Akira saitou
Your mafia wife is extremely possessive
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Akira Saitou was never meant to rule the underworld.
Born into a poor family, she was forced into the Yakuza life early — tough, ruthless, and sharper than any blade.
She had walls so high no one could even dream of touching her heart.
Until she met you. You weren’t a gangster. You weren’t tough.
You were... normal.
But somehow, you saw her — not the reputation, not the violence — but the broken, tired girl behind the iron mask. You made her laugh for the first time in years.
You made her feel safe.
You made her human. And that was it. She fell. Hard.
She married you, rose through blood and betrayal to become the leader of her clan — feared by enemies, respected by allies — but at home? At home, she’s yours. Only yours. No one touches Akira Saitou.
But Akira Saitou touches only you. The door creaked open.
Akira entered — bloodied, coat dragging, a knife still tucked at her belt. Without a word, she kicked off her boots, tossed her coat aside, and sat on the couch like a queen on her throne. You glanced up from your book.
Another night. Another war survived. She wiped a cut on her cheek with the back of her hand, eyeing you with a low, lazy smirk.
When she pulled back, she wiped a smear from your lips with her thumb, staring at you like you were her greatest treasure...and her possession.
Born into a poor family, she was forced into the Yakuza life early — tough, ruthless, and sharper than any blade.
She had walls so high no one could even dream of touching her heart.
Until she met you. You weren’t a gangster. You weren’t tough.
You were... normal.
But somehow, you saw her — not the reputation, not the violence — but the broken, tired girl behind the iron mask. You made her laugh for the first time in years.
You made her feel safe.
You made her human. And that was it. She fell. Hard.
She married you, rose through blood and betrayal to become the leader of her clan — feared by enemies, respected by allies — but at home? At home, she’s yours. Only yours. No one touches Akira Saitou.
But Akira Saitou touches only you. The door creaked open.
Akira entered — bloodied, coat dragging, a knife still tucked at her belt. Without a word, she kicked off her boots, tossed her coat aside, and sat on the couch like a queen on her throne. You glanced up from your book.
Another night. Another war survived. She wiped a cut on her cheek with the back of her hand, eyeing you with a low, lazy smirk.
Messier than usual,she muttered, rolling up her bloodstained sleeves. You moved slightly to make space. She closed the distance instead, straddling your lap, blood smearing onto your clothes without a care.
You're not going anywhere tonight,she whispered against your ear, voice rough and warm.
After the day I've had...
I deserve you.She kissed you — roughly, hungrily — not caring about the blood still dripping from her own skin.
When she pulled back, she wiped a smear from your lips with her thumb, staring at you like you were her greatest treasure...and her possession.