#such is the way of my waxing and waning interests | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

getouyuri · 20 days ago

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r/Marriage: am i (24m) overly obsessed with my wife (24f)? — satoru gojo

౨ৎ pairing — oyabun!gojo x secretary!reader

summary — all work and no play makes the fearsome oyabun of the gojo-gumi a tremendously dull boy. since you're a saint, you come into his office with no panties and a mission; to let your puppy play.

word count — 13k

౨ৎ content & warnings — mdni 18+, pwp, 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, gojo is actually insane, dark themes, violence, mentions of murder, p in v, submissive top gojo, sub!gojo, dom!reader, femdom, mommy kink, semi-public sex, pussydrunk gojo, office sex, mild pet play / puppy play, oral (f! receiving), cunnilingus, unprotected sex, creampie, spanking (both receiving), reader uses gojo’s tie like a leash, MEN WHO WHIMPER >>>

author's note — i love yakuza aus and i love sub top wife guy gojo what can i sayyyy. this is my first fic on this account and it's just self indulgent as hell tbh. this is Not necessary to read, but if you want a little more background on this au, you can find info here. more notes at the end! hope u all enjoy 🫶🏽

writing © getouyuri. fanart © maronjapan9art. dividers © thecutestgrotto.

It’s not even 12pm on a Friday, 95 degrees, when the white flag swinging from his person is finally brought to his attention.

“Boss,” Choso says, completely straight-faced as he cleans a gun and stares imploringly at Satoru. Waxing and waning. “There's… something hanging out of your pocket.”

“Oh?” Satoru looks down, snags his fingers into the panties that are peeking out from his slacks, and rubs his thumb over the delicate embroidery in the hem. Interesting. “Oh, sweet.”

A completely normal, well-adjusted member of society would turn into a bumbling, blushing maiden and stuff these goodies away, mortified. Too bad he’s a shameless certified freak, seven days a week.

Like he’s playing cat’s cradle, he pulls at the inner hem and spreads the lingerie open to get a good bird’s eye view down into the panties. Satoru tests the stretch of the material. Turns it this way and that. Examines the gusset for any exciting stains and clicks his tongue when he finds none.

The air of the group at his beck and call sours into something painfully awkward, almost disbelieving. When he clears his throat, all eyes look away from him. Satoru takes the opportunity to crumple the fabric and press his nose into it in order to breathe your scent in.

Delectable. 10/10.

Outside the nearest window is the familiar buzz of typical Tokyo afternoon activity and traffic. Sitting in a loose ‘v’ around him in the ten-seater van they’re packed into are the men he’s tagging along with to swing by the red light district in pursuit of Ryomen’s trail. It’s rare that Satoru himself gets involved in tasks like this that are far below his pay grade, but he’ll take any opportunity he can get to get close to that fuckface and give him hell. He can practically smell his rival’s scent on the breeze.

“Huh,” he finally remarks. Choso is the only one that dares to look at him. “My wife must’ve planted these on me earlier.”

That morning, Satoru regretfully had to pull himself from his comfortable bed and his wife’s soothing warmth, though he promised you (with cuddles and kisses to further convince you and wipe the frown off of your face) that he’d wrap things up quick and meet you at the Gojo-gumi’s main headquarters for lunch. Unfortunately, hours later and worn ragged, he knows now that there was no way he would’ve been able to head over there any earlier than now. He texted you to let you know the change of plans.

Pure fucking chaos was unleashed on Tokyo this morning, all of it carefully orchestrated by Ryomen. One of the Gojo-gumi’s bigger warehouses that they use as storage for black market weapons and drugs was ransacked and then bombed by Tora-gumi shitheads. Many of Satoru’s men that stepped in to try and defend the warehouse’s stock were killed.

At the exact same time there was a shootout in one of the strip clubs— fittingly named Hell’s Paradise— that Satoru owns as one of his many, many business fronts. He and his men arrive on the scene soon after the fact and find the bodies of some of the women that worked there, all of which were personally beneath his unwavering protection that he failed to give them today, alongside some civilians that got caught in the crossfire.

Shoko herself isn’t here, but the traces of smoke linger around her girlfriend— and Satoru’s friend— like a protective ward when he goes to speak with her. Clearly, Shoko was either in the building or cat napping with her not too long ago.

Satoru isn’t labeled as the most terrifying oyabun in Japan for no reason; he handles all of it coldly and clinically to make sure many, many people pay the price for daring to threaten the syndicate, his family, that he’s worked so hard to maintain and provide for. He personally beats the fuck out of and kills the Tora-gumi’s members that were involved in both incidents, and what Satoru doesn’t do with his own bare hands, he sends Choso out like an angel of death to take care of.

While Choso ‘cleans up’, he calls Shoko and sends her out on the prowl to feel out if there’ll be any more planned attacks on the Gojo-gumi.

Fucking Ryomen.

Stepping out into the alleyway behind Hell’s Paradise, he fishes his good luck charm out for the fifth time today and takes another long whiff.

But hey, at least he has a piece of his wife with him wherever he goes, right?

Satoru gets a ride back to the Gojo-gumi headquarters. There’s a bathroom attached to the room with a shower that he had installed years back, so he strips off his bloodied clothes, showers and changes into a fresh suit, meanders back into his office, and tosses himself into his chair.

“God, what a pain,” he whines to himself.

If Satoru could pawn this monstrosity of a paperwork pile sitting in front of him off to one of his secretaries (like you, for example), he so would. Alas, things of this caliber are delegated to the boss man, and the boss man only.

His blue eyes linger on the skyline outside of the window. The Gojo-gumi headquarters is located in the heart of Tokyo and it’s not exactly a secret; hell, even the police know where this place is and what goes on behind its closed doors. Unlike his various business fronts, this establishment is strictly a hub that his syndicate directly operates out of. Organizing all their criminal operations, managing businesses, holding meetings, it all goes down here.

Years ago, it was rare that Satoru could be found sitting here. He used to just swing by the main room, get shit done, not spare his office a glance, and leave. Now, though, he has extra incentive to frequent his office. You’re here every day of the week.

The room feels filled to the brim with your presence despite you being conspicuously absent. The dark wooden surface of his desk is topped with a framed picture of you and him at their wedding, and next to it are various trinkets that you’ve bought with him in mind. His sweetheart.

Satoru lounges back in his plush leather chair (because he likes that it makes him look like royalty, thank you very much), man-spreading with a faint pout. The beginnings of a migraine buzzes right behind his eyes the longer he stares at the work calling his name.

There’s that deal he needs to finalize with Suguru that’ll leave them with a 20% increase in profits by the end of Q1. The Gojo-gumi's gonna be swimming in cash, and the Sutoraifu-gumi will have a steady supply of the goods their members need. Lord knows Suguru and his men need it after the whole Kenjaku debacle that went down a while back. Satoru’ll get to those papers soon and send them off with Suguru’s biker girl whenever she swings by again to hang out with you.

Then he has to look at the letter from the chief of police, which, yawn, that’s the least of his concerns. The detective— Kusa-something, whatever, he always forgets his name— must’ve tattled on him again for his, ah, unsavory way of handling business. That damn rookie Kusachi has a nasty habit of getting in his way and trying to take him on. Satoru could just try to pay the chief off again… and maybe he could visit Kusada’s home, set him straight. And by set him straight, he means chatting to Kusabuse’s family and telling him that their man’s extracurricular activities are gonna get him killed. His family can handle it from there.

And then—

A soft knock at his door pulls him out of his reverie. “I’m busyyy, Kento, Ijichi!” he calls just in case they’re here to hound him, fingers adorned in rings absently adjusting his tie.

It opens to reveal Kento’s unimpressed stare. He glances over Satoru’s unorganized desk, important documents scattered all over and clearly not finished. ‘Organized chaos’ he calls it. You tell him that it’s just shit on a platter.

“… cat’s outta the bag, I guess,” Satoru says glumly, his pout unbefitting of an oyabun further deepening.

Apparently, by the little entourage that Kento has with him, his second-in-command isn’t here to scold him, though. Because you, his gorgeous wife, enters his office next with Ijichi shuffling in behind you, who closes the door behind the group of three.

Satoru perks up like a meerkat and leans forward, fingers dropping away from his tie to instead interlace as he regards everyone, you in particular harboring most of his attention, with a cheery grin that’s at odds with his reputation. Though he’s the epitome of lax playfulness, there’s a questioning sharpness to his gaze as he looks them all over. You have a folder tucked beneath one arm and you look bored.

"Well, well, well, look who it is," Satoru drawls, his tone as smooth as silk. "My three favorite people, alllll in one room. It’s a little too early to be throwing me a surprise birthday party, isn’t it? My birthday isn’t for another few months,” he jests.

Ijichi not so subtly checks the date on his phone even though he knows damn well it’s April, not December. On the other hand, Kento’s eyes flatten slightly. One of his hands goes to his hip while the other massages at the bridge of his nose as if he’s already getting a headache; as he usually does in the oyabun’s presence. “Now isn’t the time for jokes, Satoru,” Kento inserts, dour as ever.

Your poker face twitches.

A blown raspberry echoes in his office. “You always say that, Kento. Would it kill you to pull that stick out of your ass and smell the roses? Experience joy and whimsy?” Satoru dramatically intones. His hand splays across his chest. “You wound me.”

Kento doesn’t even bother to entertain him. Back straight and thumb practically digging into his skin, he rattles off his report; the Gojo-gumi were able to intercept Ryomen’s ploy to undercut the Gojo-gumi’s control over the heroin trade. When he finishes, he promptly turns and makes like Scooby Doo, not wanting to be there a second longer. Ijichi hurriedly scurries at his heels.

The door clicks shut behind them and he puffs out a breath of relief at his wakagashira’s and saiko-kommon’s departure, sitting back in his chair with a gentle creak of the leather beneath him. Satoru kicks his leg up over the other, the side of his calf resting on his knee, and looks you up and down. “And then there were two. Fancy seeing you here, wifey,” he drawls.

“You say that as if we don’t work in the same building,” you snort. Then you soften, closely examining him. “You okay? Your texts worried me earlier, so I texted Choso and his partner to get more details. I heard things got pretty hectic earlier.”

He smiles at you, feeling all warm and fuzzy. Satoru doesn’t get how couples just faze out of the honeymoon stage. Years later and you still have him wanting to kick his feet whenever he’s in your presence. “Things are peachy, pinky swear. I’ve got it covered, sugar. Don’t worry your pretty little head over it,” he assures you. He crosses his fingers over his heart.

You eye him for a moment longer, but whatever you spy on his face makes you relax. Thwacking the folder against the wooden surface before scattering it among the pile, you then round Satoru’s desk and plant yourself in front of him. He inhales unsubtly, catching a whiff of your perfume that makes him go a little cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs, and your lips twitch as you take your throne on the lip of his desk.

Everyone here at headquarters is required to follow a certain dress code. Satoru outshines them all, of course, fitted in finely tailored slacks and dress shirts with either a crisp light blue waistcoat thrown atop it or an ironed suit jacket. And as one of the many secretaries flitting around the building keeping the well-oiled Gojo-gumi machine chugging, it’s important for you to look just as professional. Especially since you’re his wife.

Which is why you look like an infuriatingly sexy librarian, decked out in a tight black pencil skirt that hugs your hips, a blouse with the top two buttons undone and the collar pressed open to flaunt the designer necklace he bought you swinging from your neck, sheer black nylon thigh-highs that he’d kill to feel around his head, and stilettos, cute little charms on the buckles giving your outfit a whisper bit of cheer.

(The thought of you making yourself look extra pretty today just for him has Satoru internally busting on the spot, his blood simmering beneath the fine layer of his skin.)

‘The oyabun’s wife’, his men always dreamily sigh when you walk past them— only to whip around and stare at the wall when he slinks by not even a step behind you, his blue eyes cold and caustic when he glares at them in warning. Gorgeous, breath-taking, a prized jewel— and you’re all his.

“Normally I’d only be here to scold you and make you do your work, hubby,” you hum.

“I’m sensing a ‘but’ in my near future,” Satoru muses aloud, raising his eyebrows at you in question.

“No. Just a ‘however’.” Instead of being two dumb bitches telling each other ‘exactlyyy’, they’re two smartasses fashioned in the same factory, complete with warnings labels.

“Yeesh. Can I ever be right with you?” He plasters his hand over his heart yet again and gives you a simpering moue.

You roll your eyes, a wordless ‘duh’. Satoru's lips slant upwards into a Cheshire cat smile as you reach forward and loop his tie around your fingers before giving it a tug, coaxing his chair to roll forward on the sleek hardwood floor. He uncrosses his legs and allows himself to be pulled up and out of it, heeled like a dog, stepping forward to stand between your legs after lightly kicking his chair away with a soft clatter.

Looking down at you through long white lashes that flutter like the first snowfall of winter, his gaze is a mix of playfulness and appreciation in its rawest form. Satoru has to admit, this view is far more pleasant than any document that he was pretending to give his attention to before you strode in.

Your perch on his desk gives you an air of sophisticated dominance that makes his cock give a very interested twitch in his trousers that he can’t help. Sue him for being horrendously attracted to his wife.

Though he towers over you by a mere head due to the slight height advantage that his desk gives you, there’s no doubt that he yields completely and utterly to you. His brain conjures up an image of Nike, the Greek goddess of victory. Glorious and championing above the rest of them; victorious.

‘Woof’, he thinks unintelligently.

“However,” you finally continue, beginning to smile. You keep a hold on his tie and tap his nose with the pointer of your free hand, which he wrinkles at you. “I’ve decided that I’ll spare you the lecture for today.”

Satoru's hands come up to rest on your knees, thumbs rubbing slow circles on the sleek nylon covering them. Your inviting warmth bleeds through the thin fabric. He so badly wants to get on the floor, brush them down, and sink his teeth into your plush skin until your skin pinkens. He settles for giving you a gentle squeeze.

“I thank you, oh great and benevolent goddess of the yakuza underworld,” he proclaims, delighting in the fondly exasperated groan that rumbles low in your throat. “I gotta say, I'm grateful for the reprieve, sweets. Though I suspect your mercy is short-lived," he adds with a chuckle. “So give it up already. Spill.”

Fucking hell. There goes a tiny fraction of the element of surprise that you thought you were holding over him like an anvil in a cartoon.

You silently curse his eerie perceptiveness. And his newfound x-ray vision, apparently, since he leans back a fraction to take you in again, his focus lingering on your skirt. But hey, the ball’s still very much in your court, and you’re playing to win.

Not letting it faze you, you heft your legs up, his hands shifting with you, and drape them around Satoru’s waist. His desk creaks beneath you at the distribution of weight. “Yeah, yeah. What I mean to say is that your husbandly duties are calling to you, not your obligations as oyabun.”

Satoru’s blue eyes search yours and he tilts his head, adorably puppy-like in a manner that suggests he’s more innocent than his ruthless reputation paints him to be. Though he’s the epitome of laxness, there’s a questioning sharpness to his expectancy that’d make lesser men quiver and confess to their every sin.

You stare right back at him. “I don’t have any panties on,” you explain simply.

If Satoru was aroused before, he’s now hornier than a pent-up nun. He hardens so fast that it makes him dizzy. “So you’re on that type of timing, got it,” he notes through his suddenly dry mouth as if his brain chemistry isn’t actively warping with this new information.

He wets his lips. His attention darts to the door. “Ijichi locked it,” you confirm before he can ask his question.

Good. Now he can focus on what matters: no panties. No panties. No panties. Fuck.

"Well, as your husband, it's my duty to attend to your every need and desire. And right now, it seems one of those needs is to have me buried deep inside your pretty kitty,” he coos, voice dripping something sinful. “But wowww, I never thought I’d see my stern ‘business over pleasure’ sweet pie pulling this kind of stunt. Seducing me so shamelessly in my own office... for shame! What would people say if they knew you were on a mission to tempt your poor, innocent husband into sin?”

You sigh, long-suffering.

Suddenly curious to see if you’re hiding another surprise elsewhere, one hand leaves your knee and drifts up to the undone buttons of your blouse, popping another one open to expose more of your soft skin. Satoru bites his lip as his eyes snag on the lace of your bra. A shame that you’re not bra-less, but he’s fine with seeing you wear half of the set he commissioned for you from a designer in France that you like. He’s more than okay with this, actually.

You make no move to scold him or cover yourself up— you just amusedly stay fixed on him, your eyes gaining that telltale gleam when you’ve got him all tied up in knots. He’s walked into a honeytrap, hasn’t he?

Despite the clear desire emanating from him, there's a tenderness to his touch, a reverence for your body as the hand on your knee skirts up. He slides it higher up your thigh until the hem of your thigh-high gives way to skin, disappearing beneath your tight skirt to ascertain your bold claim. When Satoru’s knuckles graze your bare folds, which are slowly slickening, he whines as if he’s the one being touched. “Fuck, princess... you're actually not wearing anything at all, huh?” He groans softly, half surprised and half not that you were telling the truth.

“Duh,” you exhale. “I didn’t think I’d have to spell it out for you, though. Did you not see the—“

“The little treat that the panty fairy snuck into my pocket?” Now understanding, Satoru’s grin grows. Reverent… and, well, very perverted. “Sure did. I sniffed them, too.”

Your face contorts as if you don’t know what part to address first before you give up.

“But sometimes thiiis guy.” His eyes pointedly roll upwards in the direction of his forehead, then down at the obvious bulge in his pants. “Likes to take the backseat and let this big guy do all of the thinking. Can you blame me for being a little off my game today?”

“I can, actually. Do better. Even Yuuji gets more work done than you do, distractions and all,” you reply plainly.

Which says a lot. Yuuji’s one of the other secretaries here, though giving him that title feels… a little generous. You and Satoru see him regularly since Choso feels more comfortable going out and doing his job when Yuuji’s safe at headquarters. The teenager comes scampering into the building every day after school and Satoru pays him to do the class work that his teachers send him off with, play on his Nintendo Switch, and sometimes organize the racks of boxed files or make phone calls.

“Heyyy!”

Your cool breaks and you laugh. “You’re just easy to get to. That’s okay, though. It makes things more fun for me,” you tease in a slight singsongy lilt. You turn your head to worry his earlobe between your teeth, nipping then sucking for good measure before releasing it with an audible pop.

Breathing starting to pick up, he drops his face into the crook of your neck and drowns himself in the cocktail of the spritz of that floral perfume you favor and your natural scent. All the while, he blindly traces your slit. Up and down, entrance, clit, entrance, clit.

You cup your husband’s nape as Satoru nuzzles into your neck more urgently, feeling him shiver against you as your palm rasps over the short prickly hairs of his undercut, petting him. Your legs part a bit, skirt inching up as you rut your cunt against Satoru’s exploratory fingers and smear your wetness on him. Still, he doesn’t push in yet.

You’d think he’s teasing you if not for the obvious signs that he’s stalling. Either waiting for your permission or waiting for the best time to ask for it.

How well-trained.

"You make it sound like a bad thing, sugar. Like being under your thumb is a weakness and not a treat," Satoru says abruptly. "I prefer to think of it as... being very, very stupidly in love with my wife. I’m so far gone for you that I’d do anything that you asked of me.”

It’s so easy for him to say such devastating things from the heart without batting an eye; he’s as earnest as a child. It fells you day by day.

His voice is soft despite his low, raspy cadence, brilliant blue eyes bright with his eagerness to serve. At times, it’s almost hard to reconcile this man, the one who’s eating out of the palm of your hand, his nonexistent tail wagging the entire time, with one of the most feared oyabuns in Japan who could probably level half of Tokyo in an hour.

But you’re not forgetting his acts of what he calls ‘devotion’ any time soon. It’s rare that you walk in on him showing the full spread of his true colors, but there’s multiple incidents that stick out like a sore thumb. The one that clings to you like a particularly persistent burr occurred months before you even started dating.

It had been a fairly normal day, all things considered. Most of the men of the Gojo-gumi were preparing to intercept one of Ryomen’s ploys, banding together like sharks after blood in the main common room at headquarters. You remember frowning as you peered at each passing individual that was armed to the nines, searching for their leader so that you could deliver important documents before he could go gallivanting off to get his hands dirty, but Satoru was nowhere to be found.

You went to drop off the manila folder to his office but paused when you heard voices through the cracked door of his office. Sighing, you squatted to slip it under his door and leave, but Satoru’s voice in particular made your blood run cold and your joints lock up before you could lower yourself. “I should cut your balls off and feed them to you, you piece of shit,” he muttered with a scoff.

Apparently, one of his men, Hiro, had been coveting after you. His little work crush was fairly innocent to everyone who caught wind of it, but Satoru? He was the only one who dug into it and discovered Hiro’s… unsavory way of going about privately expressing his affections for you.

Unable to resist, you peeked through the crack right as Satoru unceremoniously tossed Hiro to the floor in front of Nanami and Choso, both of them passively watching. The easy, relaxed posture of Satoru’s lean frame hardened, his broad shoulders squaring as he stared down at the man’s mask of fear. His light blue eyes, typically vibrant and full of mirth, held a cold, calculating glint, like fake flakes fluttering around a snow globe.

You couldn’t watch much of what followed. You turned away when Satoru drew a wickedly sharp dagger from the strap around his thigh and stabbed it straight through the thickness of Hiro’s leg without so much as a warning. His underling’s screams echoed through the room as Satoru slowly, methodically twisted the blade, tearing through flesh and sinew. Blood pooled around the wound and spilled down the sides of his leg, staining the polished floor a deep, sticky red. Numbed to the violence, Nanami bent down at Satoru’s gesture and snatched Hiro’s phone from his pocket as he sobbed and sobbed, decisively crushing it and any evidence it contained beneath his shoe.

“Miss secretaaary, that you?” Satoru’s voice startled you for a second time that day. You forced your attention back to the cracked door, gaze locking onto Satoru’s pleasant, cheery smile that he gave you as if he wasn’t brutally torturing a man that he was planning to soon kill in cold blood. “Oh, good, it is. You can leave those documents on my desk.”

And that was that.

Satoru’s not exactly a good man. He’s done terrible things, will do worse still. This is a man that’s killed for you countless times and would do it again in a heartbeat. But if you asked him to give it up, he’d walk away from the Gojo-gumi and Japan as a whole without a word and give up the title of oyabun to Yuuta. He’d start fresh, wash himself of his sins, and build himself anew just for you. Not that you’d ever ask him to do that, but just knowing that you could and that he’d follow through… you’ve never felt so powerful, so needed in your entire life.

Satoru truly loves you.

“You know, I’ve heard that it’s good to air your privates out from time to time. For circulation and all that jazz.” The Satoru of the present interrupts. The tip of his finger curls, swiping up some of your wetness that spills from your entrance. “Clearly, though, you just wanna fuck nasty.”

You snort out a laugh. “Yeah, yeah, I need you or whatever,” you dismiss him. As if you don’t need this man to nut in you, like, yesterday.

You grab his wrist, guiding him to fully probe at you instead of skirting around the core of you like he has been for the last few minutes. Quick to take you up on the offer, he parts your folds.

Satoru’s pointer finger sinks into you knuckle-deep, hot and fast, and you moan. It takes him a moment to realize why the slide is so easy, and when he does, he whips his head up, suddenly wild and straining at his leash.

“Sweets,” he groans with barely concealed awe. “When did you do this, huh?” He crooks, searching, and you arch when the roughened pad of his trigger finger pets at your walls, so close to where you want him. Tightening around him does nothing to disguise how comfortably loose you are from prepping yourself earlier. Then, a little giggly, a little manic, “Did all those spreadsheets on your desk get you hot and bothered?”

“Mhm, you know I just lo-love payroll,” you hiss when he works another stupidly long finger into you, then a third, his wedding band gleaming on it, and finally massages your g-spot. Your nails flex against his nape. “Had a quick finger blast 1000 session in the staff bathroom.”

“Hot,” he says with feeling. While prying for the sordid details is tempting, there’s more important matters at hand. Like rearranging your guts on his desk to satiate yours and his neediness while you chant ‘good boy good boy good puppy’ before someone inevitably comes knocking to bother him.

Humming a jaunty tune, Satoru pumps his fingers in and out of your cunt, feeling you grow wetter and hotter with each slow lazy thrust. He takes his time, relishing the way your velvety walls flutter around the intrusion of his digits every time he perfectly hits his mark.

Artistically draped atop his desk, you’re beautifully flushed and your eyes are glazed over, lashes fluttering when they threaten to roll back. He can see the fondness etched into your expression, the love, even as you examine him with that imperious tilt to your chin. Your face says what you don’t speak aloud: 'I know I have you wrapped around my little finger, and I'm not afraid to use that to my advantage.’

He’s no art fiend, but he’d go scuba diving in an instant to find the missing head of the Winged Victory of Samothrace and gorilla glue the two parts back together to prove that you’re art in the flesh, a statue of a goddess made with blood, sweat, tears, and passion come to life.

There’s very little space between you. Your breaths intermingle. Pointedly, he glances down at your lips, and you do the same to him.

“C’mere,” he beckons, but you’re already hauling him in with the hand on the back of his neck.

You slot their mouths together with a low, happy noise akin to a purr. He kisses back eagerly, desperately, positively starved for your affection that he’s been yearning for all day. Satoru’s lips part with a shuddery sigh and he pushes his tongue past your pillowy lips to stroke along yours, tasting the sweetness of your mouth; a dash of mocha overridden by those matcha chocolates that he got you hooked on.

You squeeze tighter around his waist, milking a wounded noise from him. Gentle yet firm, you trap his tongue between your teeth, scraping over it and coaxing out the reaction you want. He predictably wedges himself closer and you drag your nylon-clad thigh over the bulge at the crotch of his pants, up and down.

The desk creaks beneath you again as Satoru leans into it and shamelessly dry humps your leg with obvious flexes of his hips. You’re no better, though, rutting into the cup of his palm and squirming in delight every time those delicious callouses of his chafe against your aching clit.

“Feeling good?” He mumbles into you. You nod, tilting your head and realigning your lips, making their kiss that much more heated. His ministrations briefly make your mouth uselessly part against his, too wrapped up in pleasure to function.

Satoru’s the first to break away. He hikes your skirt up, revealing more of your plushy legs clad in those sinful thigh-highs until he finallyyyy lays eyes on the prize. He cups your mound then pulls his palm away, just to watch how thin translucent strings chase after him before snapping and splattering on your inner thighs.

He lifts his hand and looks you dead in the eye, warming some of your gathered wetness between his forefinger and middle before sucking them clean. Ravenous. You know what he wants.

“Can I, y’know, take a proper look at your pussy up close?” Satoru asks, sly but not sly. “I wouldn’t be a good hubby if I didn’t make sure that my girl properly got herself nice and ready for m—“

“Satoru? Get on your knees.”

You have to give it to him, the man moves fast as fuck when given an order. Satoru swiftly drops down, making you worry for his knees that hit the rug hard enough that the wood below it audibly thunks.

And he stares. In an unabashedly perverted manner, at that.

“Let’s see this pretty pussy,” is all he mumbles, chewing his lips and fastening his thumbs into the skin around your folds, tugging you open with a filthy squelch of wet skin peeling away from wet skin. Spreading you wide enough that you prickle with pins and needles— or maybe that’s just because of his unnerving stare.

Your glistening cunt is swollen and enticingly slick with need. The sight of your pussy lips unfurling before him and your clit peeking out from beneath its hood has his mouth watering. Satoru’s cock jumps in his pants like he’s just had a live wire threaded into the slit of his cockhead, desperate to bury inside of you, balls deep.

He looks up at you then. His cerulean eyes gleam with a borderline manic light, wolfish in his intensity. “What next? Want me to heel? Chase my tail? Roll over?” He drawls, cocking his head. He’s more than ready to debase himself in any way you want just to get his back scratched.

You shrug, “I want whatever you want.”

Greed is a sin or whatever, he thinks dimly. But he can't bring himself to care. His fingers dance up and hook under the crook of your right knee, placing it on his shoulder. “Then lemme eat my meal.”

You hate that that makes you shudder. It also makes you wanna shut him up.

“Who are you asking?” You check, cupping your ear. “Try again; you know better, baby.”

The lilt you take on to simultaneously coax and rebuke him only serves to turn him on more, making his poor neglected cock press insistently against his zipper. Satoru knows that look in your eyes. It's the same one you give him when he's been particularly foolish— the ‘bouquet(s) incident’ instantly comes to mind— or when you want something from him. In this case, it's clear that his wife wants him to be good.

His cheeks flush a soft pink, his blue eyes growing hazier with lust, not embarrassment. You’d think that he’d rally against the condescension that coats your words like condensation pearling on a windowpane, but not an inch of his pride bristles beneath your firm hand. Not when he’d strip himself down to the marrow and hand all of himself to you on a silver platter. His pleasure, his pain, his heart and soul… it’s all yours for the taking.

“Mommy,” he moans as if the word itself does more for him than it does for you. And it probably does. “My sexy, gorgeous, take-no-shit-from-anyone, especially her husband, mommy. Can I taste you, please?”

You smile, pleased. Then, finally, because he’s been waiting so patiently, “Go ahead.”

Shit, you don’t gotta tell him twice.

Like a scenthound tracking a trail, Satoru instantly shoves his way between your legs and buries his face in your crotch, gulping down lungfuls of your scent with the desperation of an addict and making you huff out a shaky laugh. The heat radiating from you is staggering.

"You smell like heaven, holy fuck. Good enough to eat. Lucky for you, I’m starving,” he borderline complains. It’s a complete juxtaposition to how he purrs those muffled words into your skin. You shudder at the vibrations.

“That was corny as—“

Satoru was as menacing when it came to pleasuring you as he was as oyabun. There’s no shooting straight and simple with him; he’s reckless, skateboarding on the knife’s edge for the hell of it. He goes from carelessly smothering himself into you, eyes teetering back in their sockets as if drunk with each pass of your slick across his chin, lips, cheeks, to turning his head and dragging messy kisses into the crease between your hip and leg. His saliva and your wetness ooze down your inner thigh, akin to a ripe May mango being carved open and spilt on hot concrete.

But if he’s dangerous, then you’re terrifying.

Pain shears razor-sharp through his scalp. You snag your fingers into his hair, guiding and tethering at the same time, forcing him to stare into the mess they’ve both made of you. He whines, chomping at the bit for it.

“That’s not what I gave you permission to do. Down, boy.” You click your tongue. His teeth click together with how fast he shuts his trap. “I’m beginning to think that you can’t take orders after all. What a shame,” you sigh, the timbre of your voice gentle but your words condescending.

Though he gives you a guilty pout, his cock instantly spurts precum due to the way you’re speaking to him, further soiling his boxers. A teensy part of him wants to act out, harmlessly push against you until you round on him with the intensity of a thousand suns so that you’ll break him over your knee. Playing the part of the petulant brat is fun sometimes. However, his knee-jerk reaction to prove you wrong and take you up on your silent challenge that you’ve presented him with wins out.

Satoru can be a good boy without a doubt.

Sure, he was never the type to care about what other people thought of him, just as long as everyone knows that he’s the reigning king of the yakuza scene. That he’s the richest, the handsomest, everything in that vein.

But the idea of showing you how he could lend his ear to you and listen well, how he was only good for you, that he was only yours to kiss and love and fuck, was enough to drive him borderline crazy.

With his extremely selective hearing and all that corded muscle packed beneath his baby soft skin, you both know damn well that he could steer this situation however he pleased if he wanted to. Yet he goes pliant in your grip, watching, waiting, licking hungrily at his pronounced canines. A predator turned tame as he awaits your order.

It makes you feel drunkenly valorous.

You tilt his head up, angling him so, as if reminding yourself that you’re holding genuine gold and not any of that counterfeit bullshit. His blue eyes are half-mast and dreamy when you peer into them, pupils blown wide. He’s sitting back on his heels with a casual ease, too far away to kiss but not far enough that you can’t smell the intoxicating scent of him, a heady mix of vanilla and cinnamon and sandalwood.

This beautiful, arrogant, infuriating nutcase of a man. Seeing him like this makes your heart do flips. You live for moments like these, when he can let go and just be yours completely. The most feared man in Japan, brought to his knees by the woman he loves.

You tap your chin. “Didn’t your parents teach you that it’s improper to play with your food?”

His retort comes quick. “I think they cared more about making sure I could properly unload, load, and shoot a gun in less than ten seconds. And juggle multiple businesses at once. All of which I excel at, by the way.”

“Smart ass,” you scoff, but the words lack their usual bite. You sound affectionate.

“Mm, but you love my mouth.” Satoru, lecherous, wiggles his eyebrows. You can’t deny that.

“What was it that Suguru told me ages ago?” Satoru wonders aloud, glancing up at the ceiling as if it’ll come to him in a show of divine light. You’re incredibly unimpressed and almost want to shove him face first into you and do all the work yourself, but you wait. “‘Thanks should be given thricefold?’ That’s all I’m doing.”

He replants his face into your inner thigh, wetting the lacy top of your thigh-high with one indulgent lick, then latches onto your plump thigh and sucks and bites with a vengeance. The peachy pink of his shapely lips bleeds forth and mixes with your skin, producing the same color beneath his teeth. Once the hickey is dark enough for his standards and you’re writhing a little, he mumbles a faint ‘thank you’ and switches to your other leg, mauling your skin with obnoxiously loud slurps, leaving a second mark and professing his thanks again.

Then his mouth finally makes contact with your cunt and you’re a goner.

This is the same man that got you a little wet on their first date, you remind yourself. You remember sitting across from him, taking subtle deep breaths as if the very air in your lungs would break every piece of fine china in the five star Michelin restaurant that Satoru dragged you to, and stiffly cutting your wagyu steak.

Satoru knocked back the rest of his non-alcoholic drink like it was a shot, ice clinking against his lips, then sucked the single cherry between them. Grinning a little at you, he chewed into the cherry with crisp snaps of his teeth until only the stem remained. And the show-off kept his mouth open so that you could watch him tie the teeny tiny stem into a neat knot using only his tongue and the support of his teeth.

It’s safe to say that he’s really, really talented with his tongue.

He drags deep, open-mouthed kisses up and down your slit, sloppily making out with your cunt. His tongue lolls out of his mouth and firmly licks into you, and when he moans like a whore into your quivering pussy at the first taste of real, genuine ambrosia, the vibrations take root in your nerves and shake them fiercely. You keen as if you’ve been socked in the stomach, hands digging harder into his fluffy white hair and making him moan again.

“Oh, shit, yesyesyes, good boy,” you pant at the very sudden and very enjoyable onslaught.

From what you’ve learned, the best way to train a puppy is through positive reinforcement, patience, and rewarding good behavior. It works wonders.

Satoru's hand crawls to the underside of your left thigh and he tosses that one over his broad shoulders too, settling in to eat you out with single-minded focus. He feasts on you like a man starved, gathering the wetness that drips from your core, dipping inside your entrance that doesn’t resist him even a little bit to taste you more fully and nuzzling his nose against your clit, spurred on by the praises you keep singing. Three laps and he’s a swimmer. The cocktail of his saliva and your slick coats his chin and pools on the wood beneath your ass.

You dig the points of your stilettos just above his shoulder blades. Using your newfound stirrups and gripping the reins of his hair, you vigorously grind yourself against his face to try and unravel the knot in your stomach. Satoru loves when you get bossy like this, wrangling him so that you can take what you want. It’s so fucking hot.

“That’s what good pussy sounds like,” he groans, muffled by your skin, even though he can barely hear the lewd squelches of your responsive body himself, the wet clicks of his suckling. Your trembling thighs are firmly locked around his head— it wouldn’t be so bad to suffocate here. You squeeze harder, squishing his ears further against his head, as if telling him to shut up and stop quoting Vines of all things while buried in his favorite deep-dish.

He doesn’t stop running his mouth, though. “Tastes so good, f-fuck, bet you feel good too with how soaked you are. Keep moving your hips just like that, mommy, use me— just like that, yeaaah,” is breathed nose-deep into your folds that soaks every word up like a sponge. “Drag that pretty cunt all over me.”

His lips are lovely and warm, diligent in his ministrations. Choppy exhales ghost across your skin and make you flinch. He pulls back a little to lave over your clit, tasting the sweet, salty wetness that coats it, and he sinks into the bliss and into you. He gorges himself on the sweetness of your juices, swallowing it down and letting it trickle down his throat.

Satoru looks up at you, eyes frantic with adoration like he’s pleased to be doing this, just eating you out without any sort of gain for himself. There’s been countless times where Satoru’s pinned you down and munched for hours, languorous in his effort to coax noises and reactions from you. He’s done it in a changing room, during their movie marathons, on his private jet to one of their vacation homes, fresh from beating people black and blue, when you were sleeping in their cozy king-sized bed back at the Gojo estate… the list goes on. Earning gratification via your pleasure is enough for him.

Each stroke through your weeping slit elicits an approving moan or whimper from the beauty perched atop his desk, growing higher in pitch the closer you get to the edge. Your husband sounds just as wrecked, mewling babbled nonsense into you, ferally plunging his tongue in and out of your silken depths that he’d kill to stay swaddled in forever.

You screw yourself down onto him with equal fervor, your body heaving with the force of your pleasure, twisting and writhing and making the desk creak. Perhaps you’re being a bit too punishing with your pace and not letting him up for air, but Satoru takes it all with grace, not a single whimper of protest slipping past your hips that slap against his face.

"Cum for me, angel," he pathetically begs, his thumb seeking out your clit to trace circles against it. His tongue continues its relentless assault, determined to push you over the edge and into blissful oblivion. "Let me feel you. Want my baby to make a mess of me, c’mon.”

When it becomes too much, the fervent sparks licking down the sparkler too fast, you lightly bat his head away. Satoru goes quickly and obediently. Your hips itch to chase him. “Open, puppy,” you bite out.

His mouth falls open, whiny pants drooling down his pretty pink tongue. That’s all it takes to do you in. With his thumb rolling over your swollen rosebud and his eagerness on full display, you let the intensity of your orgasm sweep you away and you keen as you squirt all over his face.

Viscous fluid splashes on his tongue and he moans, looking utterly out of it as he watches you find your release. Slick coats his cheeks, chin, and lips in a glistening sheen and he licks up what he can. Satoru scrambles forward for more of it even as you try to physically hold him at bay with the weak hand fixed in his wavy strands.

“Please!” He basically cries. You’re a sucker for good manners. You’d try harder to keep him away if you actually didn’t want him all over you, so he takes your unspoken permission that comes in the form of a furrowed brow, as if you’re scolding yourself for giving in, and he runs with it.

He practically collapses into you. He seals his mouth back over your gushing pussy, fingers abandoning your clit in favor of clawing at the nylon smoothed over your thighs. Groaning, your shaking legs relax around his head and slip off his shoulders, splayed open for him to lick his plate clean. Satoru does just that, a little clumsy in his haste but no less passionate.

He keeps going until your erratic twitches turn into steady shudders, your nonstop moans quieting down, until his jaw aches from how hungrily he threw himself into the task. He doesn’t even realize that he’s palming himself through his slacks until his hips sway forward and he pulsates in his grip.

Satoru reluctantly draws back as if it physically pains him to not be buried beneath your skin when your high heel lightly kicks at his flank, too overstimulated to allow him to keep going. His gaze drags over you, recommitting every fine detail to memory; trembling lips punctured by teeth marks, your expression dreamy, body curled halfway over him and ripe for the taking. He wants to remember you like this, wants to burn this image into his brain so that he can call it up when the long nights stretch before him and the weight of his duties threaten to crush him.

“You’re so pretty, mommy. My pretty baby,” he whispers.

He meets your eyes that burn into him. He can only imagine what he looks like. Pink from the tips of his ears down to his neck, face messily painted over with your slick, white hair fluffed up and a little frizzy from the sweat at his hairline. A pussydrunk mess.

You almost want to press your high heel to his chest, kick him to the floor, and then ride him until he cries. The lazier half of you wants to sit back and take the reins from below.

“Let’s get those pants of yours off, baby,” you gently coo.

Satoru exhales sharply and fumbles with his belt. The leather strap slips through the buckle with a sharp clink and he tosses it to the floor. His boxers drag along his erection almost painfully as he shoves them and his slacks down to bunch around his shapely thighs.

Flushed and dripping, his cock draws up now that it’s free of the confines and slaps against his abdomen, staining his pristine white button up with the copious amounts of precum that slicks it. If he didn’t know any better, he would’ve been convinced that he already blew his load in his pants. You sit up straighter to get a better look, looking as drunk as he feels.

“Please let me fuck you, mommy... I need it so bad. Need to make you feel good,” he pleads, blue eyes nearly rolling up to the light fixtures on the office ceiling as he finally fists his weepy cock. It feels so good that it hurts.

He was never apologetic about his spoiled golden child tendencies when it comes to you, even borderline proud of acting so shameless about it at times.

Still, Satoru needs a certain level of coaxing in order to be truly vulnerable. His obedience has always been fickle— difficult to coax out of him when his head is on straight, his thoughts moving too fast for him to melt like putty beneath you that easy. Pride is a wretched, untamable thing. An unstoppable force and an immovable object.

Yet he’s on his knees begging to get inside of you.

“Get up,” you breathe.

“Huh?” He mumbles stupidly, still fixed on you.

Your laugh is devastatingly fond. “Are we fucking or what?” You shove your pencil skirt up to your midsection.

Satoru gets a little distracted by the sight of your mussed up thigh highs, the tops of them soaked through, the splotchy hickeys dotting both of your legs, and your messy folds. His thumb stutters over his swollen cockhead.

“You don’t wanna leave mommy waiting, do you? Come get your dick wet.”

The second you finish speaking, he’s on you, flying up onto his feet and ignoring the smarting pain in his knees. He reaches past you and wildly sweeps at his desk, sending papers and pens to the floor. In the next instant, his hands are on the backs of your thighs, pushing your legs up and out to get a good look at your bare ass and glistening cunt.

While admiring the view, he risks his precious left hand by letting it come down to deliver a sharp smack to your ass. When you don’t bite his head off, he does it again, because damn, that’s a lot of movement back there. Your asscheek flares red like a warning. He’s of the opinion that you should get ‘Ms. Nasty’ tatted there, but you always shoot down the idea.

Fingers wrench at your hips to haul you forward, making you choke on air. Sweaty palms scramble for purchase on the smooth oak, stretching back behind you and hooking onto the edge of the desk at the last minute before he can send both of you falling to the floor in a heap.

“Gentle,” you scold. The flare of his nostrils gives away his uncharacteristic disappointment with himself, which you think is a little unfair to himself. He really has been so well behaved; one mishap is nothing. Humming soothingly, you pet at his cheek and his tension releases like a deflated balloon.

You shimmy a little, rubbing your velvety warmth all over his cock that he notches at your entrance. "Good boy," you purr, hooking your legs around his waist and crossing your ankles at the small of his back, tying them together with a cute little bow. "Such an obedient little puppy, following mommy's every command.”

Satoru groans, guttural and wet, and surges forward to connect their lips. The tangy taste of your own slick greets you, but you don’t mind, drinking down every pornographic whimper that drips from his mouth.

“Put it in,” you mumble between drawn out kisses. You rub your thumb just behind one of his ears and a pleased hum rumbles through his chest, which rises and falls rapidly as anticipation coils tightly in his gut. You shove his suit jacket off of his shoulders, letting it drop to the floor, then loosen Satoru’s tie enough that you can get your fingers on the first button at his collar and work your way down. You leave his shirt hanging from his shoulders but you roll his sleeves up.

Arms that have snapped countless necks flex as Satoru plants his hands on the desk on either side of your hips, caging you in. You drag your hands up and down them, squeezing at the muscle of his biceps beneath his skin, shamelessly feeling up your husband. His cocky smirk is like a brand against your lips.

One, two, three more kisses are exchanged before he pulls back with a wet pop and you can finally peel your eyes open.

Lean muscle and pale scarred skin greets you, peeking from behind the curtain of his undone shirt. Not that you can see it from here, but you can practically picture the massive tattoo of a six-eyed, six-winged angel that he has etched into his back. There’s that jagged scar of his that always makes you wince in sympathy, the line of it running from one shoulder to his opposite hip that an assassin gave him when he was in high school. A smattering of fine white hairs races down his navel to the denser patch of hair curling around his cock. God, you wanna rub yourself all over him like a cat in heat— especially on those washboard abs of his.

With a deep breath, he begins pushing in, working just the tip in past the ring of your cunt. Instantly, Satoru stutters over a moan as if near tears.

Your velvety hole drenches Satoru’s cock with your syrupy slick and clamps down mercilessly as if trying to trap him inside. He shudders, a full-body tremor that starts at the top of his head and travels down the length of his body. Satoru has to grit his teeth to keep from emptying his balls right then and there like a teenager getting his first taste of pussy.

He’s genuinely delirious. His head is dizzy, stupid, because his wife is obscenely fucking tight despite everything and so damn warm. “My toes are throwing up gang signs,” Satoru coughs out as they curl in his Italian leather shoes and you bust out laughing. As responsive as ever, your cunt tries to wring his dick like a towel and he chokes.

You’re actually gonna be the death of him. Here he lies, Gojo Satoru, the deadly oyabun of the Gojo-gumi and the pride of the Gojo clan, dead via sex. May he forever rest in peace.

You’re not faring much better, though. Your previous orgasm left you raw and sensitive, so you’re fighting against the urge to run from his cock and the pleasure that crashes over you each time he throbs inside of you. “And I’m sending off Morse code signals,” you breathlessly joke. It’s a miracle that you’re able to manage a coherent sentence.

“Uh huh, I can tell.” Satoru licks his lips, staring down at where he guides another inch into you, then another, making you slap the desk to try and cope with the way he’s spreading you open. You feel full to the brim and he’s not even halfway there. “Your tight little cunt’s telling me that she can’t handle my cock.”

He needs his mouth washed out with soap. You have to hold back another peal of laughter.

Satoru brokenly whimpers, a sound that’s equal parts pleasure and pain, when you yank at his designer silk tie like a leash without warning. The expensive fabric pulls taut against his throat. Your next tug sends him stumbling forward, hips slapping against the plumpness of your ass with a heavy smack that echoes through his spacious office, forcing him to sink into your welcoming heat up to the hilt. The desk creaks, the wood protesting the rough treatment. Both of you moan when his cockhead smushes against your g-spot and your brain momentarily goes blank.

“You sure it’s not the other way around?” You try for a smirk and it wobbles around the edges.

“Hmph.” Satoru manages to pout at you, pursing his lips. He even rolls his eyes. This diva.

Attempting to dig up the dregs of your sanity and cling to it is hard. You’re one wrong step away from losing your cool, the sheer pressure and pleasure of being practically split in two overwhelming you. It's too much, too intense, and yet you can't stop from leaning into it nor stop the excessive amounts of slick pooling around him and dribbling onto the desk in a steady rhythm, spelling out your arousal. All you know is that you want more— more of Satoru and this perfect, mind-numbing ecstasy.

The man of the hour goes willingly as you wrap more of his tie around your fingers and reel him impossibly closer. He drops his weak head and nuzzles into the crook of your neck as he grinds his hips in tight circles that stir up your insides, practically humping your ass like a rutting canine. He only stops when you let loose an unsteady peep.

His breath shakes out of him in short, sharp gusts, lost in the sensation of being buried inside of you. "You feel so fucking good, sugar," Satoru slurs his words a little, nipping at the tendons in your neck that flex when you swallow before soothing the sting with a swipe of his tongue. He inhales the lip-smacking scent of your natural scent and your perfume. "So wet and perfect. Can't get enough of this sweet cunt."

He kisses his way down your neck and to your collarbone as you both adjust to being so intimately joined, reveling in how you loll your head back to give him more skin to work with. He spies down your shirt that gapes open a little, showing where your necklace is trapped between your heaving breasts, and gets an idea.

The muscles in his arms bunch up right before Satoru rips at the front of your blouse, figuring he’ll buy you a prettier and more expensive one later. He doesn't care. All he cares about is getting his hands on your tits, plain and simple.

You can only watch in mild horror as buttons pop off and fly everywhere (one nearly takes out his eye), ping ping pinging off the walls and the floor, a shower of scattered stars. One goes skittering beneath his office door. Another bounces so hard off of a tiny lamp across the room that it goes careening off of the side table and the lightbulb smashes into bits on the floor.

Since everything’s already going to shit, he doesn’t bother with finesse when it comes to the front of your now decimated, but blessedly open, shirt. He simply yanks the fabric down your arms until it pools around your elbows.

“What the hell, Satoru!” You scold him. The subtle hitch of your hips and your dilated pupils betray you. “I swear to god, if you don’t learn the art of subtlety and figure out how to stay quiet, I’ll—“

“Relax, my men’ll probably think it was hail or something,” he says flippantly.

Your glare is withering. Shit, he needs to score brownie points all over again.

He nips at the soft upper curves of your breasts, burying his face between them as far as he can with the restriction of your bra holding him back, and innocently blinks up at you, trying to look as sweet as pie. “Wait, I’m sorry for interrupting you. Go on, wrap it up. Tell me how you’d shut me up, yeah? Would it hurt? I wanna know all the dirty deets,” Satoru simpers.

“Hit dogs holler.”

Ooooooh.

“Fuck, fuck, stop right there, I nearly came,” Satoru moans dramatically.

Your low, aggrieved noise turns into a wobbly inhale when he leans down to mouth at the swell of your cleavage, tongue tracing the edge of a cup before he pulls that down too.

Out pops your titty. His dick nearly busts inside of you as if saying hi. He quickly yanks down the other cup to let both of your breasts fully spill free, both of them begging to be worshipped. “There’s my girls,” he croons.

Your nipples quickly harden now that they’re exposed to the cool air chugging through the vents. There’s very few things better than anointing every inch of your pretty tits with kisses and licks and nips, which he does happily. He squishes them together to enthusiastically motorboat them (he misses the way your eye twitches), slaps your left tit to watch it jiggle and spits on the right one, watching the strand of saliva slip down the curve of your body. Satoru chases it down and sucks your nipple into his mouth. Being winded by all this stimulation does nothing to stop you from eagerly arching into him.

“Having fun?” You ask dryly. Teeth roll your nipple around, gently biting into it and eliciting a weak spasm from you. Your vision threatens to cross when that makes your body swallow his cock in further.

He pulls back, breaking the seal of his lips on your breast with a lewd pop. Just to ensure he’s covered all his bases, he openly sniffs your chest. You grimace at him. “Mmmmm. Yup. Can I move now, mommy?”

You nod.

“Good.”

You’re promptly fully laid down atop the desk. Before you can even blink, he’s screwing his shoes into the foothold of the carpet beneath him, gripping at your hips, and he plasters half of the weight of his upper half on you without crushing you.

Hips draw back with the tautness of a bowstring, a deadly instrument of war. The tension is suspended when he slides the thickness of him almost fully out, your folds just barely clinging to the underside of his throbbing cockhead.

He releases it. Driving forward, he hits his mark with military precision and you swear you can feel him up in your throat.

“Satoru,” you gasp, your voice nearly drowned out by the sticky squelch of his body reconnecting with yours. You’re leaking so much that your ass and thighs and his pelvis are finely glazed with slick, a concoction as thickly sweet as the one pasted over pastries.

“Shit.” The curse punches its way up his throat and out of the drooling seam of his mouth. Starting up a filthy grind drags more from his worn lungs. He rocks with the sensual finesse and purpose of someone seasoned in the realm of the red light district, dragging along each crevice of your heavenly warmth.

(Your stern, nonchalant facade nearly crumbled when you asked him if he’d ever been to the red light district back when you first started dating years ago, long before wedding bells rang. At the time, you kind of wanted to throw up even though it would’ve made sense and you would’ve understood. Why get jealous of what came before you? However, Satoru looked at you like you hit your head. “For Gojo-gumi business? Yeah, of course I have. I literally own a few clubs in those parts.”)

Every silky inch of you threatens to be his ruin. You’re pillow soft. Satoru has to screw his eyes shut in a futile attempt to handle it. “God, fuuuuck, baby. M’so drunk on this pretty body of yours, so addicted to you that it’s driving me crazy,” he warbles.

His fingertips dig into the soft pouch of your hips, keeping you in place so that you can release your death grip on the edge of his desk. “There you go, that’s— that’s perfect, right there. That’s a good boy. Mommy’s perfect boy,” you babble right back.

The way you praise him all sweet with your voice tuned to a higher pitch, your blessed hands finally petting over every inch of him that you can touch, slipping under his shirt to dance along the knobs of his spine, nails biting into the inked angel on his back, drawing your fingers back out to brush them along his face— it’s like a switch flips in his brain, reducing him to a needy mess incapable of doing nothing but pleasing you. You have him under lock and key.

The poor desk beneath you feebly creaks and wobbles, openly protesting their coupling. Drawers rattle in their slots from the force of Satoru's increasingly powerful thrusts, banging open in a chaotic cacophony and spilling papers and office supplies onto the floor. With a whine, Satoru changes the pace so that he’s battering his way in and out of your cunt to the rhythm of your pulsations around his cock, like a bass being plucked. Your joint moans grow borderline frantic.

“Open your eyes.” Satoru peels his eyelids apart to look at you as requested. He blinks back the spots lining his vision.

Your beauty is the kind that he’s sure artists would kill to put on paper. Sweat glistens enticingly on your trembling body, making it seem like you’ve been buffed in stardust, your abs fluttering every time his cockhead kisses that spongy spot deep inside you that drives you insane. The commanding pools of your eyes reel him in and it makes him melt.

“My gorgeous fucking wife,” he rasps. “Mine.”

The flat of Satoru’s palm smooths down to your stomach. He presses down right where there’s visible distension from the thickness of his cock embedding itself in you. Your lips fall apart in a lewd ‘o’ as the pressure adds to the hot sparks of pleasure flooding your body. “That’s how deep I am, huh, princess? It's allll in your tummy,” he crows breathlessly, trying to sound cocky but failing. Miserably.

Your nod is borderline frantic. “Keep fucking me just like this,” you insist, eyes rolling back, body jolting. And he obliges.

His face is dusted in a dark pink shade that L’Oréal would kill to make a lipstick out of and Satoru’s sporting a fucked-out, hopelessly giddy grin. Sweat marches down his temples, his snow-white hair falling damp and disheveled over his brow from his exertions. His once crisp button-up hangs off his broad shoulders, the tie swinging from around his pale neck.

Blue eyes hazy and wrecked, lust swims in the yawning voids of his irises as he stares down at where he’s joined with his wife. He watches, enraptured, as your stretched cunt greedily sucks him in, tight walls adhering to him and pumping out slick.

With the way Satoru’s sinking into you with heavy deep strokes, you matching him with frenzied ruts of your own hips, it’s like he’s trying to crawl inside of you and never come out. This intimate closeness is what he craves, needs. Satoru’s long white eyelashes, clumpy and wet, veil his vision with how low lidded his eyes are. He blinks at you between the slits with raw, open affection.

Using his hold on your hips, he yanks you onto his cock over and over and over again. His chin drops to bump against his sternum, groans hissing through the barrier of his teeth as you cry out and squeeze around him. “Sosososo fucking good, swear on everything that you’re perfect. Use me for your pleasure. Juuust like that, pretty, I got you,” Satoru spews like a two-bit whore on the street.

He’s too loud. Any illusion that you may have been quiet enough to have gone undetected to the rest of the building has been long shattered, but schematics, schematics.

Your thumb draws at the plump swell of Satoru’s bottom lip, pushing into the slight natural divot of them. His eyes follow the movement, transfixed, and he opens up without hesitation when you replace your thumb with two fingers.

Satisfied, you sink them into Satoru’s mouth. “Stay quiet and occupy yourself with mommy’s fingers.” He lets out a muffled moan in response as you push them deeper, tongue instinctively curling to try and force them right back out, but he forces himself to relax. He draws his tongue lazily over your fingers, tasting his own saliva mingling with the faint flavor of your lotion.

Creeping over his soft palate, you press at the back of his throat, coolly watching him gag around the invading force for a moment before sliding them back out, back in with a wet noise. Drool escapes the corners of his stretched lips in rivulets and dribbles down his chin and onto your sternum, making him look more like a sloppy, over-excited puppy than the feared yakuza boss he is.

The points of his canines shrieeeek over the gloss of your nails when you stretch your fingers apart in a ‘v’ and nestle them between his teeth. Yet he doesn’t bite down. He holds your fingers there like a soft mouthed retriever, docile and tender.

“My baby likes having any part of mommy in his mouth, yeah?” You manage.

He dutifully nods. You indulge him until your fingers prune, letting him suckle and gag himself on you to his heart’s content. There’s a constant stream of gargled moans and whimpers flowing from him, all of his words running together until it’s just meaningless sound. Only then do you pull them out, allowing more of his saliva to splatter on your sternum and ooze down between your bobbing breasts.

It’s a little hard to secure a hold with your wet fingers, but you manage to snag the edge of his tie and once again use it to dictate the pace of his thrusts, pushing and pulling him around the same way one does with a toy.

By now, any semblance of coherency has all but been forgotten and he’s just rutting into you, mindless, puppy-like; the relief of fixating on you and your pleasure a thrilling change of pace from the constant demands and expectations that come with his position. He may be looming over you as he fucks you like his life depends on it, but he’s under no illusion that he’s the one in control here.

They’re moving in sync, two waves cresting and crashing and ensuring each other’s ruin every time they come together. Teeth chafe against skin, promising, before sinking in. Fingers grapple for proper leverage, smoothly trimmed nails sinking into warm thighs and scalps and sweaty backs. Your ass claps against his thighs so hard that it burns, sopping pussy ravenous in its efforts to envelop him.

“Shit, m’not gonna last long,” you heave. Your legs tighten around his slutty ass waist and cling there for dear life when one of his flexing hands drops away from your hip, hurriedly dipping down between you and frantically rubbing his thumb over your sensitive bundle of nerves.

“You’re so close, I can feel it, f-fuck, squeezing me so tight. C’mon. Make a mess of my cock, please cum for me again, mommy. I’m all yours, I’m all yours, I’m all yours,” Satoru deliriously whines.

You see red.

It’s not the kind of red that comes from anger. No, it’s the kind that comes from having your brain cells fry from the sheer mind-numbing euphoria that bursts through your body like a supernova. You’re pretty sure you wail as your slick rushes wetly from your plugged up cunt, but it’s drowned out by the roaring blood swelling in your ears.

You babble a litany of nonsense, half of it praise and half of it mindless chants for more, for less, you don’t know. Satoru more than happily fucks you through your orgasm, thumbing your clit, driving wildly into you and making you mercilessly convulse.

"That's it, angel," he groans, feeling his own release fast approaching. A gooey feeling curls in his stomach, hotly insistent, and his balls draw up. It’s riding him hard.

Bowing further over you, he bodily pries your shaking legs away from his waist and tosses them over his shoulders, folding you in half like a lawn chair and making one sleeve of his shirt slide further down his arm. The new angle allows him to push impossibly deeper and your moan scratches it’s way out of the column of your throat.

"I'm gonna... fuck, I'm gonna cum, sweets," he grits out through clenched teeth, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. But it's a losing battle, his body trembling and tensing as he teeters on the precipice of ecstasy. Only you, his anchor, ties him down to earth. "Tell me I can... tell me I can cum inside this perfect cunt."

You don’t respond, either too busy drowning in the remnants of your climax or just blatantly ignoring him, and he releases a big shuddery whimper when he realizes his misstep. “Please,” he tries.

Big blue eyes watery and wide, he looks like a ruined angel above you. “I’ll buy you that new phone you wanted, or take you on a trip anywhere in the world. I’ll do anything, say the word and I will. Just— just lemme cum. Please, mommy.” His saliva-slick lips drag down your chest and seal around one of your pearly nipples, suckling gently and trying to appeal further to you.

He sounds so broken, so desperate, and it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever heard. It almost makes you wonder if you could cum again just from hearing him like this. You know you could make him beg for hours if you wanted to, even demand that he halt completely, but he hasn’t done anything to warrant being on the receiving end of your borderline sadistic streak.

(Though, knowing this 6’3 eager to please masochist on top of you, he’d rock with it.)

“Go ahead, baby,” you tell him. Nails claw at his back, likely shredding along the feathery lines of the tatted angel’s wings, further spurring him on.

“Ffffuck, thank you, thank you, I love you so much,” he chants around your swollen nipple, voice breaking on each word. He pulls his mouth away, spit clinging to his lower lip and connecting him to your tits that sway every time he rocks his twitching hips against yours.

Satoru greedily paws at you, squeezing your pillowy breasts, tracing your curves, pressing into your navel, anything he can get his hands on. He's like a starving man at an all-you-can-eat buffet, determined to sample everything until he’s no longer allowed to.

Your neck strains as you thrash your head and he visibly wavers like a house about to fall. “What, can’t take it anymore?” Satoru pokes fun, but his question is really a ‘you good?’

“Shut up.” ‘I’m fine, I love you, go ahead.’

The perks of a married couple… telepathy.

Satoru drops his head, slams into you a little faster. The drawers continue rattling like teeth in a jar. Despite the euphoria clogging your pores and melting your brain down, you lift your hands, cupping his face, thumbs fanning outwards from the bridge of his nose and gently digging into the warming apples of his cheeks.

He leans into your touch, nuzzling into your palms as your thumbs brush away tears that he didn’t realize were escaping him. In his electric blue eyes that make your nerves sing with just a glance, you can see the depth of his devotion and trust in you, the way he's utterly handing himself over to you in this moment.

“You’re so good to me, baby,” you whisper. “Mommy’s perfect puppy.”

His vision goes black and his mouth opens. Then, suddenly, a searing and blinding white explodes across his retinas like a droplet of paint in a cup of water as he lets go.

His cock jerks, painting you over and over again with spurts of his spend. He pulses inside you with each aftershock that rumbles through his very bones, your pussy eagerly wringing around him in turn, milking him and siphoning his soul out via his cock, and forcing him to plug his load in deep.

The whole while, Satoru lets out watery whimpers, peppering your scrunched up face in sloppy uncoordinated puppy kisses and grinding into you. If you squint, you swear you can see a fluffy white tail wagging faster than the beat of a hummingbird’s wings behind him.

As he comes down and his movements peter off, stopping to mould his pelvis to the curve of your ass and leave himself buried in you, he nuzzles his way between your tits. Your perfectly soft, plush, pillowy tits. This is heaven. Needily, he rubs his cheek on the gentle swell of your right boob, drinking you and the smell of sex and sweat in.

Your hand sinks into his white hair, stroking the sweaty strands and trying to comb them into place between gentle scratches at his scalp to pacify him further. He practically purrs. In his wife’s presence, Satoru isn’t the almighty oyabun of the Gojo-gumi. Nuh uh, no sir. He’s completely and utterly your annoying husband that scrambles for your affection as if he’s a broke person on the street chasing pennies— and you always give it to him.

Together, the two of you slowly breathe and bask in the afterglow. Satoru, humming out sweet nothings, you, petting over him and probably tracking the fan above them that spins round and round. Minds blissfully blank.

(‘I need to buy this man a collar,’ you think to yourself. ‘And then peg the absolute dogshit out of him.’)

God, he’s so fortunate to be able to come home to you every damn day. He’s been counting his lucky stars since the day they met. A sudden burst of emotion swells in his chest, warm and golden like the summer sun.

“Love you, pretty,” he sighs dreamily. He catches your hand in his, planting a kiss to the back of it, then to your engagement ring and wedding band.

Your hands refix themselves on his cheeks with a gentle squeeze. “I love you too, baby,” you murmur, drawing him into a hopelessly sappy kiss. He pecks you one, two, three more times, chasing your lips, and you laugh softly.

Satoru jolts when skin cracks against skin in a sudden spank, a vicious throb skyrocketing beneath the skin of his ass. “Hey! Way to ruin the moment!” He complains with the most offended look he can muster. You smile with false serenity.

He’s sure it’ll bruise into a small reminder, one that will surely haunt him for days to come whenever he sits in his office chair and feels the bruise pulse beneath the pressure, drawing him back to this moment— Satoru breaking your back on his desk, waiting for you to give him permission to go ahead while he writhes, needy and wanting and begging with his body.

You pull back a little to scrutinize him. “That was for my shirt that you—“ he winces when you jab a finger at him, “destroyed.”

You yelp when he abruptly slots his arms beneath you and hoists you up off of the desk. Satoru drops down into his chair, sending them skidding back a few steps when it gets the wheels rolling, and cordons you off in his lap by squeezing you close, his stupid dick still buried in your guts. You widen your legs to properly straddle him then frown at the sensation of tacky drying cum, slick, and sweat between your bodies.

Behind Satoru, the sun peeks over his head and sets his white hair aglow. Towering buildings go on and on, stretching out before the empire of the Gojo-gumi.

He tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear and lets his touch linger a little before he snuggles you closer. In his arms, you’re utterly at ease. He’s equally at peace— always is, actually, in your presence. You quiet the incessant din of his life and fill it with you; your snark, your gentleness that you only ever show him, your authority that he leans on, your love and your dreams for you and him.

You’re intrinsically part of him now. Nothing can ever change that.

“I’ll buy you a new one, relaaaax. You can wear my shirt on your way out and I’ll just grab one of my spare suits for myself,” Satoru cajoles, puckering his lips and theatrically fluttering his lashes. You grumble something highly censorable. Trying to find a way to hush you up before you can let loose on him, he glances around the room, drinking in the pens, papers, the shattered lamp, random buttons, and half of their clothing littering the ground. A mess that he most definitely will not be cleaning up himself.

Then, once he finds it, he scoots them along a fraction in the chair and taps his foot against a certain paper. You look behind you. “Oh, good, I needed your signature on this. Now I can go forward with my plan,” Satoru says cheerily.

You blink, confused. You don’t hold any executive power in this building, not enough to warrant your signature. Nor have you signed anything of note in the last week, here at headquarters, at home, or otherwise.

Satoru taps his foot against it again. Dotted along the paper are dried splotches of what is most likely your wetness. Your supposed ‘signature.’ Heat rises to your face. “I got us a seventh vacation home!”

“Fucker.”

After he has a giggle fest over it and you quiet him down with more kisses and unserious scoldings, which leads to an overly heated make out session that has you evaluating the pros and cons of another round, a fist pounds on the door. You pause in the middle of mauling your husband’s neck, painting the smooth expanse in hickeys in revenge for the two fat ones throbbing on your thighs, and pinch his side to push him into action.

Satoru rolls his eyes so hard that it’s a wonder they don’t get lodged back in his skull. “Does it look like I’m available? The door’s locked for a reason,” he hollers.

A beat. You hear Kento’s familiar, utterly exhausted sigh. “If you two are done in there.” It’s clear what he’s referring to. Your eyes flare again and Satoru tries for a smile. “Gojo is needed elsewhere. I’ve been made aware that Geto has been blowing up his phone for quite some time now. It’s urgent.”

Then, when neither of you answer, Kento adds, “There’s been an incident in Shibuya.”

Oh hell no.

Satoru’s about to show Shibuya a real incident for interrupting his moment with his wife.

author’s note: he will be collared in a drabble GOD WILLING

thank you all for reading this freaky ass shit, hoping to post more of my 1748282 wips soon :3 reblog and/or comment to let me know ur thoughts because i eat replies UP, they’re all greatly appreciated muuuah 🫶🏽

tags: @stuboo2053 @pvmpkingod @spirit-kat @skz8stay @loyalguma @amane1271 @irishiruuu @m1nrrva @onixsky @q2uq2u @enchantinghonymoon @exc3llentshot @libr4sonsa @kaitospo @n1vi @ieathairs

here are my fav comments from my betas (#smashsecretaryreader2k25movement):

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777heavengirl · 3 months ago

Text

kitchen

remus lupin x reader one-shot ! warnings: my beta reader rated it 12/10 angst, do with that what you will. word count: 2,889 masterlist a/n: this is so sad. this is rlly just me partly reflecting my break up onto Remus i AM SO SORRY IN ADVANCE.

You stared at the side of Remus’s face as he talked with James. Your brother ever the animated man, waved his arms around and spoke excitedly, to which Remus could only muster small chuckles and low-toned responses.

You knew he was tired.

Work was tiring.

The moon was tiring.

His body was tired.

Part of you was still left with a bitter aftertaste from his apathy. You pressed a kiss against his bicep.

Remus’s lips pressed into a thin line resembling a smile. You knew it meant he was itching to leave. But you didn’t move. You sat, and stared, at him, at James, at Lily. At nothing at all. You laughed when they did, and put your hand on his forearm as to remind yourself of the spark between you. To remind yourself that he was here, with you and that he loved you.

That you loved him too.

You wondered if he had always been this way. Had you just been too in love to notice the apathy? The way he seemed to not even try to reciprocate any energy? Were you just being too needy?

Was James not bothered by his friend’s lack of emotion?

You and Remus had too much history. You could not remember what life was like without being with him. It had been years. Years of running up and down behind your twin brother and his friends, years of hands intertwined with Remus’s, kisses first shared in the dark— Merlin forbid your brother found out at the time. You had been happy. For years. Even with the ups and downs and the mercurial nature of his moods. Maybe lunar is a better word for it.

The waning and waxing phases of the way he felt about the world. You thought that might be the hardest part of it all.

The way he’d be enthusiastic about the future one week, talking about job postings that had piqued his interest, talking about a future. But other weeks, the dark side of the moon reared its ugly head. He’d be riddled with doubts and fears. Days and weeks were he simply wallowed, days where he haunted your room or your kitchen, for hours. He’d reluctantly go to his muggle job, the monotony of it all bringing his mood down even more.

Weeks like those it was hard. The talks of aspirations went up in a cloud of smoke and you were once again left with nothing.

He always did say that even though he wasn't sure what he wanted to do, he was sure about you. That you were the one constant in his future. No matter what, it was you. It wasn’t as reassuring as he believed it to be.

You tried not to think about it.

You eventually bid goodbye to your brother and his darling wife. The picture of a perfect family, with a baby on the way, in a small flowering cottage. You itched to ask Remus if he ever wanted that. Did he ever think about it at all?

But, you loved him. That was all that mattered.

Besides, you had real history. Too many years invested. If it wasn’t with him, you were probably just going to end up alone.

You were in love with him for Godric’s sake. Maybe that was the reason you could never choose yourself.

“Have you given what we talked about some thought?” your words were barely above a whisper, unsure, scared about what his answer could be. You could see him look around uncomfortably. Maybe you should’ve waited until you actually got home not walking through the streets.

“Y-yeah, I did…” his hand gripped yours tighter as you walked, like you might slip from his fingers “I think I should maybe wait a few weeks…” his shoulders tensed when the sigh inevitably left your lips. “I’m sorry I know it isn't what you wanted to hear but- I don't know if the Ministry would even take me… I did see a new posting for an entry-level in the department of magical creatures maybe I could apply”

“Apply soon yeah”

He nodded silently and you kissed his shoulder to wordlessly tell him thank you, as you walked home from James and Lily’s. Maybe he’d actually do it this time. Maybe one day, he’d see his own potential, he’d see how much farther he could go.

Maybe someday he’d be brave enough to take a leap and fulfill his promises to you and himself. Maybe one day you’d finally be in a spot to build a family together. Or at least plan for it.

After all, you and Remus had real history. And he promised. Many moons ago.

Your love for him was why it was always so hard to do the right thing.

Because as soon there was some disagreement, you knew, as much as he did, that no matter how upset you might be with him he could sweep you into his arms and all worry would melt away.

In the small flat, you and Remus shared, under the warm light of the stray table lamp you’d dance. He’d take you in his arms and move along the soft rhythm of the music he’d put on. He’d kiss your temple and swear and promise.

Shallow words that at this point went in one ear and out the other. Promises of a future together, of applications that would never get done, of steps that would never even be attempted.

But nevertheless, you forgave.

You forgave four years of broken promises. You forgave the lack of a ring on your finger. You forgave the lack of planning for the future. You forgave his indifference.

You made yourself think you forgave him.

You tried to forget too.

Tried to forget his lack of ambition because why try when they would never want to hire someone like me? Tried to forget the way your mother had warned you about this a year back. Tried to forget the way Sirius called your phone last month from France, telling you you’d love it there, telling you it was a shame Remus didn’t want to go. How much of a shame it was that you had to miss out on life-changing experiences because Remus couldn't.

Wouldn’t.

Same thing.

Sirius called again a few days after you visited your brother.

“Is it raining there? The weather’s shit here at the moment” You ask, staring at the window, the raging storm outside banging against the glass and drowning the usual sight of the street bellow.

“Meh- could be worse, I reckon it’s starting to warm up soon, so m’pretty excited about that,” He said, you hummed in acknowledgment “Have you talked to Moony again about coming? It really is beautiful in the summer doll— besides you can stay with me for free obviously”

You sighed

“No Sirius, I honestly don't even want to ask I already know how that one will go”

“So what? you’re not vacationing at all?”

“The only place I’m vacationing is in rock bottom Black-” you said, staring at the closed bedroom door. No doubt Remus was taking a small nap. The full moon was approaching.

Sirius tskd’d.

“You know you can always come… by yourself I mean, stay with me for a while”

“Sirius…”

“I know I know… I’m sorry-” Sirius tried laughing it off, the chuckle not lasting long as he asked, “Are you happy at least? With him.”

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to say to that” You tried fighting the way your eyes seemed to immediately water.

“I fear it’s a pretty straight-up question- yes or no?”

“I don’t know if this is what happy is anymore” you whispered, afraid to state it fully aloud

“Then it isn't. When you’re happy, you know” Sirius sounded somber “You have to do the right thing, whatever is right for you not for him”

“It is never that easy”

“Yes, it is doll. It is always that easy”

You bid him goodbye soon after.

You chalked it off as Sirius not knowing what it was like to be with someone for years. You couldn’t just throw away the past four years of your life just because what? He was tired? He wasn’t putting as much effort as you wanted?

It could be fixed.

You were convinced you’d fix it as Remus trudged out of the room, hair disheveled as he rested his head on your shoulder. A kiss to the crook of your neck.

“Was it Pads?” he mumbled against your skin, you ignored the way you felt caught

“Yes”

“Is he okay?”

“Yes, better than okay”

“I wish we could go to Paris” you tried not breaking down in tears right there and there.

It was never about money. You could go on brooms for fucks sake. You could portkey right into Sirius’s little French apartment.

You didn't ask him why not. Why not go? You drowned the question in the tea he eventually handed you. You had always been more of a coffee person, but much like everything else, you sacrificed it for his preference for tea and its calming effects.

You tried your best to fix it, for months. You’d lay down with him after work, card your fingers through his light brown locks, trace his scars while he fought off sleep, press a chaste kiss to his lips before he fell asleep.

You started calling Sirius more often than not, in hushed whispers. Tears were often spilled. You stopped feeling bad eventually. It was just calling a friend in a time of need. Draining the disappointment you didn't dare throw in Remus’s face.

He was going through enough.

You continued to hold on to hope.

You’d nudge him along. Try for new jobs, call friends to see if anyone, anyone at all, could find him an in with the ministry.

“He just needs to apply sweetie- this is stupid” Marlene rolled her eyes, her auror uniform casually unbuttoned after her day of work, she twirled the spoon in her tea with a small wave of her finger. “They’re starting these werewolf allocation programs, they make sure they’re given jobs and such…”

“I don't know if he’d like that” You groaned, dropping your face into your hands. You could imagine him already, turning his nose away from any sort of Ministry help.

“Can I ask why he isn’t the one asking me these things?” Marlene said a glint in her eye that let you know she knew the answer already. You looked away.

“Sometimes it's hard to do the right thing Marls”

“You need to do the right thing for yourself”

“Marlene-” you scoffed “Me and Remus just have too much history- how can I ever just choose me? It’s us”

“Maybe it’s time it’s just you”

You stared at Remus that night, the soft music that played from his muggle radio filling the air between you. You stared at him silently, the curve of his lips, the soft of the apples of his cheeks. The silvery scars that ran across his face.

You loved him, you did.

But you also did feel the very worst you could feel. No dancing in the kitchen could fix it anymore. No kisses and fake promises could fix it. Not anymore.

As soft as he made you feel, as much history as you had together. You couldn't help the overwhelming need to cry every time you looked at him.

What the hell was he even doing? What were you doing?

Any plans you had dreamed of with him were now very quickly crumbling in front of your eyes. He continued to silently make tea. You hoped he wouldn't notice the stray tears that managed to escape your eyes.

You and Remus had what your brother always called real history. He just meant it was deeply engrained, in your bones, in your heart. He said it poignantly last time you popped in for a visit. His tone didn’t fail to chip at your heart.

Your years together weren’t something you could erase. Not that you wanted to.

You were happy with him. Right? You loved him.

Maybe if you just gave him more time. You had graduated Hogwarts a mere two years ago.

He had always been more than good to you. Even at your lowest. Even at his lowest. He was nothing but gentle and loving.

Maybe. Sometimes, love wasn't enough.

You didn’t say anything as he finished cleaning up the kitchen. He kissed your temple goodnight. You stayed up, staring at the phone line debating on calling Sirius, again.

“I just don’t know what I should do…” you leaned against the wet metal railing of your balcony, the drops seeping into your pajama pants. You grabbed the base of the phone with one hand, the other holding the receiver up to your ear

“I don’t know why you’re asking me angel, you already know what my answer is going to be”

“Don’t be mean Sirius” he could hear the pout in your voice, and he laughed

“I’m not- you know I love Moony, we’ve been friends for ages but…”

“But?”

“I love you more” You didn’t respond. “And I think you need to love yourself more than you love him too” You could hear him inhale what you guessed was a cigarette

You hummed in acknowledgment, not daring to open your mouth at the fear that sobs would break your words.

“Don’t wear yourself out for someone that isn’t doing the same for you…”

“That’s unfair… he does”

“He forgot a card for your anniversary”

“It was a few days after the full moon…”

“Okay, what about your birthday? Or Christmas for that matter? What? D’you think I’d forget how you called crying? Every single one of those times” He said, you could feel your lip wobbling. “Come to Paris with me-”

“Sirius-”

“Just think about it okay? Promise me you’ll at least do that…”

“Okay, I will—”

“Right… ‘night love,” he said, you muttered a small goodnight “and for the record…” He hesitated for a second, almost as if he shouldn’t say it. Sirius was never one to stay quiet, he did this time. “Nevermind, I love you”

“Love you too Sirius” you answered, head hanging in defeat. The phone call clicked off.

It really wasn’t about Sirius you thought, as you guiltily crawled into bed with your boyfriend. Not about France either. You stared at his sleeping form.

It wasn’t about your and Remus’s history. It didn’t matter how long you had been together if there was no future.

It wasn’t about what your brother or Marlene, or even your mother thought.

It was about choosing you.

Right?

“Remus” you padded over and stood next to the small dining table that morning.

“Yes?” He didn’t look up from his book, a bad habit he had picked up. He was never truly listening when he did that

“Remus have you applied to the job at the Ministry?”

“Mhm? Ministry…” he still didn’t look up, he took a sip of his tea “No I haven't yet, I’ll get around to it though, I just want to take my time with it you know?”

“Its an application how long can it take?” you could feel yourself start getting angry, and you looked away from him. Not that he had looked up to look you in the eyes anyway.

“I just want to give myself the best chance to get in.” he finally looked up from his book, an exasperated look on his face. You refused to meet his eyes “What's wrong with that?”

“You’ve been saying the same thing for ages Remus”

“We’ll I have other things going on— just because you have different ideas about what my progress should look like doesn't mean I’m not doing anything you know? Because I do, I do a lot actually” He said, staring at you as if daring you to deny that he did anything.

Of course, he worked hard. You could never refute tthat. He moved his eyes down to his book.

You bit your tongue for a second, but the words slipped out nevertheless.

“Remus I don't think we can be together anymore”

“What?” the tone in his voice was nothing short of heartbroken. He searched your face for anything. Any hint that you weren't serious. “No”

Godric it was so hard to do the right thing.

“I don’t think we are on the same page anymore, you say things, you promise but…” you rubbed your temple, you could feel a headache coming “None of those promises ever come true” you sighed, finally looking at him

His eyes were rimmed red.

“You’re right,” he said, defeated, breathless.

“If you know I’m right why didn’t you just do it? I have never asked you for anything else, just for you to apply for yourself Remus, because you had said it was what you wanted”

You and Remus stared at each other. A blank look on his face as he looked at you, his nose red and tears threatening to streak down his cheeks.

“Can you say something? Anything? Why didn’t you just do it?”

“I don’t know”

“You never know Remus, but I do and I refuse to wait for you to figure it out anymore”

permanent tag ; @laufeysvalentine @heyyyloverr

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arias-diaryy · 3 months ago

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Soft Underbelly

Nobunaga Hazama x Reader

Synopsis: The samurai has pride in keeping his prize safe (despite how terribly he’s doing it).

Warnings: yandere, fem reader, mentioned physical abuse.

3.4k words ... my first fic in a long while, big big big thank you to my beta reader who also came up with the synopsis lmfao

Under normal circumstances, there would be a back and forth before bath time.

Nobunaga’s working the third round of shampoo into your hair, grumbling under his breath when he still finds debris in your locks. Considerably less, given all the work he’s put in, but he still finds a stray leaf in your hair. He flicks it out of your head, brows furrowing. There isn’t any water in the tub, he’s just been rinsing you off over and over with the handheld showerhead.

It’s cold, and normally you’d be afforded the luxury of warm water. This time, Nobunaga was more interested in getting you clean rather than waiting for the water to heat up. You’ve been without clothes too many times in his presence to still feel overly embarrassed about it, though that doesn’t mean you’re comfortable about it. Nobunaga is crouched on the ground outside of the bathtub, washing you as if you were a labrador covered in mud. His sleeves still got water on them despite being rolled up to his elbows, and his hair is pulled back into a low ponytail to keep it out of the way. If he’s leered at you, you haven’t noticed. You’ve been desperate to avoid eye contact.

When he holds the showerhead up and over your body, the water runs down clearer than it did the last few times. There was dirt before, being washed away by the soap and pressure of the water. You and Nobunaga both internally cringed when the water ran red the first few times; you even moreso when the soap got into the cuts and scrapes littering your skin. He fussed over them, still does, you don’t expect anything less. Every cut he sees, he clicks his tongue and asks where it came from. “I don’t know” quickly becomes your default answer.

You wonder if he feels any bit vindicated, seeing you with blood and dirt under your nails, and twigs in your hair. All those “the outside world is too much for you” talks replay in your head, and your nails begin to dig into your palms out of frustration.

“Don’t do that.” Nobunaga says sternly, having caught the motion in his peripheral. You’re shaken out of your frustration, uncurling your hands. He’s perceptive enough to catch that, but not enough to realize that you want nothing to do with him? He furrows his brows a little more, his hands still in your hair and lathering it up with the shampoo. It smells like fruit, it smells girly. Juvenile, almost.

“I’m not doing anything.” Nobunaga doesn’t say anything to you, removing his hands from your hair and grabbing the showerhead again. He makes a point of angling it more towards your face, and you flinch when the cold water hits you like a hard smack. You shut your eyes as the shampoo suds roll off your head and your face. One of his hands returns to your head, tousling up your hair and rinsing the shampoo out of it. The near icy water doesn’t help with your shivering, and you don’t think you’re in any position to be asking for hot water.

“I’m not a dog, I can bathe myself.” You say, halfway under your breath. Nobunaga might have rolled his eyes, but to do that, he’d have to momentarily stop looking at you, something he isn’t keen on doing. “I didn’t say you were one.” He doesn't address your stewing emotions, no matter how clearly they’re scrawled across your face. You have half the mind not to respond with a snarky comment.

There’s a pit in your stomach. There’s been one for quite a while. You assumed it was anxiety, but now you think it could also be an ulcer. Sometimes it gets so great that you think there’s really something wrong with you. Sizzling, contorting, creeping its way up into your chest. You felt it most in the first two weeks, and it’s waxed and waned since then. It’s spiked considerably from the moment Nobunaga found you again to now. It isn’t helped by the fact that you were expecting some sort of punishment; a sick retribution from him for trying to leave, and it has yet to come.

…The fact that your escape lasted less than 6 hours probably has something to do with how he’s behaving. Oh, he’s annoyed, you didn’t need to be told. Though, you suppose he didn’t expend enough effort in finding you to truly be outraged. Nobunaga had found you in the woods behind the house, having yanked you out of the hollowed log you squirmed into. In the moment, it seemed like a good enough hiding spot, once you had the horrifying realization that he wasn’t that far behind you. For all the metaphorical and literal slaps on the wrist you got from him, you can’t be faulted for thinking he’d have more of a reaction to you trying to leave him.

In retrospect, it would have been smarter to travel alongside the road by the house and hitch hike. But wasn’t that too obvious? Nobunaga had been out of the house at the time of your escape, you didn’t know when he would come back. What would you say if the car he stole came driving down the road, and he saw you with your thumb out like a dumbass on the side of the asphalt? Plus, you thought you would’ve had a few days to make some distance. If you knew he’d be coming back tonight, you would’ve waited.

You’re pretty sure your previous comment wasn’t an invitation to conversation, yet Nobunaga begins talking anyway. “I can’t believe you, the one thing I told you not to do,” he chides. “and you didn’t even make it that far.” Nobunaga says it with a bit of humor, as if underneath his irritation, he finds this a little funny. Of course he does. Your hair feels like rubber with how much shampoo has been in it, and you despair internally when Nobunaga goes to put another dollop of it into your hair. “You’re lucky I found you before you got seriously hurt.” He scolds, roughy lathering the shampoo into your scalp one last time for good measure.

Despite it all, he’s still acting too flippant for your liking, you had expected him to… well, you aren’t sure. You’ve been on edge since before you even ran away, waiting for the eventual blow. Sure, he’s raised his voice at you and dragged you the whole way home, but you were still waiting for the worst of it. You thought he’d show his anger more, you did escape after all. The one thing he specifically forbade you to do.

(He also forbade you from locking doors and going near the stove without his supervision, but actually getting out of the house and making a break for it seemed more serious than any of the others).

You shut your eyes to keep shampoo from entering them, but it’s too late. They sting almost immediately and you let out a small hiss of pain. So much for tear free. Nobunaga leans closer, pausing in his lecturing. “Are you crying?” He asks in a less stern tone of voice. “No!” You say, but you doubt he believes you. After all, you are tearing up. You blink a few times, and there’s tears in your eyes, which are now red and irritated. Nobunaga brings his hand closer to wipe your tears away, and you flinch. He grabs your upper arm to keep you in place, and you tense up more than you knew possible.

“Are you sure?” He asks again, and you don’t like the way he’s saying it. He’s talking to you like you’re a kid who got caught in a lie. “You got shampoo in my eyes!” “Uh huh.” Nobunaga hums, disregarding your declaration and wiping your tears away with his free hand. Your eyes are really red, he thinks. Maybe a drop of shampoo did get in them, though he remains unconvinced that you aren’t at least a little regretful for trying to run away from him. You aren’t that heartless. You go to rub at your eyes, and Nobunaga grabs your wrist to stop you. You flinch again, and he clicks his tongue in irritation.

“Would you stop being difficult?” Nobunaga says, taking a firmer grasp of your wrist to emphasize his point. “I’m not being difficult.” “You are, you’re acting like I’m going to hit you.” “Are you?” You ask, and Nobunaga only looks at you like you’re challenging him. “Should I?”

You take a moment to respond. You can’t think of a smart answer, and although none of them feel outright wrong, none of them exactly feel right, either. “If I were you, I’d hit me.” It’s not a lie, if you were just half as deranged as Nobunaga, you probably would hit yourself. Nobunaga pauses for a moment, then laughs. As if it was some punchline to a joke. You aren’t as unsettled as you are relieved that he didn’t actually put his hands on you. At least he found it funny?

If you were him, you wouldn’t have deemed yourself worth the trouble. You would have gotten rid of yourself a long time ago, replaced yourself with another woman. One that looks similar enough to you, if appearances mattered. Yet everytime you would correct him, insist that you weren’t his girlfriend or anything of the sort, he’d wave you off and go on with whatever he was doing. You aren’t sure what he sees in you, it’s never stuck, no matter how many times he’s said it.

“You shouldn’t say things like that.” Nobunaga finally says. “I already said before, I don’t want to hurt you.” You want to roll your eyes. He’s the one who brought the topic up. Sure, it’s not like he ever punched you in the jaw or anything, but he has a knack for manhandling you every now and then. Nobunaga keeps on talking, not that you had a reply or anything further to add to the conversation. He’s back to being stern with you. “Don’t think you’re off the hook yet. I’m still mad at you. What you did was stupid.” “I know.” You mumble, avoiding his harsh glare.

“You’re not going to do it again.” He says, more firmly this time. With the same lack of energy, you reply “I won’t”. Nobunaga looks like he has more to say, but stays quiet. A distinct smell of smoke and burning food wafts through the hallway and into the bathroom. The food Nobunaga tossed into the oven an hour ago…

He curses under his breath, his eyes going from the hallway to you. “Stay here.” He says, rising to his feet and leaving you in the bathtub alone, still with shampoo in your hair. You take it that it’ll take him a while to salvage dinner, so you take it upon yourself to finish your bath. You make sure to twist the shower handle to warmer water before taking the showerhead to get the shampoo out of your hair and eyes. The pit in your stomach hasn’t gone away, and the prospect of charred food for dinner isn’t easening your pain. You hadn’t spent long enough outside to be that hungry for Nobunaga’s culinary prowess, or lack thereof.

There was zero chance of Nobunaga scrapping dinner to just order takeout. In fact, that chance most likely plummeted to the negatives given the stunt you pulled earlier in the day. Still, dinner wasn’t a total waste. You could eat around the burnt pieces of chicken, which were few and far between. The rice was stickier than you would’ve liked. You doubt Nobunaga would be letting you handle the cooking for a while, it’s practically a given that certain privileges would be rescinded. Temporarily, you hope, but rescinded nontheless.

At least the vegetables came out fine.

Nobunaga sits down at the foot of the bed, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight. He looks over at you, laying flat on your back in bed with the blanket covering you. Your feet poke out from under the covers. Soft and warm, scratches on your soles. There’s a cut on the bottom of your left foot; it looks more like a thin slice of flesh was scraped clean off. Nobunaga can’t take his eyes off of it. He knows it’ll heal, but he can only run through all the different ways you garnered that injury.

He stares at your foot in his hand, brows furrowed. A sliver of him was impressed, perhaps a little endeared, that you were still clinging to this idea of not needing him. It was almost laughable, even more so given the state you were in when Nobunaga found you. Cold, exhausted, and hungry, you had somehow gotten two of your fingernails ripped off in the short time you were away from him. All that, and you had the gall to look at him as if he was somehow inconveniencing you by bringing you back home. You’d even tried to bite and scratch at him like some animal.

You really could be an ungrateful brat, sometimes. Maybe you were onto something about him hitting you.

If anything, he’s only more convinced of how pathetic you are. Endearingly so, but pathetic nonetheless. You deserve an achievement for managing to scratch yourself up so much in a few short hours without him, truth be told. Not that he enjoys seeing the cuts on your body, but he does consider himself a little bit smart for not letting you have shoes of any kind, even ones for inside the house. You probably would have gotten much farther if you weren’t out there with just some thin socks.

Nobunaga shifts a little closer, gingerly taking your left ankle and foot in his hands. The foot with the nasty cut on the bottom. He didn’t want you picking at it or even looking at it, so he’d made sure to bandage it properly. If you were awake, you’d jolt like a spooked animal and try to kick at him. Though he’d always known you as a light sleeper, you don’t even stir when Nobunaga touches you. That’s good, he thinks. You need the rest. All that scrambling in the forest probably took out all of your energy.

Even looking at your sleeping face now, it’s hard for the samurai to imagine that just hours ago you were shrieking at him to let you go, to not bring you back home. He’d spent almost an hour painstakingly removing every splinter of wood caught in your feet and hands; all while you were squirming and trying not to kick at him reflexively. Another hour was spent getting the rest of you cleaned up. It’s almost like you’d prefer being out in the cold than being kept warm and safe with him. It’s so preposterous, he could almost laugh at the thought.

…Though, he can’t pinpoint any other reason for you acting out. Unless that’s just what it was, misbehavior for the sake of it. Maybe you wanted more attention? That seemed plausible to Nobunaga. He can’t imagine that you’re thrilled when he leaves your side to go on Troupe missions. When he returned, it was always to you looking miserable, only cheering up now that he returned to you.

(It was because he had a tendency to lock up the television remote in his absence to keep you from watching something he didn’t want you seeing, and the fridge almost never seemed to be stocked with actual food before he left you in your lonesome. He still hadn’t connected the dots).

(...Though the prolonged lack of human interaction did do a number on you, as well).

He knows that to some degree, this is his fault. He’s been too lenient with you, too soft. Uvo had made a passing comment once that it’d do him some good to instill some fear into you. Just a little, to keep you from misbehaving. Nobunaga let you talk back and maintain some independence, and you turn around and try to run away from him.

He gave you an inch and you tried to take a mile. If your ploy was really to get more of his attention, then you’d succeeded. Nobunaga can’t imagine not keeping a closer eye on you for the coming months. That, and he’d finally get around to putting some bars on the windows. His gaze lingers on you, on your foot resting in his lap. He wonders if you know how lucky you are, that it’s him who’s keeping you safe and not any other Troupe member. Someone like Feitan surely would’ve killed you, or at least made you wish you were dead.

Nobunaga isn’t keen on taking a page out of Feitan’s book, though. He was generally averse to the idea of making you upset. He didn’t consider himself to be a bad man, one who hurts his woman. Sure, he’s killed more people than he can count and took great joy in it. He’s maimed women and children, and robbed people of all they had, all for the Spider. But that was different. It’s impersonal, and half of those people more or less deserved it anyway. Probably. Regardless, you escaping and making a run for it isn’t something he can brush under the rug, even if you totally failed.

A hot-head like Phinks, or even Uvo, would’ve broken your leg. Perhaps a bit excessive, you hadn’t made it far enough to warrant that in Nobunaga’s eyes. It’s like a part of you subconsciously didn’t want to go so far away. Like you wanted to be found. If you really hated him so much that you’d try to run away, surely you would’ve put some more effort into it.

He could always just break your ankle, maybe both. Crude, brutish, almost, but that would get the point across. It wouldn’t be hard by any means. A flick of the wrist and it’d be done. Maybe he could wake you up before he does it, make you squirm a little. Perhaps you’d feel a fraction of the panic Nobunaga felt when he couldn’t find you anywhere; when he realized you’d ran away from him.

The aftermath might be a little messy, but at least you wouldn’t be running away again. He could keep you like that for a few days, maybe you’d learn some appreciation then. It’d take Machi a while to get to his house anyway to fix you up properly. Maybe he wouldn’t even need her. You’d cry a lot, he’s sure.

“What are you doing?”

Your voice, tired and having lost it’s previous bite, draws Nobunaga out of his thoughts. You’re still laying flat in bed, looking at him with your foot in his lap. You tense up, and he doesn’t miss the brief change in expression. You’re uncomfortable, and the man chalks it up to you being ticklish or something along those likes. Not that you ever claimed to be, but you always shyed away from his touch, always bit the inside of your cheek when he got close. Tensed up when his fingers brushed up against your neck or shoulders. It was cute.

Nobunaga doesn’t answer you right away, his thumb idly rubbing the skin of your ankle. It’s almost a soothing gesture. “Nothing, go back to sleep.” You retract your foot, and he lets you. He circles the bed, coming to the other side and getting in with you. You tense up, feeling Nobunaga slide in right next to you. You don’t move away, not that you had a chance to. Nobunaga presses himself against you, his arms wrapping around you.

You wince, being overwhelmed with his scent. In your brief time away from him, you’d enjoyed the smell of dirt and grass, and the wind hitting your skin. All things you never thought about too much, now feeling like luxuries. Your head is pushed into the crook of his neck, and the rest of you is too sore to do much about it. You suppose, if anything, that being in a warm bed is better than crawling into a log and trying to pretend the ants don’t bother you.

“You know I love you, right?” It’s something you’ve heard from him more times than you care to admit. You don’t say anything, only humming in acknowledgment. That isn’t enough, you know by now that he always wants an answer when he says he loves you. It sounds all too sincere, which ironically is the reason you hate hearing it. When he doesn’t hear a response, Nobunaga pinches your upper arm. So, to soften the blow of whatever’s in store for you tomorrow, you tell him what he wants to hear.

“I love you too.”

#_hxhentry #yandere x reader #yandere hxh #yandere hunter x hunter #hxh x reader #x reader #yandere nobunaga x reader #nobunaga x reader #yandere fic

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asumofwords · 2 years ago

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Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: Hello angels! Here is another chapter! I did end up splitting it though because it was getting way too long and its my birthday this week so I may not be able to update as much as I would like to because I will be busy with friends and family! Anyways, thanks for all the love as per usual!!! I hope you enjoy <3

Chapter 66: Tides

Tides are something that are never sure.

You could never truly anticipate their movements, whether they would rise quickly or slowly, dragging the oceans swell up the rocks of the shore. Some men could argue that they could foretell the next drag of the sea, determined by the moons waxing or waning. But those men were fools, for the ocean has more than just the skies that guide it. Storms and winds, creatures, and Gods all have a say in what the frigid waters will do.

With each push and pull of the waves came your salvation. With every waxing and waning moon, came your deliverance. People were often like tides themselves, changing each and everyday, with no discernible pattern.

As is knowledge and power.

Power was something that morphed and contorted, bending to whoever’s will was strongest, but even they could not hold that raw force for long. For power would never truly bend, just as the tides would never stay the same.

Always changing.

Always moving.

Always fluid.

Like you.

In the past year, you had changed and just like the tides, morphed and been bent, contorted and swelled, rose and fallen. A metamorphosis like the insects Helaena had always loved. And yet with each passing day, you feel your own tides within, pulling and pushing you. It weighed heavily on your mind, dragging you down beneath the waves, ripping the breath from your lungs as you felt yourself drowning in the torrent.

The task you had been given was no ordinary feat, and if it were anybody else, they would have surely broken by now. Given up, and played their hand too early. Raised a white flag and uttered ‘I surrender’. But you could not give up. You could only give in. And that was a distinction that you continually reminded yourself of.

You were not giving up.

You were giving in.

Giving in to the pressures of a man you were cursed to lay with. Giving in to the role you had said you would play. Giving in to the actions you so desperately wished to avoid, in order to protect yourself.

To give yourself more time.

To not be a steadfast fool and show your hand to the vipers you nested with. If you acted too quickly, they would smell a plot, and any little freedom you had been given would be swiped up, and the reality of death would be far sweeter.

Though every fibre of your being screamed at you to hurt them, to maim them, to act quickly, and keenly with the blade of your mind that you had been sharpening each night since the usurpation, but you knew that it would be foolish. A plot played out too quickly and stupidly. Any fool could have seen that. A patient mind would get you to better results, and you had to a game to play.

Wait and see.

Wait and listen.

Wait and deliver justice with a swift hand and a sharp mind.

If you were to follow your desires, to follow the screaming voice which called at you in your dreams, the whispers of Lucerys and Helaena echoing behind it, you would fail, and all of this would be for naught. Your mother would lose everything, and you would lose your life.

The Greens needed to think you were broken, complacent, tired, and troubled, but not too much so. If you were to bend the knee and submit entirely, Alicent and her enablers would know something was afoot. And so you had to play the dangerous game of waxing and waning, pushing and pulling, listening and waiting, until the time was right.

Until the time you could call upon the Gods to give you your strength and deliver a raven requesting star fruit.

But for now, you had to wait.

It was not giving up, it was giving in.

A distinction in which meant life or death.

If you were the tides, then Aemond was your moon. Your temperament depended on the weather that he would bring. Would it be rain? A torrential downpour that seeped into your pores? The water rising until you drowned in it?

Or would he leave you high and dry. A sudden drought that had you thirsting for more, itching for more. Scratching at the earth in search of something, anything, to sustain your frail body, withering in the burning heat and loss of your own essence. Your own being. The very core of who you were.

Or perhaps he would be a lovely summers day.

One where you may bask in the warmth of his light, and feel the soft rays kiss upon your skin, his breath on your face lingering far longer than the storms he would bring. You would forget, for a moment, to give yourself peace, that he had brought any storms at all. That he was not a man who changed with each day, that he was not a man who had brought such destruction.

If not for the sake of the crown, then for the sake of your sanity.

Or would he freeze you out and let his bitter frost nip at your fingers and toes?

Would his passion burn you like dragon fire? Melting your body into his with every touch.

It was inevitable, inescapable, unavoidable.

Like how the sun slips behind the mountain tops, darkness blanketing the valley below, but you know that it will rise on the morrow. Just how the creatures in the trees and on the ground know, that as the darkness passes, the sun will shine again.

But it is more of a question of not if, but when.

When would it pass?

When will it pass?

The tides come and go with the moon, pushing you away from your desires and pulling you back roughly, dragging you over the jagged rocks and reefs, their sharp edges cutting through you. The tides rage with the storms but they will always rescind back to calm.

Aemond was the moon, and you were the tides, and he predicted and controlled your rise and fall, just how you have grown to predict the uncertainty ahead.

There is only one guarantee in your life, and that is not knowing what is next.

And so you must build yourself a ship, to sit atop the tides, to sail over them with their swell and recession, rather than succumbing to it and sinking into the waves. You needed to be smart, you needed to be patient.

You needed to wait.

What knowledge could you surely give your family to help them? That Aemond resents his brother still, and that the Maester was an ally? But is that all?

That was knowledge that you knew before you were wed to him.

You could not offer that as a sign to strike. For your family to come forth, dragons and fire, for the same standing as you had before. A standstill. Feet stuck in the dirt on even playing grounds, except you had no access to Vermithor. And so the hill sloped upwards towards the Greens.

And so you had to wait.

A letter arrived some few days later from your family, asking for your wellbeing and updating you on theirs. It was comforting to know that you still had some form of contact, and when you had asked Aemond if you were to fly to witness Jacaerys’ union to Baela, he had hummed and given you a non-answer.

You had written back to them and gave them the answer that you had recieved, a shaky maybe to your presence. A subtle, no. No absolute yes. It was all that you could give for the time being, and you would bite your tongue, lest he gouge it out with his talons.

One morning when the maids were readying you for another day by the sea, you had gazed at yourself in the mirror, far more than you had previously, and noticed a change in your appearance. Though the weight you had lost due to your arrival and the subsequent events had come back, there was a hollowness to your eyes.

Your smiles never quite reached them, and the once vibrant violet looked almost dull and murky, as if beneath waters or behind storm clouds. A darker shade sat on the skin beneath them, making them appear almost hollow, but even still, your cheeks held colour, and your lips were less bitten and raw than they had been.

Even your fingers had been given a lull in the usual assault your teeth or nails would give them.

But your eyes were something you could not look away from.

As the girls brushed your hair, you stared at yourself.

Who was she?

She looked like you, but was she really you?

But it was you. And you had changed.

And you would remind yourself of this.

Aemond had spent most of his days with Aegon and the small council, working with them with tasks for the realm, and then bringing his scrolls and tomes back to the chambers, his sharp nose in a book almost each and every night.

After you had last spoken, after he had last told you of this so-called prophecy, there was a shift between the both of you. A stand still of your own. You were in the eye of the storm. The eye of his storm. The winds and rains had stopped, and the sky had opened up to show light. A path out. A way up.

Just as Lucerys had thought he had found.

You anticipated the moment when Aemond would surge up through the clouds and swallow you whole.

You would not tempt him.

That afternoon, you had spent much of your time walking through the garden, looking at the various plants and flowers. You stopped your steps as you looked at a bright purple patch of flowers. It stood on a long stalk with fingerlike leaves, five points to each one, as it stood straight and tall. The flower itself looked almost bell shaped, or perhaps like a hood that a monk from the Sept may wear.

Its appearance alone screamed danger. Natures own warning.

It looked familiar, and you made a note to yourself to look in the library for a tome on florilegium.

When you had returned to your chambers that evening, Aemond was sitting at the table, bent over a particularly large black tome, sharp nose pointed down to the page. He had hummed a greeting to you, not lifting his eye from the script as you entered.

He had not touched you since that night, spending most evenings hunched over the table with piles of parchment and tomes, writing and reading beneath candlelight well into the darkness. You would retire to bed, expecting him to follow you, but he would not, continuing to write and read, shuffle papers and hum to himself softly.

It was an oddly calming sound, a background noise of assurance that his attention would not be on you.

When you had asked him what he was doing, he had told you that Aegon had given him much work to do, and would be spending most evenings like that.

But what had surprised you most was that he had apologised to you about it.

“I’m sorry that I am not more present. Aegon has given me things that he should be doing, but if I don’t, no-one will, and the realm will dissolve into chaos.” He had grumbled beneath his breath, as you stood beside him, looking at his messy script.

You had told him you understood, and went to bed quietly and fell quickly into sleep. But this evening was different, and when he had greeted you with a short hum, you had expected yet another evening dining together on a table which had scrolls and tomes hurriedly shoved to the side to make room for the plates. An evening of his writing lulling you to sleep.

Instead, you sat yourself by the fire, thinking of the flower you had saw in the gardens. It was so familiar to you. You could have sworn you had read about it somewhere, or had been told about it. But nothing could spring to mind.

Was it Hooded-Trumpet? Angels Locks?

What was it called?

“What are you thinking of?” Aemond’s voice pulled you from your thoughts.

“Some flowers I saw in the garden, I have forgotten their names.”

“Hm, one of the Septa’s could tell you.”

If you were to ask them, and it turned out to be poison, they would know of your plotting and report you to the King.

“It will come to me, I am sure.” You replied, tongue in cheek as you thought hard.

“We are to dine with the King again.”

You sighed loudly into the chambers, turning to look at Aemond who was placing his quill in its holder, gathering the loose pieces of parchment in hand to stack them into a pile atop the open page of the tome.

“Must we?”

“We must.” Aemond replied, popping the ’t’ at the end as if he too was dreading the evening.

“Can we not dine here?”

“The King has requested our presence.”

There was the tide again.

“You are more and more a Prince Regent by the day with Aegon too busy in his cups and whores.”

You were testing the waters.

“It is my duty.”

“Is it not his duty to rule the realm, and listen to the people? Is it not his duty to read tomes, and write letters?” You pushed.

Aemond was silent, his eye rising to your face as he looked at you beneath his brow.

A silent warning.

You bowed your head and stood, looking out at the water. The sun had lowered behind the horizon and the chambers began to darken. The tides would shift, you just did not know when.

Aemond came to stand beside you, looking out at the water. The smell of sandalwood and leather curled around you.

It was a familiar smell, and something that you had grown to like. Something you had grown to anticipate wherever you were. The occasional waft of his scent curling up from your dresses, when you would enter the chambers, or when he was nearby. Sometimes you would smell it in the gardens, and you would turn your head to look for him, but he was never there.

“When is my nephew to be wed?” Aemond asked, eye still on the ocean.

You turned your head to look up at him, almost in shock.

Was this his answer?

“Soon I believe. They had written to ask again if we would be attending.”

Aemond hummed.

“Should I write to tell them to expect us?”

“No.”

Aemond turned on his foot to pour himself, and you, some wine, coming back over to hand you your goblet. You did not grasp it as you looked at him.

Aemond pursed his lips as he sipped from his own cup, still holding yours out to you, which you eventually took from him, bringing to your own lips as you looked back out at the water.

“The King will not allow it. I have already asked.”

Fuck the King.

You nodded your head and stayed side by side until you had both finished your wine, and the had knight come to the door to escort you to the dining hall. You were still taken back that Aemond had asked for you to go. Even if it was escorted by he himself, but still, he had tried. And Aegon had said no.

You sat in the seats that you always did, with Aegon opposite you, and Alicent and Otto on either side of him, whilst the rest of the council filled the empty chairs. The food was placed upon the table and Alicent spoke a small prayer to the Seven.

You often wondered what she prayed for when alone, did she pray for vengeance? Penance?

The council had seemed to grow more relaxed around your presence, as though they were finally accustomed to you being there, or they were assured that you would not be a threat. Larys spoke of whispers with no meaning and even offered to go on a walk with you again. You had responded politely and said that you would surely take him up on his offer.

The night continued with conversations that held no interest to you, and so you listened in to words here and there, hoping to hear something, anything of use.

Your patience was rewarded.

“There is some troubles down in Flea Bottom, but nothing our guards and knights cannot handle.”

Your ears pricked up.

Trouble in Flea Bottom?

You reached to grasp your goblet of wine, feigning that you had not heard Lord Wylde speaking to Grand Maester Orwyle.

Orwyle was a Maester who had served your Grandsire, and turned cloak against your mother. He was an old man, with dark skin, and eyes blacker than coal. In his youth he could have been a handsome man, but now his hair had receded, and his years on earth had wrinkled him.

Otto and Alicent spoke across the table to Aemond with Aegon, and you strained to listen to the other two whispering.

“…Rhaenyra…if she…supporters…laws…”

Your name pulled you from your eavesdropping.

“I asked how it is to have your husband back.” Aegon smirked, cheeks flushed from wine and crown crooked on his head.

His hair looked unkempt, unbrushed and oily, tucked behind his ears and out of his face, with smaller strands that had escaped crossed over his forehead. For once, his coat was buttoned up to the top, coming just under his chin, high on his neck.

It looked as though the coat was holding his head upright.

“A relief, though he spends most of his time reading and writing the nights away. I fear I have lost him to the book.”

“Aemond you must find time to rest.” Alicent softly cooed, head tilted as her hands came together in front of her, elbows on the table. Maternal instincts alight.

Here was your in.

“I have told him to no avail.” You began, looking at Aemond before back at Alicent, “He rarely comes to bed, and spends much of his time hunched over the table by candlelight for all hours of the night.”

Aemond hummed beside you, “Merely performing my duties.”

“Are they your duties, or the Kings?” You questioned.

“My duties?” Aegon cocked his head to the side, looking at you, “Do you question my rule?”

Otto shifted, and you saw Larys lean into the conversation.

“I merely question if my Lord Husband should be burdened with playing the role of Prince Regent without the title.”

Aegon laughed angrily, pushing his tongue into his cheek as he looked at the both of you.

“Is this because he is now too busy to warm your bed? Do you sit and wait for him wanting as he neglects your needs?”

Heat rose in your cheeks.

“Aegon.” Aemond said lowly.

“Merely a question.” Aegon leant back in his chair, the one larger than the rest, “Is your cunny missing my brothers cock?”

“You are a spineless little worm.” You sneered, leaning forward towards the table.

“Tell your whore to watch her tongue.”

The sound of a chair scraping the floor cut across the room as Aemond jumped from his seat, watching Aegon like a hawk. His brow was drawn and eye narrowed, jaw set tightly into a line as he clenched his teeth.

Aegon however, looked up at his younger brother in vicious delight.

“Aemond.” Alicent uttered, desperate to cool the mans temper and ease the tension.

The King laughed.

Aemond breathed heavily, and you craned your neck to look up at your husband as he towered over the table, hands bawled into tight fists at his side. His knuckles turned white and you watched as he shifted on his feet, one inching to move behind him.

A fighting stance.

“All in good jest, brother. No need to get your breeches in a knot.” Aegon smiled cruelly.

You whispered to your husband, looking up at him as he did not take his heated gaze away from Aegon.

“Besides,” Aegon continued, tone teasing, “We all know that her mother is the Whore Queen…Perhaps her blood runs thick in your wife.”

You dug your nails into your palm and stared at Aegon.

Would he be able to scream if you dug out his throat with your hands?

“Say it again.” Aemond growled quietly, looking at his brother.

“Enough.” Alicent commanded, looking between her two sons.

Aegon lifted his hands in mock surrender, but Aemond still did not seat himself, standing impossibly stiff as he kept his gaze on the King.

“Sit.” Aegon smirked.

Aemond did not.

“Your King commands you.” Aegon grinned, watching as Aemond’s face twitched, and moved slowly to sit back down in his seat, hands on his lap as his fingers dug into the flesh of his thighs.

“Aemond.” You whispered again, and yet the Prince would not take his brother from his sight, staring at him like a predator waiting to pounce.

You pulled one of his hands from his lap, holding it in both of yours as you began to lift it. Aemond’s head turned, taking his eye from Aegon for one moment to look at you. You brought his hand up to your lips, calloused and scarred, fingers warm but stiff, and placed a soft kiss to his knuckles. Trying to soothe him.

Trying to soothe the storm that brewed.

A puff of air left Aemond’s nose as he looked at you, and his fingers squeezed your own. You let a tiny smile grace your lips, an assurance that it was okay, an assurance that you were fine, that he was fine, and released his hand.

For the remainder of the night, you and Aemond both ate in silence before excusing yourself to your chambers. Alicent and Larys watched you both closely as you looked up at Aemond to see if he was to turn back around and slide a knife between Aegon’s eyes.

He didn’t.

The walk back was tense but not in a way that you were used to. This time, Aemond’s animosity was not pointed towards you, and instead his brother. For once, you did not fear this anger.

You realised that Aemond could help you.

You needed to get him to help you.

You needed to convince him that you loved him.

When you entered the chambers, Aemond barely said a word, looking at the pile of parchment on the table waiting for him, but moved to pour himself some wine at the side of the room. He had sat at the fire and drank, and you had joined him, allowing him to his thoughts and you to yours.

Aemond could be swayed to you.

He could.

You needed to use his hatred towards his brother carefully.

Like a cleverly spun web, it needed to have no faults, and needed to be made with precision.

What was the name of that flower you had seen?

Wolfshood? Snakebean? Bells of Triumph?

The maids came to ready you for the evening, and once you were in your chemise, and your hair had been released from its braids and brushed loosely down your back, you had made your way to bed, watching as your husband moved to sit back at the table to continue his writing and reading.

A man truly dedicated to his duty.

“Aemond.” You called out to him softly, sitting up in your shared bed.

The light of the chambers was low, and only few candles were lit, most of the light coming from the dwindling fireplace. Aemond looked up to see you, a vision of beauty, all soft and Valyrian, silver hair warmed by the light of the fire, and eyes sparkling in the dark.

“The hour is late.”

Aemond continued to stare at you, stood beside the table which demanded his attention, but as did his wife.

“Come to bed.” You cooed, reaching over to pull the sheets back on his side.

Aemond looked at you and then down the the table beside him. Eye roaming over the tomes and parchment, piles of scrolls with ink pots and quills. A large candle sat in the middle of the table, its flame flickering and dancing, wax slowly melting down its sides.

In a split decision, Aemond leant forward and blew out the candle on the table, making his way across the room to crawl into bed beside you.

He came when you had asked him.

The heat of his body radiated beside you as he moved to blow out the candles surrounding the bed, his long hair laying down his back, brushed and silky, tickled your shoulder as he leant over you.

Darkness covered the chambers and you settled into the pillows beside him, laying on your back as you blinked in the dark up at the ceiling. Aemond did the same, the both of you lost to your own thoughts and worries.

As sleep slowly began to pull you under, a name popped into your mind.

Monkshood. Wolfsbane.

You had to hold back your grin.

You knew you had recognised the tall plant.

You hummed a tune inside your head, a song the Septa had sung once, long, long ago, in the gardens when you were young, and Lucerys was only three, and she had warned you of plants to not touch and just see.

Monkshood, Wolfsbane, Devils Helmut, three,

Five fingered leaves with sharp teeth on me.

Beware my root, my stem, my leaves,

My pretty head of flowers tease.

A seed or petal, a touch or sip, will leave a man without his wit.

Within the hour, a day or so, my poison reaps what has been sowed.

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

Tag List:

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drdemonprince · 1 month ago

Note

hiya! do you have any advice on getting eyes on political personal essays (as in essays where a political issue is looked at through the lens of one’s own experiences)? i’m not sure if they’re the kind of thing that magazines would be interested in, but i’d just love to have people to discuss ideas with and i don’t have any friends at the moment. if it’s possible/more feasible to find people on tumblr to jive with im also open to that, but my interest in writing waxes and wanes so i would struggle to keep up a writing focused blog during the times that i don’t enjoy writing, but again i’m open to any advice even regarding that! thanks either way :)

I can only speak from what worked for me. What worked for me was writing just about daily for fifteen years because I loved to do it (and because I was super lonely and using the writing as a way to connect). After publishing across a variety of blogs and social media platforms for a decade and a half and gradually building relationships with other bloggers and an audience, eventually there was a demand for my work. But the odds for such things can be pretty darn dismal. Most writers that I know who behaved in that way did not get lucky in the way that I did.

I think it's really only worth pursuing insofar as you genuinely like it, feel called to do it, get something out of it for it's own sake, not with any specific positive outcome in mind. as a writer, i am "successful", and that success has made me frankly very miserable and taken the joy out of writing. i can't complain really because it's made my life materially far more comfortable and i can now find joy in other ways but i do miss when i was just posting on here in obscurity with my lil tumblr writer friends as an escape from the drudgery of my daily life. i miss when writing was the prize rather than the work.

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yukittywrites · 2 years ago

Text

I Want to Feel You Near~

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙

warnings: dom reader and sub taeyong, dom reader and sub yuta, toys, exhibitionism, semi-public sex (im talking in the dorms but in front of the members), mild masochistic yuta, a little bit of degradation but its mild!

word count: 3k Read the full story (12.7k) here!

a/n: this is my first time ever converting a story into y/n im sorry if its a little stilted i usually write mlm! also reader is gender neutral, no mention of their genitals whatsoever to make sure people arent uncomfy. also no mention of skin tone/identifying features.

You loved all the 127 boys, they were all perfect in their own rights, whether you were fucking them or getting fucked by them, whether they were a sub or dom, kinky or not, you loved them all.

Of course, you treated them all differently accordingly, and the person you were always the most hesitant with was Yuta. It was no secret amongst all of you that he was constantly switching between dominant and submissive, topping or bottoming, even his interest in sex at all would wax and wane.

So you always made sure you could cater to his current needs—and that he felt comfortable with sex at all—before you ever engaged in anything with him.

But, when Yuta was in the mood, after that initial conversation, you could go as crazy with him as you wanted. Yuta was down for it all, anything you could give, he would take it gladly, and his desire to please alongside his obvious kinkiness was so perfect for you that you could never help yourself.

Taeyong, contrastly, was always a set constant. He was a sub, he loved pleasing you but he wasn't nearly as kinky. Taeyong needed praises and sweet words even alongside cruel actions, and you could provide that for him, but Yuta wanted anger. He wanted to be treated so cruelly that he sobbed, that he felt every ounce of his stress get forcibly yanked from his body.

Like you said, different but perfect all the same.

Taeyong and you together were originally thought to be the most vanilla couple within the main 127 dorm, but the boys quickly discovered through waltzing into your bedroom unannounced more than once that it was not the case.

While you could never get as kinky with him as with Yuta, Taeyong certainly was in his own right.

And those two dynamics led you to the current moment, Taeyong's lower body and your own covered under the blanket in 127's living room, both pretending to watch the movie that had been turned on, when, in reality, both of you were more focused on each other than the screen.

Your own eyes continued to watch with no problem, but Taeyong's continuously flitted around nervously, slipping closed momentarily only to reopen when your hand, slowly jerking him off up under the sheets, reaches a particularly good spot.

Taeyong risks a glance at you, and you don't even glance back at him, continuing to watch whatever was going on. It must've been the genuine indifference to his plight—or maybe the way you sped up the hand on his cock—but Taeyong's head lolls, his eyes rolling backward a little.

At that moment, Yuta laughs.

And you don't think anything of it. Honestly, maybe whatever was on screen was funny, or maybe the boys said something funny. Who knows. You weren't really paying attention.

But you see Taeyong's head snap over to look at Yuta, even through whatever pleasure he's experiencing. Whatever Yuta does in reply makes his hips cant forward, enough to be noticeable even under the blanket.

Taeyong's head comes closer to your own, and he whispers. "Yuta k-knows."

Yuta knows, and Taeyong loves it. He loves the feeling of being caught, the dirty sub that he is.

And you love the way it makes Taeyong feel, you love the power it gives you.

So, you turn your body, enough to look like repositioning, but really just turning so you can stare Yuta dead in the face as you continue your ministrations.

"You're doing so well, my pretty boy." you murmur into Taeyong's ear, and it sends his eyes rolling in his skull again.

Your hand slowly jerks at Taeyong's hard cock, looking at him directly as if to challenge him. As if to say 'do something about it, you won't.'

And Yuta won't.

He can't help the shiver that runs up his body as he looks at you and feels your dominating aura focusing on solely him. He can't believe that you're doing this, not that you're having public sex with Taeyong—honestly that's a pretty normal occurrence—but that you'd flaunt it so boldly in front of him.

He'd been in a bit of a domming period for a while, so it was strang ethat you would challenge him like this, but he couldn't lie and say that he didn't want to see what happened next, that he wanted to fight back against you.

Taeyong's head is slumped over, his body imperceptibly rocking as he undoubtedly begins to lose control, his face flushed red with arousal, embarrassment and heat.

Your hand stops on him. Yuta can tell because Taeyong's eyes fly open, his hips twitching again, silently looking at you with a plea to let him cum.

But you don't think about that right now. No, now you're thinking about Yuta. You have two boys pliant for you to toy with them, and you're going to use the situation to the fullest of your advantage.

Your lidded eyes trail down to Yuta's prominent bulge, and then back up to his eyes, which have been watching you and Taeyong ever since he caught onto your little game.

You continue to stare at him, making it clear that your goal is to make Yuta as wrecked as Taeyong is under your hands, even if you can't touch him.

You all have been watching this movie for at least an hour, and Taeyong is certainly reaching the final stages of remaining subtle while getting a handjob and being edged repeatedly. His hips keep bucking into the sheets, only lightly stopped by the leg that you've thrown over his and a sharp glare that keeps his lips parted.

But, you decide that he's had enough of a grace period. So you bring your hand back onto him. Taeyong's teeth clamp down on his lip in an effort to keep from moaning out loud, his head falling back down as he continues to get pumped in their shared living room, in front of nine different sets of eyes.

You jut your head at Yuta for Taeyong to follow the motion, and Yuta's tongue prods at his cheek in reaction to Taeyong's ruined expression.

You can't say that you don't feel the same, but you hide it better.

Taeyong's usually large bright eyes are lidded and nearly black with arousal, his cheeks redder than any blush could make them, his mind and body both crumbling.

Yuta can't stop staring at him, as though he was entranced by the scene playing out in front of him, and as if on command, you make direct eye contact with him again and you lean down into Taeyong's ear again.

"Such a patient boy for me. You can go ahead and cum, you earned it."

The second the words fall from your mouth do Taeyong's eyes roll back to fully reveal the white.

"Oh, fuck!" He whines, his voice loud and high-pitched.

You watch as Yuta bites down on a gasp, and you tear the blanket off Taeyong's legs at the same time the rest of the members turn to stare.

Taeyong's hard, red, dripping cock shoots cum all over his clothed stomach, his hips bucking wildly in the air as he gasps, breathless, seemingly losing all control of his body when he was allowed to cum.

Yuta himself can't stop staring at Taeyong's face, the wantonity of his expression, the way his mouth hangs open as he gasps, the way his eyes roll back and flutter closed.

It makes him shiver, muscles clenched to avoid cumming in his pants like a teenager at the scene.

The aftershocks of the orgasm leave Taeyong twitching and nobody dares to speak for a moment or two while Taeyong collapses into your lap, exhausted and out of breath.

"Dude... that's what they were doing? I thought Taeyong was just feeling bad," Mark says. A hum of agreeance from the rest of the group rings out.

"Pause the drama," you grin.

"Yongie wants you to watch us play today, and enjoy the view for a few minutes while I get something."

"It's too much!" Taeyong whines, grabbing at your shirt, and the breathiness in his tone makes Yuta's hard cock twitch in his pants.

Your hands grip Taeyong's face, "Colour?" you question.

Taeyong's 'green' is breathless.

"Then you'll fucking take it."

Right before you leave the living room to get your things, you looks pointedly at Yuta.

"And nobody touch what's mine while I'm gone."

But Yuta doesn't, still reeling from what he just watched.

Taeyong will use the time as a reprieve, to catch his breath from his rushing orgasm and Yuta will try to use it to psych himself up for whatever is in store when you get back, knowing he won't be able to.

The boys have all quickly abandoned the drama for the promise of a scene they'll get to watch, and Yuta had stopped paying attention twenty minutes prior.

You come back with two vibrators and lube, quickly uncapping it and pouring some onto your hand.

"I had to jerk him off dry, but my pretty slut was so horny he couldn't stop dripping, so the slide wasn't too bad."

Taeyong chokes on his spit as you wrap a lube covered hand around his sensitive cock.

"Isn't that right, Yongie? You were so turned on that they could figure out your dirty little secret at any time that you couldn't help but leak everywhere?"

"Yeah! Couldn't help it, y/n, you make me- ah! Crazy," Taeyong whines, hips rolling.

"Oh baby, I know I do."

Your hands land on the magic wand vibrator that you brought, turning it on the first setting and pressing it to the base of Taeyong's cock.

Taeyong's body jolts with the vibrations, whining loudly.

"Aw, Yongie, you're already dripping again," you tsk.

"Sorry, 'm sorry, y/n. It just feels so good!" Taeyong babbles, his hand gripping onto your arm.

"Oh no, baby, don't apologise to me, apologise to them." You say, gesturing around.

"Just look at what you've done to poor Mark"

Taeyong glances around to find Mark, only to catch him with his head tilted back, Johnny's hand languidly stroking him under his pants.

"Jaehyun too." he smirks.

Jaehyun who's got his hand down his own pants.

And now, your chance to toy with your other boy.

"Of course, let's not forget about you, Yuta. Your cock has been hard in your pants for the better part of thirty minutes. You just sat there hard, watching me play with my pretty boy without saying anything like a good bitch."

Yuta scoffs in reply, but it comes out weaker than he intended for it to.

"Look, Yongie, you made him so hard." you murmur, wand still pressed to Taeyong's cock, who lolls his head over and smiles. "'m glad, glad to please you, Yuta."

Yuta smirks, the same one he does when he's domming, but you won't let him gain back his confidence in those abilities so quickly.

"Or maybe it was me, hmm? Me staring at you as I jerked Yongie off because I knew you wouldn't dare say anything?"

"Don't flatter yourself." Yuta bites back, unconvincing to his own ears.

"I don't need to flatter myself, I know it's true. You think we don't know your tells by now? You think that we can't tell when you want to dom and when you want to sub? You may be a good actor, Yuta, but you aren't that good."

"I don't know what you're talking about. Maybe instead of antagonising me, you could put that focus on your slut. He looks like he's about to pass out." Yuta replies back, a pretty desperate attempt to avoid the conversation.

You passively glance back over at Taeyong, moving the vibrator up and down his shaft, revelling in his gorgeous moans.

"Oh please, he's perfectly fine. He's taken worse, and I'm a good multi-tasker."

"Shut up, y/n." Yuta dismisses, looking to dodge whatever you're plotting to yank him full force into the subspace that he's been oscillating in and out of.

"Is that the Nakamoto Yuta backing down from a challenge?" You grin, moving the vibrator closer to the head of Taeyong's cock.

"Y/n!" Taeyong damn near squeals, and it makes Yuta's breath noticeably hitch.

"You're only backing down because you know you'll lose if you keep going, isn't that right, Yuta?" you ask.

He scoffs again, rolling his eyes, "Maybe I'm backing down because I want to watch the show in peace and enjoy myself?"

"Yeah, just like you were when the movie was playing? When you kept locking eyes with me and practically withering under my gaze from across the room? Just like the way you tried so hard to maintain eye contact earlier and broke it because you couldn't?"

Yuta feels breathless, out of his element. He wasn't prepared for you to get deep enough in his headspace to call him out like this, he wasn't really prepared to start feeling subby when he caught the two of them under the blanket. He's been hard for too long and he wants to touch himself like the rest of the members are doing but he knows that the second he touches himself he'll lose the already slipping control of the situation.

The vibrator reaches Taeyong's cockhead and within a second he's already stuttering. "Y/n! Can't— I-I'm close, going— need-"

"It's fine, go ahead and cum for me, love." You permit, watching as Taeyong's legs lock up and begin to spasm, pretty cries falling from his lips with pleasure, blending in with Jaehyun's groan as he cums simultaneously.

He looks so pretty, so wrecked between the two intense orgasms he had, seeming now as if he's half floating with pleasure and it makes Yuta long for that same feeling.

You and him are the only ones who haven't touched yourselves since this whole thing started and you can tell that Yuta wants nothing more to feel the same sort of ecstasy that is crashing through Taeyong's body, the feeling that comes from being toyed with for so long and finally getting to experience that ear ringing orgasm.

He gulps and clenches his fist into the side of his sweatpants.

When Taeyong is done, you click the vibrator off.

"Can I take care of Yuta for a moment, baby?" you question him lowly, always ready to give the option of immediate aftercare to Taeyong, Yuta be damned, but he nods, and then slumps again to catch his breath.

With that, your unwavering attention is back on Yuta, walking closer to his spot on the couch adjacent to you.

"You're lying to me, Yuta. Just admit it, just say that you're slipping into subspace, that you don't want to challenge me."

"I'm not admitting shit, because it's not true."

"Yuta, for someone who's an actor, you're really shitty at it right now." you lean in closer, placing your hands on the couch between Yuta's head, caging him in.

You tower over top of him in this position, you standing and Yuta sitting, his body caged in and trapped.

If he tried to stand up, it'd be so easy for you to push him back down, to keep going as though Yuta never tried to protest in the first place and god is that incredibly arousing for the both of you.

He gulps, eyes flickering all over your amused face. His cock feels rock solid in his pants, and Yuta wonders if you would jerk him off or put the vibrator on him if he caved.

"Just admit it, Yuta. You've slipped. You're not domming anyone and you know that you don't want to. You want to be toyed with until you cry you want to be fucked stupid. You're horny and you want relief, and you know what the easiest way to do that is?" You lean in far enough that your mouth is right beside Yuta's ear, and you dig your tongue into the sweet spot right below it, the one that makes Yuta clamp down on his mouth to suppress a sound which would surely spill out as a whimper or higher moan.

Then, you simply whisper, "Admitting that you want nothing more than to be a good little slut for your dom, because everyone knows that's what you are."

With that, the moan mixed whimper that Yuta worked so hard to bite back spills from his mouth, and you pull back with a grin.

"There we go, Yuta. Isn't it better now that you've admitted what you want? Now say it."

Yuta wouldn't, not to everyone. Not when he'd fought back with you so much about not feeling like a sub, not when he'd outright denied it so many times. It would be embarrassing and humiliating to give in to what you told him he was with such ease and— fuck, all of that sounded incredibly hot. Curse his humiliation kink.

You roll your eyes, grabbing Yuta's chin between your tumb and pointer fingers and pull him up from the couch, bringing your faces close.

"Say. It." You demand.

The words spill from Yuta's mouth unwillingly, "I want to be good."

You weaken the grip on his chin, but hum nonetheless, clearly prompting him to say it louder.

Well, it was obvious that he'd cracked anyways, Yuta reasons.

So louder, loud enough for the room to hear, he repeats "I want to be a good sub for you, y/n."

His voice comes out whiny, though it's only a bit higher than usual.

"That's a good boy," you smile, and you push Yuta with both of your hands back onto the couch.

"I'll ruin you just like I did Taeyong, you slut." You coo, and Yuta whimpers, eyes casting around the room.

Well, it wouldn't be the first time, even tonight that the other boys had gotten a great view, and he would be the best show.

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙

Again: read the full story here!

#dom!reader #nct smut #sub!nct #nct 127 smut #sub!kpop #sub!idol #kpop smut #yuta smut #taeyong smut #sub yuta #nakamoto yuta #lee taeyong #nct #nct drabbles #yuta drabble #nct yuta #gender neutral reader

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crustaceousfaggot · 11 months ago

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The last time I cosplayed Henry Jekyll from the Glass Scientists was in 2020. Back then I was still closeted, and called it a genderbent cosplay.

Tgs has been in my life since 2018. I started it in 8th grade, and I'm now enrolled in university. It's probably the longest I've ever consistently kept up with a piece of media in my life. Things happen and life changes, but every Monday I can count on a new tgs page. My interest has waxed and waned, but it's always been there.

Anyways. That's all to say - I'm happy to be able to cosplay this character I love again, in a way that feels right to me.

My old 2020 cosplay is below the cut, for comparison purposes :)

#tgs #the glass scientists #tgs jekyll #tgs henry jekyll #henry jekyll #jekyll and hyde #cosplay #my art #makeup tag

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mozillavulpix · 2 months ago

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Wonderful Precure is the best Digimon series (Review? Script? I dunno?)

I've been a fan of Precure since around late-2012/early-2013. During that time, my interest in the franchise has waxed and waned depending on whether the season interested me or if there were other things airing that took my interest instead.

The last time I could say I really got invested in a Precure season while it was airing was 2018's Hugtto, which first got attention from some really well-made episodes early on, but later I ended up falling in love with and crying many times from its surprisingly-adult script that covered the harsh realities of life without trying to be 'shockingly dark' about it all.

I wasn't expecting for another season to make me this excited for Precure again.

2023's Hirogaru Sky was the first Precure in a few years where I was motivated to mainly keep up, partially because the characters were so different from previous years. Even if it was let down in the end by...essentially not having a plot. The 20th anniversary made me remember Precure is still a thing that matters a lot to me.

So when the next year was announced to be an animal theme, with two of the Precure being actual, literal animals, I was perhaps more interested than I had been for the past few years. I thought it'd be a fun time.

But there was a lot of care and passion put into Wonderful than I expected. And as the series went on, the show itself became more and more interesting, to the point now it's the first Precure season in years I wholeheartedly love to the point I want everyone I know to know about it.

So, let's talk about Wonderful Precure.

oh no this has gotten super long

Where do I even begin?

I guess the first thing that comes to my mind is one thing that unintentionally makes it stand out - Wonderful Precure is perhaps the only season in the series that actually gets better in its 2nd half.

See, a lot of Precure seasons really falter around the end of the 2nd cour. There's probably a few reasons for this.

By ~Episode 24 or so, all the main characters have gone through the bulk of their character development, since a lot of it stops once they become a Precure. Which from a narrative perspective makes sense. The point where they change from a normal person to a magical girl is the most interesting moment, so it's cool to put that at the same point as big character development. But it often means any character arcs they have later just aren't nearly as interesting or as dramatic as in their introduction.

The toy catalogue kind of tapers off with only one big toy ~Episode 30 and maybe a slight upgrade to it, so maybe they don't want to make any big changes to the status quo if it's not accompanied by a new toy.

So a lot of seasons are left spinning their wheels for another 20 episodes until we get to the point they decide it's endgame and they face the final villain.

Wonderful tries something different. Not without its faults, mind you; because what makes Wonderful unique is that the plot doesn't really 'start' until Episode 24.

Not just because of the fact there's a lack of real villains, but also the fact the characters start going in radically new directions, sometimes at the same time, and the cast goes from a cozy group of friends to a cozy group of friends who can bounce off each other in half-a-dozen new ways. It's in fact so radical that if you're a big fan of the first half, I wonder if you might not like the second half as much. But I enjoy both.

I wouldn't necessarily say it was a perfect choice, but I at least wanted to preface the discussion by mentioning it, because a lot of the stuff I really found noteworthy doesn't happen until then. But not all of it. Because the characters are still strong enough to carry the season even when not much significant is happening. Which leads me to-

The Characters

Komugi:

Komugi is our main character. Although that title could be debated, for the purposes of merchandising and franchising, she's the lead. She is a real dog, a Papillon, who unexpectedly turns into a girl and a magical girl when trying to protect her owner, and then Hijinks Ensue. She's always eager to try new things, doesn't always pay attention to the bigger picture, and wants to play with everyone. What makes her really interesting is that even if she's in her human form for a lot of the show, she never stops feeling like a dog. Her behaviour both in animal and human form has so many traits and movements that make you stop and think "yeah, that's how my dog would act". It makes her one of the most interesting characters to follow, because you can just tell the sheer amount of love and attention the animators and writers had to making her as bouncy and fun and cute as possible, even in basic situations. Because it's fun to watch a dog run around. It's therapeutic, really.

It's also a really brilliant writing decision, because it ends up making her an audience surrogate for the target demographic. As in, young children. In situations where maybe things get a bit more complex and mature, she's the character who doesn't necessarily understand what's going on (because she's a dog), and the characters also realise they don't need to make sure she understands all the nuances (because she's a dog). She can still read when there's a change in emotion, but the exact reasons for those changes she either doesn't seem to understand or doesn't see the point in learning further.

Normally, that kind of character irritates me, because it feels like they get all the benefits of being a teenage girl without any of the responsibility, but somehow it doesn't bug me with Komugi. Maybe it's because she's so entertaining and doesn't spend all her time causing problems for everyone, or maybe it's because of the fact she is a dog and not a magical fairy, I can better understand the idea that her thought processes and values are different to a human. There's an actual frame of reference you can relate it to. There are points when you can see that animals aren't dumb, they often just have different values to humans and it's almost disrespectful to try and force your way of thinking on them. And so I think it's OK that Komugi doesn't get 'character development' in the same way the humans do.

Iroha:

Iroha is Komugi's owner, and the main human lead in the cast. When Komugi is being especially dog-like, Iroha is the one to take up the slack as the "ordinary girl" human character who reacts to things the way you'd expect people to. She's interesting kind of...because of the fact she doesn't start off that interesting. She doesn't really have much that makes her unique. She cares for her dog, doesn't like lying, and wants to be friends with animals, but that part of her character isn't really placed much in the focus, and when it is, it's mostly in a very generic way.

But then when the 2nd half of the show rolls around, they almost mitigate that issue by having her become the real emotional core of the show. Because she personally has to confront a lot of mature issues; human crimes, romantic love, and the inevitability of death and saying goodbye. Yes, they do go there. It almost feels like the writers become self-aware that Iroha is the least interesting character, and so they make sure she's the one that has the most interesting focus episodes so you associate her with the best parts of the season. Or maybe they knew they wanted to do these kinds of episodes from the start and wanted a character who wouldn't be too unique so she could have a universal reaction to these kinds of themes.

She probably isn't my favourite character, but I appreciate what they did with her. They certainly make sure she isn't forgettable by the end of it.

Yuki:

From what I've heard, Yuki is perhaps the most popular character in the cast. At least, in terms of Cure Nyammy merchandise always selling out first. And I can see why. She is a cat, and she acts like a cat - she's fickle, likes being left alone, and has no hesitation over throwing hands if it's for the sake of protecting her owner. Somehow this is like the fourth catgirl Precure has done, but it never stops being a fun archetype.

Her debut is one of the most interesting things in the 1st half, because she actually does do physical fighting with the monsters of the week when no one else does. She basically comes in acting like this is any other Precure season before Wonderful and Friendy explain that actually this year we don't need to punch the monsters, we just need to calm them down. It's almost funny, if also totally justified.

I'll be honest, though, I didn't really find her arc that special. Mostly because I didn't really understand where her overprotectiveness of Mayu came from. I get Mayu is an anxious girl and Yuki wants to keep her safe, but she becomes very controlling of her behaviour, and...it didn't feel like something that cats would actually do. Mind you, I don't own a cat, so maybe I just don't get it, but how is she both independent and very controlling of Mayu at the same time? I just never really got my head around it. Especially when Komugi was just always so obviously doglike.

But by the 2nd half I found her a lot more interesting. Because there she found her true form - as the funny tsundere.

Every time she transforms, she says "shikata ga nai" (it can't be helped). It's the stock Japanese phrase for "I guess I have no choice". It's like she's being reluctantly forced into being a Precure, and that is incredibly funny. Even more so when she has to do goofy things for the sake of saving the animals even when she really, really doesn't want to. A lot of subplots in later episodes involve the characters wanting Yuki to join in on something and her either refusing until Mayu, her weak point, begs her, or hesitantly agreeing and secretly enjoying it but trying not to make that too obvious. That's what makes Yuki fun. And her slowly warming up to the other girls, if an expected arc, is still enjoyable.

Mayu:

Mayu is Yuki's human owner, and the last member to become a Precure. She likes sewing, her mother owns a Pretty Holic makeup store, and she has social anxiety. Like Iroha, I felt like she didn't have that much unique going for her, at least at the start. Her arc about gaining friends, gaining confidence, and gaining the confidence to stand up to Yuki's controlling behaviour was nice, but it was definitely something I felt like I'd seen before in Precure many times. Not to say it wasn't done well, I feel it went really deep into her thought process to the point she felt like a fully-realised character rather than an archetype. But she isn't the first "shy girl learns to make friends that appreciate her" character and probably won't be the last.

But then in the 2nd half I found her a lot more interesting. Because there she found her true form - as the funny otaku.

I first noticed it when Iroha brought up her favourite animal in the zoo and Mayu offhandedly referred to it as 'her oshi', and then it made me realise being an otaku is both Mayu's main character trait in the 2nd half and also done in a way that felt very different from other 'excited fan' types like Ran in Delicious Party. Because she's not just an otaku - she's a romance otaku. This being the season that also spends a lot of the 2nd half on romance between Iroha and Satoru, Mayu is the glue that hold that hefty subplot together. Or maybe you could call her the thread that holds it together. Because she likes knitting, and that metaphor is then used to become her calling of trying to tie people together. It's honestly really clever. And also makes her incredibly funny.

Satoru:

Satoru is probably my favourite character. He was probably always going to be the character I gravitated towards once I realised his role was the token 'character who has no powers at all but tries to help the Precure out anyway', something Precure hasn't really attempted since Yui from Go Princess. Those types of characters end up being easier to relate to, arguably more than the main girls, since they're obviously much more of a 'normal human'. He's also a character who's smart and logical and tries to understand the wider plot even when the girls aren't paying attention, which makes him the perfect audience surrogate for people like me who think way too much.

But I think what's really great about Satoru is how he makes the show more interesting.

From a very basic level, his role in the fights is a lot of fun. Since the monsters the Precure have to fight every episode are all real animals that have been taken over by evil, and Satoru happens to be knowledgeable about animals, he gets to always contribute to the fights by giving the girls some facts about the animal that week which they then use to come up with a strategy. Sometimes those facts are a bit obvious, but sometimes they're surprisingly well-researched (I assume) and it even feels like I'm learning something new from it. With him, I feel like they managed to make a character who could honestly help the Precure out even without magical powers, to the point he feels like an integral part of the story and it'd be weird to have the Wonderful Precure team without him.

I also really like the detail that he's not very athletic, so every time the Precure are running around at super speed, he's visibly out-of-breath trying to catch up to them so he can see what's going on. It really makes you feel like even if he's not getting knocked around into trees or fighting back animals with shields, he's working just as hard as the Precure in his own way.

And then we get to the romance plotline.

Basically tl;dr, the romance episodes were beautifully-made to the point that everyone can understand how Satoru fell in love with Iroha, how Iroha feels about Satoru, and how they make the transition from friends to boyfriend and girlfriend partway through the series. It's certainly one of the standout points of the season, and it's one that's constantly brought up later on. Between Iroha and Satoru giving each other Christmas presents, to Satoru permanently changing his address of Iroha from "Inukai-san" to "Iroha-chan", they're very different characters before and after it happens, to the point it was almost jarring for me watching the movie a few weeks ago because that took place before those episodes.

Now, should Satoru have been a Precure? Definitely. Would it have improved the show? Potentially. But I can also see the benefits they had by not doing it. Mainly that with the formula of the show, Satoru's animal knowledge is basically there to make up for the fact he isn't a Precure. If he had both magical powers and strategic knowledge, he'd basically be too good. He could do what the girls do better than the girls. They could have made him less knowledgeable and also a Precure, but now we're just getting into a hypothetical different show. The truth is that 4 Precure were decided from the start of season planning. Satoru was designed around the fact he wasn't one of them.

And the fact he did get some sort of transformation at the end, even if it was quick, even if it was a callback to the movie (although it was even quicker there) just makes me feel happy. Like he was rewarded for his hard work the whole season by getting magical powers even for a brief moment. I'm really glad they did it and I hope it gets acknowledged in the future.

Satoru is far more than just a love interest to Iroha. He's a crucial part of the Wonderful Precure cast with his own goals and motivations, and he really stuck out to me when I was watching it. I really hope they do more characters like him in Precure in the future.

Daifuku:

Daifuku is Satoru's pet rabbit. He is worth talking about alongside the other main characters.

I said Satoru is probably my favourite character in the show, but Daifuku is the best character in the show. That is perhaps a radical statement to make, especially paired with that blank rabbit face, but he's just so fascinating.

I said earlier that the fact the 4 Precure were decided early on in planning was to Satoru's benefit, because he was designed around that, and that also applies to Daifuku too. If Satoru is the token 'ordinary human', Daifuku is the token 'ordinary animal'. He's an injection of realism to remind the audience that real animals can't talk and are limited in what they can actually do. But like Satoru, it feels like Daifuku tries to contribute in whatever way he can even if he doesn't even have the ability to speak.

And while Satoru's character balances itself out between being the smartest character but having no magical powers, Daifuku makes up for not being able to speak or do much outside of what a small animal could do by being the most powerful character in everything else.

Because when Daifuku is in the spotlight, it's clear he knows what's going on all the time, knows exactly what people need to hear when they're in trouble, and can even interfere in some situations to help out Satoru and the gang.

It wasn't entirely certain to me what his character was supposed to be until the movie, where he gets to speak, but at that point the joke came together and I realised what they were trying to do. When you understand his personality, Daifuku is one of the most interesting characters they've ever done, because his character is designed to be "both cute and cool at the same time".

He's cute because he's a little rabbit, his human form makes him look like a young boy, and he does a lot of cute animal things, and yet he's cool because he has a manly personality, has a deep male voice, and doesn't seem to be ashamed of his own cuteness. He's very confident in himself, whether he's walking on 4 legs or 2 legs but as a rabbit avatar in a videogame or 2 legs as a human or 2 legs as a magical boy. He takes everything in his stride in a way that he always feels like the same guy, as opposed to the 'ikemen' fairies like Coco or Harry who feel like two different characters depending on what form they're in.

The contrast between his appearance and his personality makes him uniquely funny, because we don't have many 'manly' fairy characters who can also live up to their own hype.

It also feels like it makes him a more balanced character. It's like Daifuku was nerfed by God because if he was anything other than a nonverbal rabbit, he would be far, far too powerful. I think that's why he isn't given that many opportunities to speak or be translated. If he had a bigger role in the show he honestly had the potential to steal all the spotlight because his character is so fun and unique.

And in a way his brief appearances make those appearances feel even more memorable. Daifuku transforming with Satoru is one thing, but the fact that the moment they do it, he just grabs Satoru's hand, books it, and jumps 20 feet in the air with him to get straight to the action? This is a rabbit who knows exactly what he needs to do the moment he's given the opportunity. It's like you only need to give him 2 minutes of power for him to solve the issue they spent 20 minutes agonising over.

That's why he's the best character.

Other characters

Mey Mey

Mey Mey is probably the most conventional member of the Precure supporting cast. His role is to provide exposition about Nico Garden and provide comic relief. Honestly, a lot of the jokes early on about the girls really not respecting him or listening to him at all weren't really my type of humour, but it does feel like they toned that joke down as time went on. They started to have him be a bit more respected and he developed a bit to tone down his more toxic traits. I might not have even thought about him much if it wasn't for his gay crush on Satoru. Like I'm not even being a yaoi fangirl here, they very much frame it with the classic shojo visuals that makes you realise the staff very much knew what they were doing. He doesn't stand out too much from other 'butler-type' fairies, but he has his moments.

Nico

Nico is a really fascinating piece of a character that dropped into the 2nd half of the show. In a way, she feels like perhaps she was brought in for shilling more cute Bandai toys, but her actual personality is very different to what I would have expected. Because she's a surprisingly layered character. She's part Nico Garden Idol, part Magical Goddess, and part Goofy Gal. She has a bubbly personality, but it's clear that it's in some ways a facade and she holds a surprising amount of cynicism for humanity in the few times her mask drops. A lot of her true motivations and feelings are left vague and secretive even by the end of the show, and whether that's a sign of a dropped plotline or it was always intended to be like that, whenever she shows up you really never know what to expect, because she doesn't fit neatly into a specific role. I thought I would dislike her, and she's not my favourite, but I really appreciate all the unique things they did with her.

The villains

The villains were really interesting this season, because not only did they get introduced late, they were probably one of the first villains in Precure history where their motivation was very sympathetic, up to the point the characters don't really know what to do when they first find out what their deal is. These are the extinct Japanese wolves who want revenge against humanity for slaughtering them all. Which is a very heavy topic, and one that you could argue was wasted because they don't really go into detail on the whole situation. As to why the wolves became extinct, why the humans hunted them, and why humans choose not to coexist peacefully with animals. But at the same time this is also a kids show, so I can understand why they didn't want to go too far into it. In a way you can respect them for even touching on the topic itself, since it could have been really easy to just make the villain "the forces of darkness" and not mention themes like this at all.

The reason it ends up being a 'cop-out' in a way is because we find out at the very end that the leader of the group of villains, Gaou, is not a wolf at all, but the vengeful spirit of a human named Subaru who loved wolves and tried unsuccessfully to protect them. It absolves humanity of a lot of responsibility because at the end of the day the villain is actually just a human, and the wolf spirits under his command are either tainted by his hatred or just follow him because they care for him. So at the end of the day, it's more of a conflict between humans as opposed to one between humans and animals.

And we also learn that Subaru's true feelings aren't even of hatred for humanity; it's actually hatred of himself for feeling responsible for Gaou's death. He's really just a sad guy lashing out over his pain who needs to be comforted. Which was a really nice and gracious way to end this season all about compassion.

The way they handle the opinions of the actual wolves is really interesting, too. Subaru spends all this time trying to destroy humankind to get revenge, only for Gaou to explain that he doesn't actually care about revenge. He feels no grudge against humanity for killing his kind. At the moment of his death, he just wanted to protect Subaru. Because he is his best friend.

It's not exactly the ending you'd expect from a narrative like this. But it feels surprisingly thought-provoking, because it makes you consider that perhaps the idea of "animals wanting revenge against humanity for destroying them" is a uniquely human emotion. That maybe we're projecting our own feelings of self-hatred onto them without considering how they'd realistically think. Because at the end of the day, animals are different species to us. They might actually think differently.

All of this is to say Gaou is a Very Good Boy and deserves lots of headpats. Even though he's dead.

All of them really. Zakuro, the fact you have romantic love for another species is kind of weird but whatever but you're still a good girl, give her some headpats. Torame, you are technically the ghost of a child which is really messed up, but you are also a very good boy and deserve headpats. Headpats for everyone. I mean, Komugi literally does bring them all into a group hug, that's essentially what happens. They're all Good.

So even though the villains show up a little late, and aren't exactly the main driving point for the series, they are really fascinating. They don't feel like the be-all and end-all of the themes of the series, either, which is probably why I'm still thinking of potential sequel ideas.

The World

One thing I really enjoyed about this season was the worldbuilding. There's a lot of small things and gimmicks that really make Animal Town feel fleshed-out compared to other settings in this franchise.

First of all, the fact the source of the magical Precure power (the Mirror Stone) has a backstory and legend that doesn't even inherently tie into Precure itself - it could just supposedly grant wishes and let animals speak, and even Nico herself didn't know "turning girls into Precure" was part of its power set.

Second, the animal theme feels integrated into the city with the designs of all the side characters. Everyone is either themed after an animal, have a name themed after an animal, or own an animal. Not only does it lead to some really great character designs (everyone loves Crab Girl for a reason), but the animal theme also feels a lot broader and unique than, say, Delicious Party and everyone there owning a different type of restaurant. I think animals are a theme that anyone can connect to, even if they're not the biggest fan of dogs. There's just so many with so many personality types and aesthetics I'm sure everyone has one they like.

The Fights

I realised we can't talk about Wonderful Precure without getting into The Punchcourse.

(The Punchcourse is about whether Precure should punch their enemies and if not doing so is a sign of betraying tradition or even just making the show 'less mature'.)

Because Wonderful Precure is the second season after Kirakira Precure A La Mode to specifically abandon traditional monster fights with punches and kicks to use a new 'chase action' formula.

I was ready to dislike it, to be honest, and it's true that I feel the early fights are a lot less exciting in both choreography and tension because of that lack of 'proper' fighting.

But as the series went on, it really grew on me. It might be because the Kirarin Animal powers started getting introduced, which meant the Precure had more powers they could use than just "running and making shields" (even if a lot of the powers tended to overlap with each other). Maybe because they started trying to do more creative things with the bits they had, like the "Lillian Net". I wouldn't say it's my favourite approach to fight scenes, but I started to feel more emotionally invested in how they operated.

Chase action can be entertaining when its done well! Because, really, trying to figure out how to calm down a wild animal is probably much more difficult than trying to beat up a monster. You have to really think about your abilities and their abilities, and Satoru's animal facts add a layer of strategy to it every week. Sure, when it's done poorly it can be really boring, but that's the same for most fighting in Precure.

It ties in so well with the themes of compassion and understanding and making friends that when You and Idol started and said "I'm going to save this person from being a monster! By punching them!" it almost gave me tonal whiplash. Because, sure, we'd love to have the ability to punch people, but the ability to help people in pain? The ability to tell someone "it's going to be okay" and it actually making them feel better? That's something just as difficult. I can understand why you need to transform and get magical powers to be able to do it. And I think that's why it's still a suitable choice for Precure.

So, what was that about Digimon?

Right. That was one of the thoughts I had about the season as it aired - that it reminded me a lot of Digimon. Perhaps it just reminded me because it takes a lot of 'pet anime' tropes from shows like Pokemon, but Digimon feels like a more appropriate comparison because there the animals talk and the world is 'real life' as opposed to the fantasy idealised world of Pokemon.

In a way, Precure is more of a pet anime than a magical girl anime. Perhaps that's why the focus feels so different to other Precure seasons, with a different type of 'action scene', more focus on the boys and supporting characters, explicit romance, and a lack of villains and changes in the villain status quo.

But I think for me, all those changes were the fresh air this franchise always needed.

At the start, I was hesitant about Precure going in radically new directions. Because since this is still a show for young children, my immediate (and I think justified) reaction is any change to the franchise would be trying to make it more juvenile and removing anything involving depth and maturity because kids don't have attention spans, so why even bother with making a story? You can put a 3-year-old in front of an iPad showing nothing but cheap CG animations of nursery rhymes looping for an hour and they'd probably be just as absorbed as something with an actual narrative. I know. I have a niece and nephew. You don't need to spend more money making a quality product if you can just cut corners and kids will watch it anyway.

Somehow, Wonderful Precure did not do this, and for that I'm shocked and grateful.

...hopefully we won't have to wait 10 years to return to these characters. Because I love them, and I sure miss them.

#wonderful precure #precure #review

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thejournallo · 1 year ago

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Explain the basic: Symbology

Desclaimer: Everything I will talk about is information that I got from books and sites online and even videos on YouTube. In my years of practice, I learned as much as I could out of curiosity and what works best for me. I suggest you do the same by learning as much as you can on your own (I will be here making posts teaching this kind of stuff) from multiple sources.

As always, I will love to hear your thoughts! and if you have any questions, I will be more than happy to answer them! If you liked it, leave a comment or reblog (that is always appreciated!). If you are interested in more methods, check the masterlist!

what is "symbology"?

Symbology is the study or interpretation of symbols and their meanings within various contexts, including cultural, religious, spiritual, and artistic. Symbols are visual or conceptual representations that carry specific ideas, beliefs, or values. Symbology involves understanding the significance, origins, and interpretations of symbols, as well as how they are used and perceived by different individuals or groups. In fields such as anthropology, psychology, literature, and religious studies, symbology plays a crucial role in analyzing and understanding human culture, communication, and expression.

why is symbology important for a witch?

Symbolism is extremely important for a witch to learn because there are many ways in which you will need it. Symbolism is one of those things that is everywhere because everything can have a meaning. A good example could be the interpretation of dreams. Even if the dreams seem so strange and stupid, there is always a meaning. Another great example is receiving signs, and by that, I mean receiving signs from deitis, entitis, the universe, etc. But those are not the only cases. symbology comes in handy for a witch; knowing what symbol to use is also very important for a witch because you don't want to attract a bad thing to you.

There are symbols for everything, and they are everywhere.

how do i know is a symbol i use is good or bad?

It always depends on you and your culture. A quick search could help you avoid a lot of damage on you and your culture. A quick search could help you avoid a lot of damage to yourself, but this also depends on what you believe in. For example, I don't believe that satanism is bad, but I believe in bad people practicing satanism in the wrong way (and that goes for every religion and culture). I work with Asmodeous, and I don't see anything bad with it or his symbol (in demonology, every demon has a symbol with their name; it is pretty cool), but another person may see it as bad and dangerous and will avoid using it. It is as simple as that.

some realy popular symbols and their meaning:

-Pentagram/Pentacle: The word "pentagram" refers only to the five-pointed star, not the surrounding circle of a pentacle. Pentagrams were used symbolically in ancient Greece and Babylonia. Christians once commonly used the pentagram to represent the five wounds of Jesus. Often used as a symbol of protection, the pentacle consists of a five-pointed star within a circle. Each point represents an element (earth, air, fire, water, and spirit) and the circle symbolizes unity and wholeness.

-Moon: The moon is a powerful symbol in witchcraft, representing cycles, intuition, and the divine feminine. Different phases of the moon (waxing, full, waning) hold different meanings and energies.

-Triple Moon: This symbol consists of three moons—waxing, full, and waning—enclosed within a circle. It represents the phases of the moon, as well as the stages of a woman's life (maiden, mother, crone).

-Crescent Moon: A symbol of the waxing and waning moon, the crescent represents growth, change, and transformation.

-Ankh: Though originating from ancient Egyptian culture, the ankh is also used in modern witchcraft as a symbol of life, fertility, and divine protection.

-Symbols of the Elements: Various symbols represent the four classical elements—earth, air, fire, and water. For example, an upward-pointing triangle represents fire, while a downward-pointing triangle represents water. An equal-armed cross is often used for earth, and a stylized swirl or feather represents air.

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carnivore-voyeur · 2 months ago

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Papa Perpetua & Perpetual Human Anxieties in "Satanized"

After watching Tobias Forge's recent interview with Planet Rock, I've pinned down the theme for the new album: human emotions and anxieties. He says it's not rocket science - that the "perpetua" in Papa Perpetua is meant to be taken literally. Furthermore, that the album will explore a wide range of human emotion that persists no matter the political climate. I think this is a smart move given the state of the world.

"Satanized" gives us a peak into the backstory for Papa Perpetua in which a pious man is led astray by his temptations and despite his devotion, he is taken and transformed into his own antithesis, becoming Papa Perpetua. His anxiety, his fear, his grief over who he is becoming is perpetual. It is never truly done away with, and yet in the embrace of The Devil he becomes a magnificent version of himself.

Impera dealt heavily with external turmoil and political strife. This song signifies an internal turmoil and human experience which I think will then carry through the album given the song titles. Hence, the Skeletá or the bare bones in our humanity being exposed to the world. To be exposed is to be vulnerable - a primal human fear and anxiety.

(As a side note, I do think it's interesting that the touring band members themselves are exposed in a way they never have in any official capacity before.)

For those raised Catholic like myself, "Satanized" evokes Catholic Guilt and fear of eternal punishment by stepping out of line from Catholic doctrine. We're raised to compulsively pray and confess to prevent the possibility of being seduced by The Devil which makes it easier for us to be controlled. We feel safe in the embrace of The Church because we're taught that the world outside of it is dangerous.

What happens, then, when you transgress doctrine in a highly controlling community? You feel guilt and shame, and when you feel guilt and shame you hide yourself - your vulnerability - and you pray until it fixes you. (i.e. "I've been investing my prayers into making me whole") Deviation from doctrine is The Devil inside of you, and you must not indulge that part of you lest you become damned. Damnation is total rejection. Abandonment by God.

To embrace "sin" is to realize you're naked in The Garden of Eden, as Adam and Eve once were when they defied God's orders. You become aware of your vulnerability, and that awareness is scary. However, the question asked in "Satanized" is this...

... do we truly need "saving"? What is Papa Perpetua guilty of? Lust? Or, ordinary human emotions? To be "Satanized" is to become vulnerable. To be free and independent of the control of The Church. Is this wrong? Well, to an outsider maybe not... but to one raised within The Church then absolutely yes. For this reason, I believe Papa Perpetua may grapple with his vulnerability for some time. He has realized he is "naked" (vulnerable, exposed) and now he must understand what that means for him.

This is the struggle of every person who was raised Catholic, but who has since left the church. You're thrown out of The Garden of Eden (The Church) and you must then navigate the world outside of it, which we are told is full of sin that will see our own destruction. Our damnation. Our total rejection from God.

But there's beauty in Papa Perpetua's rise and that's intentional. Perhaps the anxieties caused by his faith will never truly go away. They may wax and wane as he comes into his role. He is unlike the others, who readily embraced their own "Church" to spread the word and build their "Empire." Maybe he will be difficult to control. We shall see.

#the band ghost #satanized #meta

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lavendermoonlove · 3 months ago

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The moon in an astrological sign

The moon is the center of my practice. Besides working closely with the moon phases, I also work with the sign that particular moon phase is in. I have found it adds an extra layer of intention and energy to the spell.

For example, take the upcoming new moon in Aquarius. The moon's energy (depending on how you view the new moon) during that period is that of new beginnings, new opportunities, new ventures etc. Working with the moon being in Aquarius would mean that you'd incorporate aspects of Aquarius into your working. The moon being in Aquarius makes it extra potent for working regarding characteristics of Aquarius. You can then further enhance this intention and energy by choosing herbs ruled by the air element or by Saturn. You can choose to work with the general energy of Aquarius, or with a particular characteristic that aligns with your intention. Another way I like to incorporate astrological signs into moon workings, is by having a set ritual I do when the moon is in my personal moon sign. Let's take Aquarius again for example. Let's say there is this particular Aquarius characteristic you don't embody emotionally yet, like being open-minded, but you would really like to. You would then do a ritual regarding your moon sign and this characteristic you would like to have on the Aquarius new moon. Then when the moon is waxing in Aquarius, you would do a ritual to grow this characteristic further, or perhaps grow within another characteristic that you already have. If the moon is in waning, you could consider doing a ritual regarding an Aquarius characteristic you do not like that you have and thus lessening it in your life. All with all, working with moon phases in particular astrological signs is extremely versatile. Furthermore, it's also an interesting way to challenge yourself and thus developing your practice. Blessed be moon child~

#witchblr #witch community #witchcraft #moon magic #witches #magick #witchy vibes #witchcore #astrology #witch #astrological sign #Aquarius

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moonyasnow · 5 months ago

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My OCs' Yandere potential

Because I like thinking about the 'bad' side of my OCs too

I'm gonna write about some of the very worst stuff my OCs are capable of, so readers beware

I'll be going into a LOT of detail— about what kind of Yandere they'd be, their reasoning for being a Yandere, some illegal and/or immoral things they'd do. Mostly so much detail because I've spent time thinking about this before so I already kinda know the basics.

This is more than just ways they could be TOXIC. This is straight up Yandere stuff.

Oh, and I will still count it as Yandere even if they never taking any explicitly Yandere ACTIONS.

CWs:

GENERAL: just some really toxic and unhealthy stuff

Tomoe: manipulation, gaslighting

Irina: intense jealousy, stalking, obsession, mental illness, thoughts of murder

Spike: hurting and/or killing people who are not the one he's Yandere FOR

Lisle: emotional manipulation

Veronica: captivity I guess? It's not like she tries to stop you from going anywhere; she just always goes with you. Everywhere.

Victor: murder, stalking, implied necrophilia(only in one sentence)

Artemisia: stalking

And I can't think of any specific one for Junia right now

The 'basically already there's:

Or, the OCs who have so much potential to be Yandere that they either already are, or could be pushed to it very easily

Just ordered based on who I had the most to say about when I started

Lisle

[ He's aroace, so this would be platonic! ]

“Now, Dear, why-ever would you want to get away from me?”

He likes you, he finds you fun, so you're his friend/maybe-pet now. Or he just decides to adopt you??? In spirit, at least.

Much like an owner would a pet, he's going to take care of you, ensure you get nothing but the best~ Oh, but do be appreciative. Don't shy away when he pets the top of your head or gives you a little kiss goodbye on the forehead before he needs to go do something else. He's giving you so much, you could at least say thank you, and give him your shoulder to lay on while he whines about something.

Like I've said in this post about Lisle's 'kindness', if it's not repaid, he'll make you feel SO bad. He's used to always getting exactly what he wants, never having heard 'no' in his life, and he's good at getting his way in the end.

Everything happens on his terms.

How he gets caught/how you escape:

Unless you involve someone else and go to them for help (and good luck finding someone who both hasn't been fooled by his facade and would actually be willing to stick their neck out for you) you are not ever getting away from him. The best you can hope for is distance.

In the end, his ego is more important to him than anything else. It wouldn't be impossible to convince him that giving you more freedom would be very kind and benevolent of him, and you'd be eternally grateful. Appease him for a long enough time, and he might eventually agree to give you a bit more freedom.

But make no mistake...like a chronic illness, Lisle is a Yandere you're never getting rid of permanently. All you can hope to do is ease the symptoms

Victor

“I wonder just how much of you I haven't discovered yet...I almost wish I could just cut you up hahahaha~! But then I couldn't learn any more...and you are oh so entertaining~”

Victor himself knows his interest in his obsessions, whether that be people or other things he'd like to study, waxes and wanes. But if for whatever reason he finds you keep sticking around in his head for long enough for him to actually start to get attached…

Oh it's over for you.

The first thing is he's persistent. He has pictures of you he took in secret in a box with your name written on it. In there he also keeps a notebook with your schedule written out, meticulously. He's already studied you enough to know exactly where you'd go and at what times. But for once, that's not enough for him. He's determined to make you his. He's the kind who enjoys a good cat and mouse chase— just makes it even more satisfying when he eventually catches you~

This is a game to him, and one he's determined to win in the end, whether you like it or not.

If you're the morally good type, he might try not to kill people, just knowing it's something you don't like. But he will absolutely disregard that rule if someone wanted to hurt you.

He'll show them just how cold hell can be…

He knows just how fragile life can be, so he's going to pull out ALL the stops to make sure yours doesn't end.

But if you do die? That's also fine with him. All 'Necro no Hanayome' style.

He'll take expert care of your body, make sure it's in pristine condition. It's almost like he doesn't truly realize you're never coming back. Because he'll keep taking care of and staring at you every day, as though waiting for your eyes to flutter open again. If his Signature Spell can bring animals back, why couldn't it bring you back, too? Maybe if he becomes a powerful enough mage, it could.

But caring for you in death is the most romantic thing he can imagine. And this way, you can never have a chance to leave his side again. He's the only one who will get to see you. You won't ever reject his affection like this. And he knows exactly what to expect from you— you can't catch him off guard or touch him unexpectedly; he has all the power. He actually almost prefers it this way.

He would, of course, prefer it if you were warm…but he'll just have to warm you up himself.

Jealousy isn't something Victor struggles with. He doesn't care much for what you yourself want, so you wanting someone else wouldn't be that hard on him. If anything, he's just annoyed at the other person for interfering with his plans. And he knows he can easily get rid of them whenever he'd like, so he's not bothered. But that doesn't mean he'd LIKE seeing you act all gooey and googly-eyed over someone else.

How he gets caught/how you escape:

He gets so caught up in the excitement of chasing after you that he slips up— he got sloppy, and left behind evidence, or someone else spotted him acting strangely.

Irina

“Please rip my heart out of my chest, bite me bloody, hold me so tightly my bones crack!”

Not gonna lie...this isn't even a 'Yandere AU' at all. This is just what she's usually like.

It starts with you just treating her with respect and like an actual human being. She believes she's every single horrible adjective under the sun. But you were nice to her, without asking anything in return. That must mean you care about her, right? That you could even come to love her! So it's meant to be! It has to be.

Honestly? I think she's literally stalked people she's had crushes on before. At the very least digitally, but I wouldn't rule out a tiny bit of irl stalking.

She writes down every single time you've ever interacted with her in her diary, in obsessive detail. In her diary she'd write about nothing but you.

Thinking about you makes her feel such a high— she just can't help but obsessively say your name, over and over and over and over and over and over and over... If you were to look through her diary you might see an entire page covered in nothing but your name, written overlapping with each other so many times you can barely see the page underneath the text anymore.

To her, you're the air she needs to breathe. You could do absolutely anything to her, even abuse her, and she'd still love and stay with you, so long as you show her affection now and then. She actively wants to be owned by the one she loves. If you do something like go on a vacation, the entire time she'll feel completely dead inside, only coming back to life again the next time she sees your face or hears your voice.

And if she were to see you with someone else, especially someone of a gender she know you're attracted to…

It hurts. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts! So badly! It's like her heart is literally being crushed right inside her chest. She's close to hyperventilating, and shaking, and, and—

She wants them gone. She NEEDS them gone! Because she's terrified you're going to leave her because you like them more.

If she were ever in a situation where all she'd need to do was push them to make it look like an accident…she's not sure if she could stop herself. She once thought about smothering one of the other kids she lived at the same orphanage at while they were sleeping, because they were becoming friends with her only friend. Why them? Why them and not her? Her jealousy is overwhelming.

When she's overwhelmed with jealousy she has three voices screaming in her head: Distress Depression Desire

Distress, her angry, impusive, instinctive thoughts that just want the pain she feels to stop. Jumping to conclusions, angry at you, angry at the other person. Just asking 'why?'

Depression, a voice saying that, of course it's not her. It's never been her. It will never be her. She'll never be the one someone chooses. And that's what she deserves; she's absolutely horrible and you probably hate her, as you should, so of course you'd never want her more than anyone else.

Desire, the little voice always shouting and shouting and shouting 'I love you'; the one who got her here in the first place, the one who spins every single delusion in her mind in a desperate desire for love, the one thing she's never felt.

They all scream at the same time like a loud cacophony in hear ears that she can't silence or escape from.

She's worked so, so, so hard for you, changing herself to be everything you respond positively to…so why are THEY the one receiving your love, and not her? Why isn’t she enough? Why isn't she your favorite? That's all she wants. It hurts so much she'd kinda rather just die than have to deal with it.

How she gets caught/how you escape:

Good news for you is she'd be a pretty easy Yandere to escape from. Mostly because she just...kinda doesn't do anything. She gives you no indication of just how bad her issues are.

You'll never notice a thing.

If you for whatever reason decide you no longer want to be around her...well, it's not like she'll say anything. She'll look shocked, yes...but she'd hide everything she WANTS to say deep, deep inside her mind, like she always has.

The 'maybe's:

For the OCs I could see potentially going off the deep end, if put in a very specific situation.

Veronica

“I'd rather die than lose you too!”

A Yandere Veronica would only come about if the one she loves were to either be in danger or have gotten into danger at several previous times when she wasn't there. A big enough scare in regard to their health and safety would make her snap and take matters into her own hands and do anything she thinks would be best in order to protect them.

She doesn't lose any trust for you; just loses even more trust at the world, if that was even possible, paranoid something's going to happen to you the moment she lets you out of her sight.

She's moving in with you. Putting everything in her life on hold to act as your personal bodyguard 24/7. And already being in such a paranoid state, if even the tiniest thing happens to you the few moments she's not with you, those moments get taken away.

You get close to slipping or falling asleep in the bathtub? No more baths; only showers from here on out.

She sees something expired in your fridge? She's checking everything in there every day to make sure it's all safe to eat.

Get a limb stuck in a shirt and almost tumble into something? She's gonna help you get dressed from now on.

If you're convinced she's going to go back to normal eventually... Sorry, but no.

She doesn't want to treat you like you're made of porcelain, but she feels like she has no choice! Every single time she's let herself drop her guard in any of her relationships to other people, no matter romantic, platonic or familial, something's always happened to take them away from her. She's not going to let the same thing happen to you.

How they get caught/how you escape:

Her downfall is how bad she is at lying or appeasing people. If they wanted to escape, she could never convince anyone they might go to for help that there isn't any need to rescue them when she's clearly trying to trap them.

If she gets locked away somewhere, she loses herself in an endless spiral of paranoia and anxiety, every waking second filled with dread, wondering how you are, if something's happened to you.

She'll do absolutely anything to be able to see you again. Even trying to get out of prison early for good behavior, for once in her life finding something important enough that hiding herself and who she naturally is feels easy. At least compared to the fear of not knowing how you are.

Spike

“I'm sorry I didn't tell you 'bout anything! I just...couldn't stand the thought of something bad happening to you.”

Another one I can see being the overprotective kind, who believes he's the only one who can properly protect you. He'd already need to be restrained if he found out what Vil tried to do to Neige in Book 5.

If he likes you, and you're smaller and/or less strong than him (which is very likely...dude is 210cm/6'10!) he's going to be very protective of you already. The smaller and less able to physically defend yourself you are, the higher the likelihood of him being overprotective.

He's seen some really bad stuff happen to people when he was still in the gang, he knows exactly how dangerous the world can be to those who can't defend themselves.

He would not be above killing anyone who threatened your safety if he felt they were a threat. Maybe they'd be better dealt with in some smart way, like manipulation or finding some legal way to make sure they can't get to you. But he was blessed with strength, not brains. And he'll use whatever he's got if it means no one can touch a hair on your head.

He's the kind who would do a lot of bad stuff behind your back, all under the guise of it being for your own good. And...he is smarter than people realize...just, not in the booksmarts way.

He knows he's intimidating... He also knows you don't think he's intimidating.

You've started to notice people avoiding you recently? (He's been threatening them to stay away from you) Maybe it's because he's been hanging around you more recently...

People are now almost afraid of you? (He's beaten up someone who looked at you in a way he didn't like) His intimidating aura must just so be so strong it has people correlating you with him...

To you, he's like a big puppy. And so long as he can stay that way to you, he's fine with doing bad things to others.

Regular Spike only holds himself back from hurting those who've wronged him because he wants to be a good person. If, for whatever reason, that was no longer a priority for him...

He hates lying to you so much. But he has to! He won't let anything bad happen to you; he'll take care of you.

How he gets caught/how you escape:

For all the bad stuff he's more than willing to do to others...he could never hurt you. He'd never be able to live with himself if he did, even accidentally.

He's exceedingly gentle with you. If you tried to run away, he'd never be able to use more physical force than a bear hug to stop you. He stops himself from trying to yank you back to him because he knows he could end up hurting your arm.

The 'Yeah no way's:

Or, either ones who'd need a RIDICULOUSLY specific scenario to happen, or ones I'd need to actively change something about in order to make them Yandere

Junia

“Oh, I see, this must be another part of the courtship process! Why else would you act like this when I know you love me?”

A Yandere Junia is one who thinks she and her darling were already basically together.

Maybe not officially, but she thought she made it so clear that she liked you, and you seemed to reciprocate! So in her mind, you're basically together, or at least will be soon. You both like each other!

She hopes you see how sad she became seeing you flirt with someone else and won't do it again. Again, you're not OFFICIALLY together, so she'd feel a bit awkward actually bringing it up...so she just kinda hopes you get it? She still won't really show explicitly that she's upset, just kinda waiting for you to get it.

But if you don't, she'll just put up with it. Maybe you're just a flirty person in general? Then she wishes you'd flirt with her, too... Why don't you flirt with her? Did she do something wrong?

She loves you! She's yours, and she's pretty sure you're hers too. You don't complain when you find her in your kitchen in the morning making you breakfast even when you hadn't invited her and had no idea she was coming either! So you're definitely together, right?

So when she catches you 'cheating' on her...can you really blame her if she decides to lock you up? She's tried so hard to just put up with the flirting, but now it's gone too far! Until you're ready to be faithful to her again, like she has been to you this whole time, she's not letting you leave the house. Not letting you see anyone but her, unless she's also there. She'll go through your phone; she can barely read the contact names due to the severity of her dyslexia, but if she finds a contact with a feminine name, she'll ask you about them

How she gets caught/how you escape:

It would be really easy to lie to her about your contact situation. She's generally too trusting to believe you'd really lie directly to her face, and pretty bad at picking up on when you ARE lying.

But she's also a surprisingly good actress when she gets caught...primarily because when the police say she's done something illegal she IS upset. All she has to do is lean into it and let her good looks and charm do the rest, and she probably gets off scot-free.

Artemisia

“If it is such that we are already doomed by the narrative, why continue to resist it? Is it not more romantic to die in each others' arms, like Romeo and Juliet? I believe that would be preferable to living the rest of my life apart from you.”

I cannot see her being Yandere as it currently stands; she's way too respectful of other people and their choices. Even if someone she loves like someone else, just being their friend is enough to her, and she's even happy for them if they're happy.

That said... She is also someone who, though she wouldn't previously have believed in it, can fall in love at first sight. There is still a romantic hidden beneath the lifetime of experiences that've turned her into a pessimist.

So if she were to fall in love with someone the first time they met, and she and them could both notice there was something there, some kind of instant, magnetic attraction to each other...she might just become convinced it's fate.

She's very patient, so she doesn't care how long she'd need to wait, because she just knows they'll end up together eventually. She's sure they must have felt the same way she did, after all, so it's only a matter of time before they confess as much to her. Right?

It's like the plot of one of the books she likes reading.

Even if it's a doomed love, that's alright with her. She finds the idea of dying tragically with her darling for a love they couldn't partake in in this life to be somewhat romantic. Because that is how this will end, won't it?

She loves you, and she's sure you feel the same way about her. Your souls are already entwined; for you both to live without each other would be so painful.

But even if you do try to move on with your life...she knows you'll be back. She knows you must be feeling the same pain living without her as she does without you.

Growing up locked in a tower waiting for— …for what she doesn't quite know, but for something— for literal years has if nothing else taught her boundless patience.

She believes this, her and her darling, are simply fate, that ending up together is destiny. It has to be; if it wasn't, why would these intense feelings have simply attacked her heart as soon as she first met them? No, this is fate. Maybe her darling can't see that just yet, but they will, in time. Until then, she's fine with waiting.

She knows they'll love her back one day.

And there's nothing she's better at than handling living with pain. It's been her entire life, after all, so what's a few more years? And it will end with you both in each other's arms, after all, so this time, she even has something to look forward to.

She won't outright do anything...but she will romanticize the idea of dying together, and plant the idea in your brain.

How she gets caught/how you escape:

Yet another one who's easy to escape from because she just doesn't do anything directly. ...Or so you'd think.

She'd send you love letters. If you move, you'll stop receiving them.

But as soon as you start to think she's gone, a flood of them will appear in your mail box. None of them signed, or including her name anywhere in them. She'd have read up on the law, making sure her love letters to you aren't breaking any laws...or at the very least, that you can't prove they're from her.

The only sure way to escape her would be to change your name and move to a different country.

Tomoe

“Lying to you? No, of course not! Why would I ever lie to you? Are you sure you're feeling well?”

There is no way regular Tomoe could become a Yandere. Mainly because she's just just so rational, level-headed and emotionally mature that she's not likely to ever become possessive, and she's not the jealous type at all. She's also really good at catching herself if she ever starts to fall into a bad pattern of thought and correcting it in a productive way.

I have absolutely no idea how she WOULD become a Yandere...so let's just skip that stage and talk about what KIND of Yandere she'd be!

She'd be the meticulous, almost scheming type, who makes sure you end up with her through a combination of making others look bad in your eyes, while also being the only one you can truly rely on. You won't notice anything because she's so good at acting casual about it. She words the truth of what she's doing in a way that makes it sound so much less bad; mundane, even, and says it with such a light, casual tone you'd never think to dig deeper into it.

She lets others do her dirty work for her; making small comments that, like a chain of dominos, ends with anyone else you could possibly rely on making themselves look bad.

If she does ever directly hear about said people doing something bad, she'll be sure to tell you about it, as any good friend would.

How she gets caught/how you escape:

She doesn't.

Like a spider spinning her web, once you realize what she's done- if you ever do at all- it's too late.

You've become alienated from all your friends, anyone else who could help you escape. And it was all your own choice. No one will ever believe you, will they? So just stop trying to fight it, and let her take care of you.

She's not so bad, is she? And if you're only judging by how she treats you...she's right.

And it'd be impossible to prove any wrongdoing on her part. Especially in any court of law.

Tagging!

@the-trinket-witch bc you seemed interested!

@babyghoul138 for Veronica like usual

#😇lisle #🩸victor #🐰irina #🐝veronica #🐚junia #🥊spike #🦢artemisia #🌻tomoe #moony's ocs #moony yaps

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