purse as a sign that I was ready to talk to him. He picked up on my cue because he quickly switched seats again. His cologne hit me and if I hadn’t been sitting, I may have collapsed. He buckled his seat belt just before the overhead light signaled us to do so. 

“What’s the first thing you and your friends are doing tonight?” he asked.

“Actually, I am flying in a day earlier than everyone, so I have the Airbnb alone until everyone flies in tomorrow,” I said. I suddenly realized that I shouldn’t have told a stranger that I was going to be staying alone in an unfamiliar city, but the words had already left my lips. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“Really?” he said as he sat up straight in his seat. I nodded but then looked away. I can’t believe I just overshared this information with him.

“If you’d like some company…” he said quietly. I quickly turned my head back to him. I was dreading another night by myself, especially without Sassy. Riley said I could FaceTime her tonight, but I didn’t want to bother her while she finished packing and getting her stuff together. I was going to use the time to decorate the place before her arrival anyways. 

I stammered, “Josh, I–” 

“How about dinner? I can take you to some of my favorite places in town. What do you like to eat?” he asked with a big smile. The idea of not being alone was tempting and as frustrating as he had been at times, I really did enjoy his company. 

Before I could give him an answer, I felt our plane touch the ground as we braced for a complete stop. This was always my least favorite part about flying. 

“I really need to decorate the Airbnb and unpack. I’d like to get settled in rather than go out. Plus, I don’t have a vehicle,” I finally responded as the sounds of seat belts unbuckled around us.

“If it’s not too forward, I could always come over and cook for you. I can bring some groceries and wine, or whatever else you’d like to drink. I can even help you decorate. You can’t spend your first night in Nashville alone,” he said. 

I mulled over his offer as people around us began to stand up and form a line in the center aisle as they collected their luggage from the overhead compartments. Josh appeared not to be in any hurry to leave, nor was I. 

“Fine. But I want to text your full name, picture, vehicle description, and phone number to Riley in case I go missing,” I said with a matter-of-fact tone.

He laughed nervously and then said, “Give me your phone.” I put in my passcode and handed it to him. He stared at my background, a picture of Sassy and me, before opening the contacts app. “I’m giving you my number so you can text me your address when you’re ready for me to come over to cook you dinner,” he said as he was typing. I watched the plane empty row by row until it felt like we were the last two remaining on board. I noticed his assistant standing in the aisle waiting on Josh. “I think you’re going to get an earful when you get off the plane,” I said, eyeing the angry-looking man. 

“I usually do,” he said with a smile as he passed my phone back to me. I glanced down at the contact name that read Plagiarism with the winky face emoji. I covered my mouth as I laughed loudly. 

“Ahem,” we both heard his assistant clear his throat as he began tapping his foot impatiently.

“Ok, I think it’s time to go,” I said as I grabbed my purse and stepped into the aisle to let him out. While Josh exited his seat, he stood so close that I could smell his delicious scent again. I watched him open the compartment and get our luggage out. He lifted the handle of my suitcase and handed it to me. I smiled at his kindness, avoiding eye contact, because I had about all that I could stand.

We made our way down the center aisle following his assistant off of the plane. Before he stepped inside the airport, I watched as he put his sunglasses back on. Weird. 

“I’ll be anxiously waiting for your text,” he said to me as he pulled his hat down a little further over his face. Before he walked away, he said, “I’ll send you all of the info you need for Riley when I hear from you,” with a wink.

I made my way down to ground transportation and requested an Uber to take me to the Airbnb. I sent Kenneth a text to let him know that I had landed, but I texted Riley that I was going to call her ASAP. I needed her advice now more than ever. I knew I was treading in dangerous waters by allowing that adorable, frustrating, sexy, funny, crazy stranger to come over, but something made me want to be around him. I may be in too deep, but I’ve always been a strong swimmer.

[yourreddancer]

It was the dogs. The dogs are what got me.

A few years ago we visited the 9/11 Memorial Museum, and we saw a lot. Twisted steel girders. Baby-faced portraits of the deceased. Mutilated emergency vehicles.

But it was the dogs that wrecked me.

The dog exhibit is pretty small. Located in the far corner of the museum, with photographs of search and rescue dogs.

You see dogs nosing through rubble, wearing safety harnesses. You see them in their prime. They’re all deceased now. But they were spectacular.

There was Riley. Golden retriever. He was trained to find living people. But, he didn’t find any. Instead, he recovered the remains of firefighters. Riley kept searching for a live survivor, but found none. Riley’s morale tanked.

“I tried my best to tell Riley he was doing his job,” said his handler. “He had no way to know that when firefighters and police officers came over to hug him, and for a split second you can see them crack a smile—that Riley was succeeding at doing an altogether different job. He provided comfort. Or maybe he did know.”

There was Coby and Guiness. Black and yellow Labs. From California. Surfer dogs. They found dozens of human remains.

And Abigail. Golden Lab. Happy. Energetic. Committed. Big fan of bacon.

Sage. A border collie. Cheerful. Endless energy. Her first mission was searching the Pentagon wreckage after the attacks. She recovered the body of the terrorist who piloted American Airlines Flight 77.

Jenner. Black Lab. At age 9, he was one of the oldest dogs on the scene. Jenner’s handler, Ann Wichmann, remembers:

“It was 12 to 15 stories high of rubble and twisted steel. My first thought was, ‘I can't send Jenner into that…’ At one point, [Jenner] disappeared down a hole under the rubble and I was like, ‘Ugggggh!' Such a heart-stopping moment..."

Trakr. German Shepherd. Tireless worker. Worked until he couldn’t stand up anymore. Trakr found Genelle Guzman-McMillan, who was trapped for 27 hours among the debris. Genelle was as good as dead, until the cold nose poked through the mangled steel.

Apollo. German shepherd. An NYPD police dog. Coal-black muzzle. Liquid eyes. The first dog on the scene, only 15 minutes after the attacks. Apollo worked 18-hour days. Once, he was nearly killed in a fire during his search. But Apollo had been drenched in water and he was quick on his feet. No injuries.

Jake. Labrador. As a puppy, Jake was found on the side of the road in Dallas. Abandoned. Left for dead. Like trash. He had a dislocated hip and a broken leg. They made him a rescue dog.

Jake worked until his body threatened to collapse from exhaustion. After his shifts, local New York merchants saw his rescue-dog vest and treated him to free steak dinners in upscale Manhattan restaurants.

And, of course, there was Bretagne. Golden Retriever. Easygoing. Dutiful. Obsessed with food. Her owner and trainer, Denise Corliss, a firefighter from Harris County, Texas, brought Bretagne to Ground Zero while the rubble was still hot.

Bretagne went straight to work. She worked for 10 days solid. Ten agonizing days. Bretagne never quit. She napped onsite.

Denise recalls: “...There are images of Bretagne going to where she was directed to search, into the unknown, the chaotic environment. But even then, she knew who needed the comfort of a dog, and which firefighter needed to hold her close and stroke her fur.”

After 9/11, Bretagne also helped recovery efforts during the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina, and Ivan. She retired at age 9.

Old age finally overtook her, she had a hard time using stairs, so Denise installed an above-ground pool to keep Bretagne’s joints limber.

In retirement, Bretagne became a reading dog at a local elementary school. First graders, too shy to read aloud, would read to a white-faced, elderly retriever who looked them in the eyes and smiled.

Bretagne visited students with special needs. She visited students with autism. She visited everyone.

She suffered kidney failure at age 16. She was put to sleep on June 7, 2016, and became the last of the 9/11 rescue dogs to end her earthly career.

Bretagne hobbled into the Cypress, Texas, animal hospital, one sunny Monday, only to discover the sidewalks and hallways were lined with firefighters, first responders, and rescue workers who saluted her.

Her remains were later escorted from the hospital, draped in an American flag.

We do not deserve dogs.