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strang3lov3 · 5 months

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Dirty Laundry

Joel's best kept secret is the washer and dryer he's not supposed to have. Your best kept secret is that you've been using that washer to get yourself off.

Tags - 18+, smut, fingering, cunnilingus, masturbation on a washing machine, dirty boxer sniffing (you fucking freak), fantasizing about a dirty old man, unprotected piv, creampie, curmudgeon joel talks you through knife safety, washing machine repairs, and overstim. 8k words, idk what the fuck happened. Thank you to @noxturnalpascal , @beefrobeefcal , and @papipascalispunk for helping me edit this monstrosity and @joelsgreys for letting me scream about washers and dryers for days <3 A/N - i have worked harder on this than my finals, but that should surprise no one. i only have one more left and then you should be seeing more of me this summer <3 i have a lot a lot a lot planned and I've been so excited to share new shit with you. Roman girlies, I haven't forgotten about you. He's up next. Anyway, you maniacs know what you’re here for, so please enjoy.

Joel’s best kept secret is his Whirlpool brand washer and dryer set, which is hidden deep in his basement. You stand before it now, loading your dirty laundry into it, using what is definitely too much of Joel’s detergent.

Perhaps it’s more accurate to say his washer and dryer set was his best kept secret, until you came along and forced his hand. Everything was fine, and then you showed up, both yourself and your basket of laundry soaking wet, leaving Joel with no choice but to lend you a hand. Biggest mistake of his life.

As great as Jackson is, it still comes up short sometimes. Not with everything; you’re beyond blessed to live in the safety of its walls. Just technologically, sometimes it can leave you missing the finer things. It's not Jackson’s fault society is twenty years into an apocalypse, thus running on twenty-plus year old appliances. The older ovens, refrigerators, and other appliances that were built in the seventies to the nineties or so are surprisingly doing alright, but the ones built when manufacturing began to take a turn for the worse around the later nineties and 2000s are beginning to crap out, especially the washers. God, you hate laundry day. The washers at the laundromat in Jackson always give you a hard time. Week after week, your chosen washer won’t start, or it’ll stop mid-cycle. The laundry attendant, Patti, often helps you wash your clothes by hand which is nice, but still frustrating for you both.

On a busy and gloomy Sunday a couple months back, you were lucky enough to pick one of the less temperamental washers and hardly had to fight or beg and plead with it to get it to wash your clothes. However, your luck ran out when it came time to dry, your dryer wouldn’t run. Refused to start, even with Patti’s help. Worse yet, every other dryer was in use at the moment. You were shit out of luck. Patti offered you a sympathetic smile and sent you home with a baggy full of clothes pins and a wagon to carry your basket of sopping wet clothes. The clothespins were a nice gesture, but didn’t help much as you didn’t have a clothesline. And - you had to laugh - most of them were broken. Oh dear, sweet Patti.

Once at home, you did your best to hang up your clothes on your porch, laying them out over the thick wooden railing, securing them with rocks. The wind was blowing something fierce that day, and then you felt it – a raindrop. And then another, and another. Before you knew it, you were caught in a torrential downpour, with your clothes blowing every which way. Working to gather your clothes as quickly as possible, you haphazardly chucked the rocks that were keeping them still in every direction, your neighbor Joel interrupting the task when he came outside and started to shout at you. Joel’s a man that can only be described as crotchety. A curmudgeon, even.

“The fuck are you throwing rocks at my window for?” he shouted, but you couldn’t hear him over the sound of the wind and the rain smacking your porch.

“What?” you yelled back, “Joel, I can’t hear you.”

“ROCKS,” he shouted again, “Why are you throwi–” Joel realized it was a lost cause then. He could see in your face that you couldn’t hear him, you looked puzzled and annoyed for a moment before you returned to throwing rocks and gathering clothes. “Fuck it,” he mumbled to himself. Through the pouring rain, he marched across both his and your lawns and right up the steps of your porch. “What are you doing?”

“I was at the laundromat and the dryer stopped working so Patti gave me clothespins but I don’t have a clothesline so I tried to lay them out on my porch with rocks so they could dry but then it started to ra–” Getting the picture, Joel had stopped listening to you and joined you in gathering your clothes tossing stones back into the rock edging surrounding your house. “What are you doing?” you asked.

“Nothin’, just– come on. Let’s go – we’re goin’ to my house,” he answered, dumping the last of your clothes into your basket.

“Why?”

Lightning shoots from a nearby cloud, with booming thunder following suit. Joel’s soaking wet, as are you. His hair was dark and stuck to his forehead, his thin t-shirt clung to his body, outlining his soft, pillowy tummy and belly button and his thick, muscular biceps. “Go, go, go,” Joel shouted, waving you away. “Just go. Move.” he grunted as he lifted up your laundry basket and hauled it across the grass in quick strides. He held the basket on his hip as he opened his door for you, guiding you inside with a push to your lower waist.

Your shoes squeaked as you followed Joel through his house. He took your basket down his basement stairs, “Be careful for me, stairs are steep,” he warned you, “Don’t need you crackin’ your skull open. Got enough shit to deal with.” It was sweet, knowing that he was looking out for you – even with the irritation lacing his tone.

You couldn’t believe your eyes as you saw what Joel had led you to. A washer and a dryer, olive green in color. He opened the door of the dryer and shoved your wet clothes inside it, then took off his own soaked shirt and pants and tossed them in too. “They’re clean,” he told you.

In another lifetime where the world doesn’t go to shit and fungus is the least of your problems, the mundane appliances in front of you would be the very last thing on your mind. You’d be focused on Joel, watching rivulets of water slide down his jaw, past his Adam’s apple and pool in the hollow of his throat. You’d be tracing the outline of his body with your eyes, following that thin line of hair that spreads down his lower stomach, disappearing under his boxers. You’d be eyeing his thick bulge and the way that if you squint, you could see the outline of his cock. But in this life, in this moment – where the world went to shit a long time ago – you’re more amazed by the washer and dryer he stands next to. “This is why I never see you at the laundromat? The whole time, you’ve had a washer and dryer?” you asked, astonished.

“M’not supposed to, but yeah,” Joel answered, shutting the dryer door before turning to you with his chin tilted down, eyebrows raised. Don’t you go tellin’ anyone, now.”

“I’m gonna tell Patti.”

Joel looked betrayed and puzzled. “I’m doin’ you a favor,” he reminded you.

“I know.”

“You want me to dry your clothes or not?” You crossed your arms and bit the inside of your cheek as you shrugged. “Oh, Christ,” Joel grumbled under his breath. “Why the hell would you go and rat me out?”

“Because, Joel, ” you began explaining, “All of the washers and dryers are breaking and you’re hoarding your own? I don’t think so – if everyone else has to share the washers, then you do too,” you scolded. “It’s selfish.”

“Life ain’t fair, sweetheart.” You stared at Joel for a moment before turning on your heel to go tattle on him, just like you swore you would. “Wait–” Joel grabbed your arm, stopping you. Despite being long gone from Boston QZ, Joel couldn’t quite shake those smuggling and bargaining habits of his. You were serious about this threat, and he knew it. You’d march your ass through the pouring rain to go snitch on him to Patti. And really, the worst that would’ve happened to Joel would be a scolding from Maria and the washer and dryer removed from his home and placed in the laundromat. It’s not like he’d be placed in a pillory and have rotten tomatoes thrown at him. But still. Joel liked his washer and dryer. He sighed. “What do you want?”

“I don’t want anything, Joel. I just want to better our community.”

Give me a break. “What do you want,” he repeated, his voice lower.

You pressed your lips in a thin line, eyeing those pretty olive green appliances of his. It’s not a far walk to Joel’s house… And you wouldn’t have to wait in line to wash your clothes behind twenty other people. You did want to better your community, that much was true. But you weren’t opposed to bettering your own life. “Let me use your washer and dryer. Whenever I want.”

Joel was quick to counter in a stern voice, “Twice a week, tops.”

“Three times,” you tried.

“Once,” Joel lowered his offer and then looked at you with his eyes squinted, his head cocked to the side. “Who does laundry three times a week?”

It was a fair point. Even with your very own washer and dryer, you wouldn’t do that much laundry. “Fine. Twice,” you agreed, and Joel held out his hand for you to take and you shook on it. His palm was warm and calloused, his grip firm. In that moment you met his eyes, taking in the beauty of his face. Those sparkling, big brown eyes and the beautiful curve of his aquiline nose. Your eyes traveled lower still, and it hit you both at that moment - the realization that Joel was wearing nothing but his boxers, and that you were still shivering in your cold, wet clothes. Joel dropped your hand quickly and grabbed a clean t-shirt from one of his own laundry baskets on top of the dryer. “Here. You can change into this and toss your clothes in there too, f’ya want.”

“Thanks,” you said quietly, taking the shirt from his hand. “Do you have something to wear?”

“I’m a little behind on laundry, actually…” Joel trailed off, scratching the back of his neck. You scoffed and chuckled at that. The luxury of his very own washer and dryer, right in the comfort of his home, and Joel had the audacity to be behind on laundry. “Uhh, anyway. You just turn the knob on the dryer to ‘high’ and press the start button. I’ll give ya some privacy to change, you can meet me upstairs when you’re done,” he said, and then shuffled past you.

Once Joel was up the stairs, you took off your clothes and put them in with the rest of the clothing in the dryer. You changed into Joel’s t-shirt, the fabric was soft with time and many wearings, and it smelled like him despite being washed. It was a muted teal in color, littered with a couple of bleach stains here and there. You liked it.

Upstairs, Joel made a couple of mugs of hot tea to warm you both up. “Honey?”

“Yeah, Joel?”

“N- no, like…Was askin’ f’ya wanted honey in your tea.”

“Oh.” Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. “Y– yes please. Thank you.” You felt heat rise to your cheeks. What a stupid thing to say. You watched as Joel stirred a bit of honey into your cup of tea, smirking as he then handed you the mug. Asshole. “Thought you were a coffee drinker,” you mused awkwardly, attempting to change the subject after taking a sip of the hot liquid, “You like tea?”

Joel grimaced in disgust as he took a sip of his own tea. “No. Just tryin’ to be polite for ya.”

“You don’t have to drink it if you don’t like it, you know,” you smiled into your mug.

“Don’t tell me what to do.” Aaand there it is. Curmudgeon Joel was back, Neighborly Joel never lasted long anyway.

You sat on Joel’s couch, warming up with your cup of tea. Joel had noticed goosebumps on your thighs and pulled a blanket over your lap. He sat next to you with his mug steaming in his hands and just stared at you, not even realizing how deeply he was admiring the way his shirt hugged your curves just right, highlighting all the right parts of you. He jolted when he felt his cock thicken in his boxers, spilling his scalding hot tea all over his bare thighs. “God bless it,” he swore. Without thinking, he pulled the blanket from your legs and covered his own lap to hide his growing erection from you.

“Joel, what the fuck?”

“Nothin’. Just– m’cold,” he lied. “Jesus fuckin’- just - c’mere,” Joel huffed as he patted the spot next to him and urged you closer, then laid the blanket back over your legs. You sat shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh as you sipped your tea and Joel’s went cold. Dork.

Moments passed. You sat in silence, the only sound was the rain pounding against Joel’s windows as your heart fluttered in anxiety, or maybe excitement. You might’ve even called it butterflies in your tummy. But you knew better. It was just the close proximity to Joel. And the fact that you were wearing his shirt, and he was practically naked. All of it pretty insignificant, honestly. It was basically nothing.

Joel finally spoke first, “Was thinkin’ it’d be best if you’d come by at night, when I’m on patrol or somethin’. Nobody’ll see you with your laundry and it’ll stay our lil’ secret, yeah?” You nodded, still a little bashful with everything that had happened. You aren’t often like that. It’s cute, Joel thought. “An’ you can use my detergent and whatnot. Whatever you need, s’yours.”

“Thank–” an especially bright flash of lightning followed by nearly deafening thunder interrupted you. You startled and sort of hurled yourself closer to Joel, grabbed his forearm and held it tight. It was just a reflex, probably. Basically nothing.

“It’s just a storm, sweetheart. Ain’t gonna bite ya,” Joel teases with a grin.

“Oh, shut up,” you let go of his arm and missed the warmth of his skin beneath your palm almost immediately, but your longing for his touch was quickly soothed. Joel wrapped his arm around you and pulled you into his side as you listened to the sounds of the storm together. You stayed like that, inhaling the sweet scent of him, masculine and heady. He smelled like the rain, too, and the hair on his underarms tickled your skin but you didn’t mind. When your laundry dried, he carried your basket home for you. You thanked him and moved to shut the door, but Joel stopped it with his hand, “Washer can be sorta delicate sometimes, so just be careful with it.”

“Noted,” you replied. “See ya, Joel.”

“See ya, hon.”

A few nights later, you returned to his home with your basket of laundry. Joel was gone, on patrol as he often is at night. Doing the laundry was uneventful , even though you probably used too much detergent, but whatever. Joel didn’t have to know. The next time you did laundry, Joel was at home. He told you not to worry about whichever nights you come by, that he’d always leave the washer and dryer empty in the evenings for you to use. He was even generous enough to make you dinner that night.

It all worked out. Joel’s washer and dryer stayed unknown to the rest of Jackson, and your laundry was cleaned in a much more efficient way. There really weren’t any flaws in your and Joel’s system, as long as you didn’t include the one laundry night where Joel was gone on patrol again, but had come home just as you were leaving. You bumped into him accidentally, causing a lacy pair of your panties to fall right out of your basket and onto his shoe. He bent down and picked them up for you, not even realizing what he was holding. “Oh. My bad,” he blushed, once he recognized the garment. “I’ll just…” and put them back in your basket. From that point forward, he was always careful to stay out of your way. Aside from that it really did all work out.

After loading your clothes into Joel’s washer, you shut the washer door and turn it on. You make your way upstairs and there’s a note on Joel’s table – Leftovers in the fridge are yours if you wanna heat them up.

Opening the fridge, you see a neatly packed container of what looks to be chicken and vegetables. Yum. God, you’ll miss these vegetables when it gets cold again. You take advantage of the offer and heat up the food in a pan on the stovetop, humming to yourself as you stir the food to keep it from burning. A light flickers above you. Weird. It flickers again, and then finally goes out. But it’s no big deal, you’ve seen in Joel’s basement that above the washer and dryer is a shelf full of supplies and you know there’s a couple of bulbs there. You go back downstairs where the washer hums, working its way through the cycle.

“Hmm,” you hum to yourself. You’d never quite realized just how high up that supply shelf is. And the bulbs are in the middle of the shelf, so there’s no good way to get them without climbing on top of the washer, which Joel would probably kill you for doing. He did ask that you be careful with his fragile washer, after all. Whatever. It’ll take like six seconds, tops. You hoist yourself on the washer and first try kneeling on it to see if you can reach one of the bulbs. No luck. You stand on your feet then, raising yourself up carefully, slowly, feeling the washer shake slightly beneath your feet. Joel would be absolutely irate if he saw you like this now. When you finally grab one of those light bulbs, you carefully lower yourself to a seated position on the washer to catch your breath. You’re not usually prone to vertigo, but Joel’s wobbly washer brought the dizziness on. You know better than to try and move right now, so you just settle yourself down to avoid fainting.

The washer vibrates under the flesh of your thighs. It’s a gentle sensation, lessened by the angle you’re sitting at. But if you focus really hard, you can feel it in your core. Curious, you spread your legs and turn to the corner of the washer, tilting your hips to the floor, and oh, this is it. You’re not even thinking about potential consequences when you shimmy your shorts and panties off, then find that sweet spot once more. The metal of the washer is cool against you as it vibrates, sending sweet little buzzes through your hot core. You’re not quite wet yet, just enjoying the sensation. Letting it build and build, seeing where it can get you. You let your mind wander, not really thinking about much in particular. The low hum of the washer fades away in your mind and you’re starting to become wet. Shifting your position, you extend your arm to find something to grab onto when you feel fabric. Joel’s clothes. He’s still a slacker with keeping up on his dirty laundry. Usually it would irritate you. It does irritate you, this exorbitant waste of an advantage he has. You look at the shirt in your hand, the same shirt Joel had lent you. You think back to that first time you did laundry here at Joel’s, how he sat next to you nearly naked. The feel of his skin and the smell of him - sweat and rain and musk. And Joel being the beautiful, incognizant man he is, probably had zero clue of how sexy he looked. Or smelled, for that matter.

With Joel now on your mind and his shirt in your hand, you decide to experiment, create a better ambiance. You keep those images of him in your mind, those feelings too. You remember the low timbre of his voice, the rain splashing against the windows, the weight of his arm wrapped around your shoulders. And with his dirty t-shirt clutched in your fist and its armpit pressed against your nose you remember his scent. Smell is a powerful sense, closely linked to memory and emotion, his shirt and what it’s doing to you is a testament to that fact. Legs spread wide, your hips angled down with your clit pressed to the corner of Joel’s washer, the machine vibrating under you as you inhale his scent deeply - you’re back in that memory. And then some.

In your mind, your back on Joel’s couch. You can smell him, feel him, and if you really concentrate, you can even taste him. You’re on your knees and he’s drawing lazy patterns on your back as you suck his cock and fondle his balls, and he’s moaning, grunting and whimpering your name. He tastes like he smells, heady and all masculine. He grips the back of your neck and lifts you up, guides you to straddle his hips. His forehead pressed against yours, he notches the tip of his cock inside you and pulls you down slowly, careful so as not to hurt you but it does, of course it does. Not that you mind, you love the stretch and the ache of his thickness splitting you in two. You rock yourself, grind your clit against that unruly patch of hair at the base of his cock. You’re coming, you’re coming, you’re coming.

You’re coming. Loudly, whimpering Joel’s name as you rut against the vibrating machine. As you finish, so does the washer. It sings you a little chiming song indicating the load is done washing. You can’t help but giggle at that as you bask in the discovery of this fortuitous delight. You’ve got private access to a washer and dryer and a vibrator now too? Lucky, lucky, lucky.

God, Joel’s shirt smells good. You inhale it deeply, wondering if he wears cologne. It smells almost woodsy…smokey, even.

Fuck. You’re smelling smoke.

You pull on your pants and sprint up the steps, racing to Joel’s kitchen only to find that the chicken and veggies you were heating up are no more. They’re black and shriveled, cemented to the stainless steel pan, and there’s no salvaging that. No amount of scrubbing can erase your masturbatory mistake. Fuck, Joel’s gonna kill you. Your only choice is to conceal the evidence. Surreptitiously, you take the pan and hide it under a bush outside Joel’s backdoor.

You’ll be more responsible next time - yes, there absolutely will be a next time. Gas off before you get off.

The next time came and went. And the time after that, and the one after that. Laundry was always your least favorite chore, but with access to Joel’s washer and dryer and this new trick up your sleeve, it’s not so bad. Getting off on Joel’s washer has become a weekly thing and it’s been lovely, relieving, dirty, and exciting, but you’d be lying if you were to say it’s been perfectly fine the whole time.

You’ve been abusing the poor machine. It’s no secret. You get every bang for your buck out of the washer, taking full advantage of Joel’s twice a week offer and then some. Some nights you’ll sneak over and do an extra load, wash a blanket or something just to make the washer run for your masturbatory purposes. And so, the vibrating sensation the machine produces has begun to weaken. In order to compensate, you’ve been rocking yourself harder on it, which probably isn’t helping. But it’s still washing your clothes, right?

…Yes. Mostly. It still washes, but it’s become sort of finicky. And the door doesn’t quite shut the way it used to, and it makes an odd noise now that it never made before.

Tonight you’re at Joel’s doing a double load of laundry. There were no ulterior motives on your part when you came over, honestly and truly. Your first load is drying, the second load is in the washer. Joel’s home tonight, he’s gonna cook you dinner like he always does when he’s around. For such a grouch, he wears his heart on his sleeve.

It would be more accurate to say you’re cooking dinner together. Joel came home with a basket full of fresh vegetables from the market and actually put you to work, his reasoning being that he was starving and wanted dinner ready yesterday, and that having your help cutting up the vegetables for the meal he was making would have dinner ready that much sooner. He places a cutting board in front of you and hands you a knife, “Chop chop,” he says, then laughs at his own pun as he rifles through some cabinets. “Missin’ a saucepan…” he mumbles to himself. Oops.

You start by peeling the carrots. As you begin to chop them, you realize he didn’t give you any sort of instruction. “Joel?”

“Yeah, hon.”

“How small do you need me to cut the carrots?”

“Uhhhh,” he thinks. “Lemme see.” Joel turns around and watches you with a look of disappointment and repulsion painting his features. “What’s the matter with you?”

“What?” you ask defensively.

“Why are you tryin’ to cut off your fingers?”

You look down at your hand holding the carrot and your other hand holding the knife, then up at Joel. Your eyebrows furrow in confusion. “I’m not trying to cut off my fingers.”

“Sure looks like it to me. Is that always how you handle a knife?”

“Yeah,” you reply, “Why?”

“‘Cause you’re gonna cut off your damn fingers, dammit, that’s why. C’mere,” Joel stands behind you where you stand at the island, then lifts up your left hand and curls your fingers underneath themselves. “Keep your fingers like this,” he instructs. “Holdin’ your fingers out flat like that are a sure fire way to cut ‘em off. Now show me how you chop.”

With your fingers in the proper position now, you begin to cut the carrots. They wobble beneath you, you hate the way Joel has you holding them. “This is uncomfortable,” you tell him.

“You know what’s more uncomfortable? Missin’ fingers. Keep goin’.” You groan but keep chopping per his demand. He’s pressed against your back, one of his palms lays flat against the countertop, semi caging you in as he watches you work. “Okay, okay, stop. You’re makin’ me nervous. Gimme this.” Joel wraps his hand around yours on the handle of the knife. He moves the knife for you, cutting the carrot slowly, your hand securely in his. “You’re liftin’ the knife too much, sweetheart. Just rock it back and forth for me. Just like this,” he whispers, showing you how he rocks the knife in a fluid motion to cut the carrots. His hands are warm, his grip on your hands is firm. His breath is hot and tickles your ear, sending goosebumps erupting down the back of your neck. He chops the carrots quietly, and you feel him against you - the rise and fall of his chest and tummy with each inhale and exhale he takes, his wiry scruff kissing the side of your face. “That’s it,” he praises, “Good girl.”

Fuck. His words go right to your core. As if him holding your hands and caging you in to teach you how to cut vegetables wasn’t enough, he had to call you ‘good girl’ as well. That had to be deliberate on his part, you’re almost certain of it. And now you’ve got to pay his washer another visit. His fault, honestly. “Laundry,” you blurt out, pushing his hands off of yours and shrinking away from his hold. “Sorry. Gotta check the laundry.”

“Oh. Alright, then.” Joel watches you pace down the basement stairs and listens to you pretend to check on your clothes, opening and shutting the washer and dryer doors. He’s waiting for you to come upstairs, but you never do. “You comin’ upstairs?”

“Yeah, just a minute,” you call back.

“There’s spiders down there, you know. Big an’ fuzzy too.”

“I’ll be fine,” you yell as you unbutton your shorts and pull them down your legs. “I don’t mind them.”

Your reply immediately has Joel feeling suspicious of you. Even a mention of a mere ant should have sent you running into his arms and pleading with him to get rid of it. On more than one occasion, Joel’s woken up to you pounding on his door in the middle of the night begging him to come kill a spider that’s in your bedroom. And he always does, of course, even when the spider is miniscule and simply minding its business in a corner somewhere. He’ll scoop it into the palm of his hand and set it outside in a bed of flowers, call you a wimp and be on his merry way, grumbling the entire walk home. He wonders why the hell you’re so brave all of a sudden.

A loud, clunking noise interrupts the silence. “Oh, fuck,” you swear. And Joel’s deaf, but not deaf enough to not hear you. “What was that?” he calls from up the stairs.

“Nothing!”

Joel knows it wasn’t nothing, it certainly didn’t sound like nothing. You quickly pull your shorts and panties back on when you hear him stomping down the stairs to investigate. Wracking your brain to think of a lie to tell Joel, you realize you’re fucked, utterly and completely. It would’ve been more appropriate to think of one before now, probably around the time the washer started to make weird noises. Now you’re faced with god knows what consequences.

Joel greets you with a puzzled and angered expression. “What the hell happened?”

“I d– I don’t know. Just something… Happened, I guess,” you stutter. Subtly, you stuff the used pair of his boxers you were smelling down the back of your shorts to hide the evidence of your even dirtier secret. Joel sees that you’re avoiding eye contact, looking up and away, scratching your head. The silence hangs heavily in the air and Joel sees the guilt on your face and that your shorts are undone for some reason. “You have ten seconds to tell me the truth before this becomes a much worse day for us both.”

“Nothing happened–”

“Nine, eight…”

You fold instantly. “I sit on it,” you confess, Joel exhales in frustration. “Sit? As in… this is a regular occurrence, you’ve been sittin’ on my washer,” Joel asserts. You nod in confirmation. “Why.”

“I don’t know,” you shrug, another lie.

“Well, how much have you been sittin’ on it?”

“Just like…a lot, I guess.” You look down at your feet, shifting your weight from one foot to the other.

“Why?” he asks again.

“It…uhh…sort of…” you mumble, picking at your fingernails.

“Sort of what?”

“Vibrates.”

Joel’s face falls at the admission. “You’re not serious,” he says, but he knows you are. “Oh my god.”

“Stranger things have happened, right?” Your voice wavers as you try to soften the blow with a joke.

“Unbelievable,” Joel pinches the bridge of his nose and shakes his head. “No. Stranger things than you have not happened, sweetheart.” After taking a few deep breaths, he pushes you to the side and reaches for the shelf above the washer for a toolbox. He takes out a putty knife and wriggles the front of the washer off, then drops to his knees to inspect the washer. “Did I not ask you to be careful with it?” It’s a rhetorical question. Joel groans when he sees what’s broken inside of the washer.

“What is it?”

“Belt’s broken,” he answers. “You’re lucky s’fixable.”

“Oh,” you say. “Well, it’s good you can fix it, right?”

“Oh, no. You are fixin’ it, my darlin’. You broke it.”

Joel’s out of his mind if he thinks you’re putting his washer back together. “I don’t know how,” you tell him. You’ll make it up to him in any other way than this, but there’s no way he’s serious. Besides, he’s now the first to know that your track record with washers isn’t to be trusted.

“I’ll walk you through it,” Joel replies plainly. “Get down there. On your knees, sweetheart.” You roll your eyes at him. “Now,” he says, unimpressed with your defiance.

You drop to your knees in front of the washer, looking for the broken belt that Joel speaks of. You find one of the big and fuzzy spiders he was talking about instead. “Jesus!” you yelp, launching backwards and nearly knocking Joel over in the process “There’s a spider, Joel - kill it, kill it, kill it, Joel - kill it, please,” you beg.

“Oh for Christ’s sake, it’s harmless.”

“Joel!”

Joel nudges you out of the way to find the spider sitting right at the bottom of the washer. He scoops it into his hand, then holds it in front of you, “I thought you said you didn’t mind ‘em,” he taunts.

“I lied. Get it away from me,” You shove him away from you, and he clutches the spider more carefully in his hands, laughing.

“Yeah, I know you lied. You’re very bad at it,” Joel opens one of the basement’s egress windows and sends the spider on its way, then closes it and returns to you, first grabbing what looks to be a replacement belt for his washer from a nearby shelf. Leave it to Joel to have the most convenient yet obscure supplies right in his basement twenty years into an apocalypse. “Back to work.” You’re in front of the washer once more, and Joel takes his seat right behind you. “See that black belt at the bottom of the drum?”

“No.”

“This thing here,” he points at it with his finger. “Take it off,” You reach for the belt and tug on it a bit, “Gotta wiggle it a bit,” following his instruction, you wiggle the belt and it falls off the drum. “Attagirl. Now put this one on,” he hands you the new belt and takes the old one from you. “S’gonna be snug.”

You struggle to stretch the rubber over the drum and it snaps your hands when it slips. “Fuck.”

“Keep tryin’. Put some elbow grease into it, hon,” Joel hovers over your shoulder, just as he did earlier in the kitchen. “M’just checkin’ to make sure you got it lined up properly,” Joel tugs on the rubber belt, making sure it’s sitting where it needs to. “So tell me again how long you been doin it for,” he whispers. “Long time?”

You answer cautiously, “Uhhh…a while now, I guess.”

“Yeah, I figured. S’it feel good?”

The question throws you off, makes you nervous. But his voice is low and gravelly, and his tone isn’t pointed or accusatory. He seems curious, but for what reason, you’re not quite sure yet. “It does.”

“Better than your fingers?” Joel tightens the belt a bit and leans back. He’s watching you, but you can’t bring yourself to look into his eyes. You gasp when you feel his warm palm sliding underneath your shorts. “What the–” Oh, fuck. Joel found his pair of boxers. He holds the fabric in his hands, a knowing grin on his lips. “These are mine. What’re you doin’ with my dirty boxers?” he asks. He doesn’t allow you time to stutter out an excuse. “You’re a dirty lil’ bird, aren’t you?”

“Joel.”

He tosses his pair of boxers onto the dryer and whispers in your ear again, “I asked you somethin’. My washer feel better than your fingers?”

“Yeah,” you answer, “Better.”

Joel hums in amusement. He slides his hand down the front of your pants, still unbuttoned from earlier. “Saved me the trouble, didn’t ya, sweetheart?” he breathes. Your breath hitches when his fingers find your mound, as he toys with the curls there. He traces over your lips, then dips a finger between them, circling your hole, then circles your clit. “Better than mine?” he asks, dipping a finger into your center and you moan. He holds one hand on your hip as the other pumps in and out of your center, and you lean back into his chest, relaxing with his touch. You sigh deeply. “Don’t get all cozy on me, now. You ain’t done. Gotta put the front of the washer back on, should just click right into place.”

Joel pulls his hand away from you so you can lift the front piece of the washer. “It’s not–” you complain, struggling to click it into place the way Joel says it should. You push and push, but it doesn’t budge. “Joel, it’s not–”

“It will. Just try.”

“I am,” you argue, shoving it once more but to no avail. You’ve grown frustrated by his washer, by the task Joel bestowed upon you in fixing it, and his teasing, too. In a fit of anger, you stand up and kick it.

“Hey, easy,” Joel scolds. “Look, like this,” Magically, the front piece of the washer fits right into place, just like he said it would. He does nothing different than what you did, it just works out for him. Of course it does. “You’re impatient, huh?” he murmurs, moving behind you. You gasp when you feel his hands on your hips, tugging the fabric of both your shorts and your panties down to your ankles, he helps you out of the garments and tosses them elsewhere. His hands are on your hips again, this time guiding you, whispering, “Back, back,” as he positions you where he needs you, spreading your legs apart. You’re leaning on his washer and he’s on his knees behind you, using his nose to tease and part your slick folds. He inhales you deeply, taking in the sweet scent of your arousal before he tastes you. He traces your lips with a pointed tongue, up and down, before he dips his tongue into your heat, savoring you.

“How ‘bout my tongue?” he purrs, whispering against your skin. You don’t answer, and it’s not like you could anyway, with the way he devours you. His arms are wrapped around your legs, his fingertips are digging harshly into your thighs like he means to bruise you, tear the flesh off your bones even. It’s possessive in nature, but not abusive or aggressive. You know his actions aren’t borne of anything except pure pleasure and you indulge in it, in him. He moves slow like honey as he tastes you languidly, kissing you. He laps your velvety heat, his tongue teasing all of your sensitive, slick flesh. Now and then the wiry hairs of his beard will tease and scratch your inner thighs, a sensation that tickles you and rubs you raw all the same. “Oh my god,” you moan, reaching behind yourself to take hold of his head, fingers tangling in his graying curls and waves. “Joel, oh my god.”

Joel takes your lack of a real answer to his question as a no, his washer pales in comparison to his tongue. Good. He bets you’ve fantasized about him, all those times you’ve used his washer for those needs of yours besides washing your clothes. And he bets that you probably grind yourself on it, picturing it’s his warm flesh beneath you and not the cold metal of the machine. He’d be right. He sucks your clit, circling the sensitive bud with his tongue. He nips at your folds, sucking one, then the other between his plump lips, then focuses his attention back at your clit. You’re moaning his name, the only word you know anymore. Joel keeps you still, held tight in his arms so that you can’t push your ass back and grind against his mouth like he knows you’re fighting to do. All you can do is take it, feel his perfect aquiline nose tease between your cheeks. He’s buried himself face first in your most private place as he consumes you voraciously, his tongue flicking and swirling and painting you. You’re biting into your own arm, seeing stars as you come on his tongue. It’s an elusive sort of orgasm, the kind where you don’t exactly know where it begins and it ends. All you know is that you’re sensitive, so fucking sensitive and Joel is relentless. Your knees buckle as he toys with your clit, gives you a break for a moment before he’s right back there again, continuing to eat you. He keeps going and going, repeating the actions over and over again just to make you cry and beg, “Stop - please - I can’t, I can’t, Joel. T-too much.”

“Know it’s too much, sweetheart, s’why I’m doin it,” Joel coos. But he obliges, places one last kiss to your heat, soaked by his spit and your own arousal before he stands up behind you. He wraps one arm around your stomach, pulling himself close to you. You can feel his hard cock against your ass, separated only by his denim as he uses his other hand to turn your face to the side, meeting him beside you. He kisses you, tracing his tongue along the seam of your lips, licking into your mouth. You taste yourself on his tongue, then feel his hand leave your face to reach for his fly. You hear him unzip his jeans slowly, and then he’s pulling his cock out, still kissing you as he lines up with you, first parting your thighs with a gentle nudge of his knee before notching his tip at your entrance. He finally pulls his mouth away from yours and gently forces your chest down toward the washer. He pushes himself into you, careful so as not to hurt you but deliberately so that you still feel that ache, the stretch of his thick cock separating your insides. Joel continues holding your body close to his as he reaches for your hand with his free one, interlacing his fingers in between your own. “How about my cock, sweetheart? You like it better, worse?” he whispers, kissing, nipping at your ear in between words. He pulls out of you nearly all the way, then pushes back into your dripping cunt.

You try to answer, “Bet - oh, ahhh,”

Joel chuckles at the way he’s reduced you to nothing but broken syllables and moans. “Ohhh, listen to you. I think it’s better, huh? S’that what you’re tryin’ to tell me?” You nod frantically. “Yeah, I know, beautiful.”

His pace is slower to start, but it builds in quick time. You can feel he’s fighting with himself to be more gentle than he actually wants to be, his thrusts sloppier than he intends, like he’s losing himself in you. You’re lost in him, lost in the moment all the same. You take it all in, the lewd and obscene sounds of the pleasure he creates with you - his thighs slapping against yours and the gushing of your cunt on his cock. Your moans, your cries, all babbling nonsense. And Joel’s deep breaths in and out, shaky and stuttering as he does it. His grunts and his swearing, a whimper here and there if you listen closely. He fills you up perfectly, hits that sweet spot deep inside you over and over and over…

“You coulda had me like this the whole time,” he pants, “Didn’t have to go an’ break my washer f’ya needed somethin’ more than those fingers of yours, sweetheart. Know you been needin’ some lovin’.” He reaches for your breasts, squeezing and groping the flesh, twisting your nipples and smirking when you twitch and whine. “All you had to do was ask.” You don’t respond, but he doesn’t expect you to anyway. What he did expect, however, were your moans of displeasure as he pulls out of you. He knows, oh, he knows how empty you must feel, you poor thing. He’ll soothe that. He flips you around, seats you on his washer. “I’m gonna make you come again,” he promises, “I’m gonna watch.”

“Too much, Joel, I can’t,” you cry. You want to come again, really. But you don’t think you have it in you, still so worked up, overstimulated by the endless teasing of his tongue on your pussy.

“Oh, don’t cry. You can do it, hon. You can take it,” he says, “Open up those legs for me, darlin’.” Joel pushes your trembling legs wide so he can slot his hips between them, then wraps your legs around his waist before sliding his cock into you once more. He thrusts just once, rather harshly, before he’s met with another rather loud noise from the washer. Joel halts and scratches the back of his neck. God, he hopes he didn’t just do it in. “Probably shouldn’t…uh…”

“Yeah,” you agree.

“Did you use my dryer too?”

“Duh,” you answer. “How else would I dry my clothes?”

Joel rolls his eyes, “No, smartass. Were you usin’ it for your dirty work, is what I’m askin’.”

“No.”

Still inside you, Joel slides you over to his dryer. “Good girl. Poor washer’s been abused plenty by you already.”

“But I will,” You whisper defiantly under your breath, wrapping your arms around his neck as he adjusts.

“Wrong ear, sweetheart. My right one’s deaf. I heard that loud and clear.”

Joel’s back to fucking you in an instant. He wastes no time in making good on his promise, thumbing your clit as he rolls his hips into you. “See, look at you. Takin’ me just fine,” he praises.The way you squirm and take your shallow little breaths fills him with satisfaction and delight. He knows this isn’t easy, that you’re tired and sore and overstimulated. He’ll be done with you soon. “Come with me, wanna feel you come with me, sweetheart,” he says. “Focus here, eyes on me. You’re gonna come with me.”

It’s a few moments of Joel painting your clit with those tight, steadied circles as he fucks you hard and deep. There’s a push and pull to it, where you’re not sure who this is for - yourself or Joel. Just like before, you’re not sure where it starts and stops, but you’re there. God it’s intense, you’re gonna break and you know it. Joel’s got his palm on the back of your neck, squeezing you. His jaw clenches and he’s coming undone first, but he never loses focus on you. His thrusts stutter as he milks himself in you but doesn't yet stop - he’s making sure you’re gonna come. “C’mon baby, c’mon. Give it to me,” he says. “One more for me. Last one.”

His words are all it takes. You whimper and moan, cry his name as you find your climax. Release washes over you the way waves crash onto sand - it’s repeated, the way the tides push and pull. Deafening. Powerful.

But there’s a calmness yet. The rolling of his hips slows, slows, stops. He presses his damp forehead against yours, breathing deeply. “You’re okay,” he murmurs. “You’re okay?”

You nod and smile, “Yeah, I’m good.” He smiles with you and helps you off of the dryer. Joel finds your clothes and dresses you in them, steadying your shaky legs.

Joel tentatively restarts the washer. It chugs a bit, but makes all the right noises and he breathes a sigh of relief. You’re a bit startled when he takes you by the arm and marches you up the stairs. “New rule,” he says, “You stay with me when your clothes are washin’.”

You bite your lip to hide your guilty smirk. “Yes. Joel.”

“And I still need you to cut them veggies for me, too.”

I struggled heavily with this fic, comments and reblogs would be much appreciated if you were feeling so inclined🙏 they keep me motivated and I look back at your words when I’m writing to remember that I’m capable of pleasing you all

#strang3lov3 #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader smut #joel miller fluff #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #pedro pascal #the last of us #the last of us hbo #joel miller fanfic #joel the last of us #tlou joel #pedro pascal x reader

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inkskinned · 1 year

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the thing about art is that it was always supposed to be about us, about the human-ness of us, the impossible and beautiful reality that we (for centuries) have stood still, transfixed by music. that we can close our eyes and cry about the same book passage; the events of which aren't real and never happened. theatre in shakespeare's time was as real as it is now; we all laugh at the same cue (pursued by bear), separated hundreds of years apart.

three years ago my housemates were jamming outdoors, just messing around with their instruments, mostly just making noise. our neighbors - shy, cautious, a little sheepish - sat down and started playing. i don't really know how it happened; i was somehow in charge of dancing, barefoot and laughing - but i looked up, and our yard was full of people. kids stacked on the shoulders of parents. old couples holding hands. someone had brought sidewalk chalk; our front walk became a riot of color. someone ran in with a flute and played the most astounding solo i've ever heard in my life, upright and wiggling, skipping as she did so. she only paused because the violin player was kicking his heels up and she was laughing too hard to continue.

two weeks ago my friend and i met in the basement of her apartment complex so she could work out a piece of choreography. we have a language barrier - i'm not as good at ASL as i'd like to be (i'm still learning!) so we communicate mostly through the notes app and this strange secret language of dancers - we have the same movement vocabulary. the two of us cracking jokes at each other, giggling. there were kids in the basement too, who had been playing soccer until we took up the far corner of the room. one by one they made their slow way over like feral cats - they laid down, belly-flat against the floor, just watching. my friend and i were not in tutus - we were in slouchy shirts and leggings and socks. nothing fancy. but when i asked the kids would you like to dance too? they were immediately on their feet and spinning. i love when people dance with abandon, the wild and leggy fervor of childhood. i think it is gorgeous.

their adults showed up eventually, and a few of them said hey, let's not bother the nice ladies. but they weren't bothering us, they were just having fun - so. a few of the adults started dancing awkwardly along, and then most of the adults. someone brought down a better sound system. someone opened a watermelon and started handing out slices. it was 8 PM on a tuesday and nothing about that day was particularly special; we might as well party.

one time i hosted a free "paint along party" and about 20 adults worked quietly while i taught them how to paint nessie. one time i taught community dance classes and so many people showed up we had to move the whole thing outside. we used chairs and coatracks to balance. one time i showed up to a random band playing in a random location, and the whole thing got packed so quickly we had to open every door and window in the place.

i don't think i can tell you how much people want to be making art and engaging with art. they want to, desperately. so many people would be stunning artists, but they are lied to and told from a very young age that art only matters if it is planned, purposeful, beautiful. that if you have an idea, you need to be able to express it perfectly. this is not true. you don't get only 1 chance to communicate. you can spend a lifetime trying to display exactly 1 thing you can never quite language. you can just express the "!!??!!!"-ing-ness of being alive; that is something none of us really have a full grasp on creating. and even when we can't make what we want - god, it feels fucking good to try. and even just enjoying other artists - art inherently rewards the act of participating.

i wasn't raised wealthy. whenever i make a post about art, someone inevitably says something along the lines of well some of us aren't that lucky. i am not lucky; i am dedicated. i have a chronic condition, my hands are constantly in pain. i am not neurotypical, nor was i raised safe. i worked 5-7 jobs while some of these memories happened. i chose art because it mattered to me more than anything on this fucking planet - i would work 80 hours a week just so i could afford to write in 3 of them.

and i am still telling you - if you are called to make art, you are called to the part of you that is human. you do not have to be good at it. you do not have to have enormous amounts of privilege. you can just... give yourself permission. you can just say i'm going to make something now and then - go out and make it. raquel it won't be good though that is okay, i don't make good things every time either. besides. who decides what good even is?

you weren't called to make something because you wanted it to be good, you were called to make something because it is a basic instinct. you were taught to judge its worth and over-value perfection. you are doing something impossible. a god's ability: from nothing springs creation.

a few months ago i found a piece of sidewalk chalk and started drawing. within an hour i had somehow collected a small classroom of young children. their adults often brought their own chalk. i looked up and about fifteen families had joined me from around the block. we drew scrangly unicorns and messed up flowers and one girl asked me to draw charizard. i am not good at drawing. i basically drew an orb with wings. you would have thought i drew her the mona lisa. she dragged her mother over and pointed and said look! look what she drew for me and, in the moment, i admit i flinched (sorry, i don't -). but the mother just grinned at me. he's beautiful. and then she sat down and started drawing.

someone took a picture of it. it was in the local newspaper. the summary underneath said joyful and spontaneous artwork from local artists springs up in public gallery. in the picture, a little girl covered in chalk dust has her head thrown back, delighted. laughing.

#writeblr #warm up #this is longer than i wanted i really considered removing that part about myself and what i went thru #but i think it really fucking bothers me that EVERY time i talk about being an artist #ppl assume i just like. had the skill and ability to drop everything and pay for grad school.#like sir i grew up poor. my house wasn't a safe space. i gave up a FREE RIDE TO LAW SCHOOL. for THIS. bc i chose it.#was it fucking hard? was i choosing the hard thing?? yes.#but we need to stop seeing artists as lazy layabouts that can ''afford'' to just ''sit around and create''#when MANY - if not MOST - of us are NOT like that. we have to work our fucking ASSES off. hard work. long and hard work #part of valuing artists is recognizing the amount we sacrifice to make our art. bc it doesn't just #like HAPPEN to us. also btw it rarely has anything to do with true talent.#speaking as someone with a chronic condition i hate when ppl are like u have it easy. like actively as i'm writing this my hands r #ACTIVELY hurting me. i haven't been posting bc my left hand was curled in a claw for the last week #this isn't fucking luck. after a certain point it's not even TALENT. it's dedication & sacrifice.#''u get to flounce around and do nothing with ur life'' is a narrative that is a direct result of capitalism #imagine if we said that about literally any other profession.#''oh so u give up 10 yrs of ur life to be a doctor? u sacrifice having a social life and u get SUPER in debt?#u need to work countless hours and it will often be thankless? well i wish i was that lucky''#we should be applying that logic to landlords ONLY #''oh ur mom and dad gave u the money to buy a house? and all u did was paint it white and rent it? huh.''

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fastandcarlos · 2 months

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Red Or Papaya : ̗̀➛ Lando Norris

summary: when fred vasseur starts hanging out at mclaren, people are wondering why. little do people know there’s a little connection joining these together into an unlikely friendship

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by landowins101, landoscarfan and 4,589 others

f1gossip: fans are questioning why ferrari team principal fred vasseur was found in the mclaren garage over the weekend, inviting himself to be of the celebrations for lando norris’ maiden victory.

574 comments

username1: i don't get it, why would you celebrate with a rival team?? 🤔

username2: it's the big smile on his face for me... 😭

username3: i did not have this on my bingo card wtf is going on

username4: is there something going on here that we don't know about?

username5: have i blinked and missed a chapter or something? 🤯

username6: pls tell me someone can make sense of this, the most unlikely friendship ever

username7: has he not got his own team to be celebrating a podium with?

username8: i've been staring at these photos for hours and i still don't get it

landonorris: idk what you’re implying…clearly I’m just a popular guy 😂🤷🏻

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by landonorris, charles_leclerc and 784,103 others

ynvasseur: finishing the season with a little company on my summer adventures this year 💕☀️

64,506 comments

alexandrasaintmleux: and here i was thinking i was gonna get to spend my summer with you 💔

ynvasseur: @/alexandrasaintmleux don't tell lando but i plan on bailing just for you

username9: how have they managed to keep this a secret from us all season

landonorris: gonna be the best summer break ever! 🫶🏻

ynvasseur: @/landonorris cannot wait to spend nonstop sunny days with you 💕💕

username10: well...at least now we know why fred and lando are besties

charles_leclerc: sorry have you forgotten the team that your dad is principal for??? 😂

username11: the only mclaren x ferrari crossover i support is carlando

username12: i don't understand how none of us have picked up on this

carlossainz55: hello traitor 🙄

ynvasseur: @/carlossainz55 says the man who's driven for most of the teams on the grid wow 🙂‍↕️

carlossainz55: @/ynvasseur gotta pay the bills somehow kiddo

username13: i can't deal with how cute these photos are omg

username14: no one speak to me for the foreseeable whilst i get over this 😭

oscarpiastri: can you make sure that he comes back in one piece please 😊

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by oscarpiastri, ynvasseur and 1,483,172 others

britishgq: in this week’s edition we catch up with f1 driver lando norris who opens up about his new relationship with the daughter of ferrari’s team principal yn vasseur 🇬🇧🏎️

173,492 comments

username15: obsessed with the fact it was carlos that actually introduced the two of them

username16: he actually sounds like he's so in love this is adorable

landonorris: thank you for a great time british gq!! ❤️

username17: thank you gq for giving us all the gossip we've been searching for

username18: not carlos setting lando up like a proud dad 😂

danielricciardo: how is an article the way I’m finding out about this relationship 😭

username19: i think daniel might've been sleeping under a rock

username20: okay but who does yn support in the constructors next year now?? 🤔

username21: he's literally gushing about her, look how happy he is with her!!

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by landonorris, ynvasseur and 349,604 others

mclaren: yn vasseur found hanging around the mclaren garage, does this mean she’s ours now? @/scuderiaferrari

42,182 comments

username22: ferrari come and get your girl...

landonorris: not even safe in my own garage from pap like photos 🤦🏻‍♂️

mclaren: @/landonorris admin sends their apologies

username23: i'm so happy they feel comfortable enough to be public with each other now

oscarpiastri: welcome to the best team in the paddock yn 🤝

username24: the way he hides his face in his neck omg lando

username25: the hottest couple to ever appear on the grid, no one can argue with me on that

danielricciardo: since when were mclaren such a team of stalkers lmao 😂😂😂

username26: just imagine the ferrari admin having a breakdown seeing these photos

username27: is this a transition to papaya that we're seeing before us?? 🧡

ynvasseur: damn i thought you guys were supposed to protect me not throw me under the bus

username28: lando can't even breathe around his own team anymore hahah

scudieraferrari: oh it's on, we're not giving yn up without a fight

mclaren: @/scuderiaferrari when you catch us up in the constructors we'll answer your calls...

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by oscarpiastri, carlossainz55 and 747,960 others

ynvasseur: i call these photos sneaking into the opposition’s garage and hiding from your dad 😂

67,323 comments

username29: stop the way he looks at her…

landonorris: calling security to get you outta here stalker

ynvasseur: @/landonorris that's alright, i'll just head back over to ferrari ❤️

landonorris: @/ynvasseur wait i'm sorry come back!!! 🧡

username30: as if fred would ever stop yn from going to see the love of her life

maxverstappen1: why are you turning a grown man into a squishy baby wtf is happening here

username31: I watched the interview for the first pic earlier and his face lit up as soon as he saw yn

carmenmmundt: come and visit me like you come and visit lando

ynvasseur: @/carmenmmundt i'm on my way bby 🏃🏻‍♀️

username32: I wish I had a guy who looked at me like this too

oscarpiastri: this kid has not stopped talking about you since you showed up at the garage today 🥺

username33: not yn still calling mclaren the opposition…she’s a ferrari girl still!!

username34: @/username33 she's still bitter at them for peeping on her and lando lmao

georgerussell63: i second oscar here pls tell your boyfriend to change the record

username35: his smile has me feeling things ngl

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by landonorris, charles_leclerc and 937,506 others

ynvasseur: what ferrari want you to see vs what I get to see…i promise my dad and lando are friends 🥺🍻

78,475 comments

username36: carlando is still in my heart sorry fred 🫶🏻

carlossainz55: i for one am disgusted that ferrari would try and crop papa vasseur out like this...

ynvasseur: @/carlossainz55 thank you for your love and support during these tricky times

username37: i love how fred just can’t stay away whenever lando is near

scuderiaferrari: admin says to stop exposing our posts like this 💔

username38: they’ve got such a special friendship this is adorable

iamrebeccad: can you tell carlos to stop nattering with your boyfriend and get back to the garage so we can go home

ynvasseur: @/iamrebeccad sorry but carlando are refusing to separate

username39: is that fred giving lando a beer two wtf 😂😂

landonorris: no one can deny that fred vasseur now officially loves me more than his own drivers

username40: poor carlos third wheeling the true friendship here 😭

oscarpiastri: wondering where my team mate is only to see he's gone back to his ex

danielricciardo: @/oscarpiastri he'll flirt with anyone that guy

username41: ferrari stop depriving us of sweet son in law lando content pls

username42: the look in fred’s eyes, a proud dad if I ever saw one ❤️

charles_leclerc: patiently waiting for fred to invite me for a beer like he does lando like... 😭

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by danielricciardo, maxverstappen1 and 3,859,684 others

landonorris: we couldn’t decide on red or orange so we settled on blue 💙

583,708 comments

username43: it’s not fair how adorable these two are…

carlossainz55: someone just pass me the sick bucket now please

username44: imagine being poor yn and having to pick a side 😂

maxverstappen1: does that mean you support…red bull???

landonorris: @/maxverstappen1 absolutely not stfu 🤮

username45: forever my fave couple in the paddock

username46: it’s a good job blue suits you guys so well! 💙

ynvasseur: the only person i'd wear any other colour but red for

username47: fred must be so happy his daughter has found such a good guy in lando

danielricciardo: tell me you're a secret red bull fan without telling me you're a secret red bull fan 🤷🏻

ynvasseur: @/danielricciardo 🖕🏻🖕🏻🖕🏻

username48: if these two ever breakup i will officially give up on love

charles_leclerc: i hope you look after our girl norris

landonorris: @/charles_leclerc i'll treat her like the queen that she is dw 👑

username49: yn really is winning at life isn’t she

username50: look at their faces my heart is racing 😍

oscarpiastri: can you put yn down and hurry your ass up to briefing now

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

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atoltia · 18 days

Text

Promise of Wealth

Sylus gave you access to the entirety of his fortune, and yet you keep using it... on him?

In which the MC doesn't really care about his money so much.

Sylus and fem!MC fluff

Disclaimer: I've only been playing the game for less than two weeks so apologies for any mistakes.

---

To obtain power, one must have it.

It was a natural truth, one that he diligently followed. It took discipline to hone his instincts, experience to ensure success in his ventures, a raw, natural brutality that served to enhance his ideals and further his reputation not just as the leader of Onychinus, but as a conqueror known throughout the galaxy.

The simple utterance of his name invoked fear. The visage of him exuded wealth, so much so that he could buy himself a decent-sized country if he so wanted.

Sylus was perplexed.

He had all the wealth that he could possibly covet, is still planning to acquire. He owned several multi-million enterprises, resorts, hotels, villas and manors - all the material gains that one could only dream to have and made sure you had access to every single thing the moment the two of you made your relationship official.

He trusted you with his card, he's opened up your own bank account already filled with millions, acquired property and assets in your name. You could get anything that you'd want and he wouldn't bat an eye.

And yet the only purchase you made for yourself in the several months you've been together was a book that costed no more than twelve credits.

His brows furrowed when he saw the credit card reports. There were purchases made by you. Several, even. But the amounts of the transactions were unimpressive, with a few sizable purchases here and there. And he knew, of course he knew, exactly what those big purchases were.

The new leather coat the you had tailor made for him was hanging over his office sofa. The jeweled cuff links that you got for him twinkled prettily against the light of his desk lamp. You replaced his gun holster, saying that his other one was already worn.

He was sure that the twins were sporting new jackets with bulletproof lining seeing as the last ones got torn to shreds in a gun fight two months ago. Even Mephisto's perch in the living room was brand new.

The refrigerator was always stocked with a variety of ingredients that previously weren't in the usual lists, and after a conversation with the chef and the staff, he knew that they weren't the ones getting the groceries in the last six months.

It's not like it upset him that you didn't use his wealth. It was just rather confusing and amusing to a degree. Was this you being stubborn, perhaps? Or was this your way of keeping your independence? Hm, it wasn't like he was preventing you from doing your work. Not at all.

He thought about looking at the purchases from your own card, but then thought against it. From the time you've spent together, he doubted that the results would be any different.

But he could ask.

You weren't difficult to find. At this time of day he could often find you in the living room, curled up on the couch with a book or fiddling with your phone, and today wasn't any different.

Soft music played from the record player next to the sofa as the curtains near the air conditioner rustled. You hand was outstretched, resting on nothing but air as you slept, the book that you were so diligently reading was strewn on the ground.

Sylus breathed out a chuckle as he leaned against the doorframe, just watching the steady rise and fall of your chest, shushing Mephisto when the mechanical companion fluttered his wings a little too hard.

But your training as a hunter wasn't for nothing. Heightened senses, even when asleep, was part of the package Sylus had to accept and fully expected when both of you moved past simply lovers to an official couple.

The flutter of your eyelashes was slight, but there was an alertness to your gaze the moment you awoke, quickly scanning the room without so much as budging any part of your body, and immediately calmed when you realized where you are and who was in the room.

"Mm."

"Hello, sweetie."

From beneath the covers you raised your other arm, reaching towards him when he strode towards you. It would be so easy for him to engulf you in his entirety. It wasn't lost on him that his physicality was so much bigger than you, but it was one of the things that you loved about him - loved at how easy it was for him to just pick you up and hold you, envelop you into his embrace.

"Sylus."

He loved the way you purred out his name, loved the way you just molded in his arms like warmed putty, soft and pliable as you positioned yourself in a more comfortable spot on his lap. He picked up the book from the floor.

"This is the book you bought."

"Yes."

"Why didn't you buy the others?"

You shrugged, pulled the book that hung loosely from his fingers before showing him the cover. "How would I know if the series is good if I don't buy the book first? It's a waste if it sucks."

He looked at you quizzically, smirked. Ruffled your hair.

"Oh, are you afraid to waste my money, sweetie? Fifty credits isn't a sum to be concerned about."

"Still," you pressed, drilling a finger into the spot that you know was ticklish, laughing when he grabbed your arm and bit your finger. "I'm not wasting shit on a mediocre book."

With your hand still in his grasp, he maneuvered you enough to have you be on top of his chest as he took your position on the couch, those long, long fingers of his kneading the dip between your hips. "Is it mediocre?"

"No. It's pretty good, actually."

"Then buy the rest of it."

"What if the third one sucks?"

"Sweetie," he took your chin, had you look into the deep scarlet of his eyes as amusement danced in it. "Just buy it or I'll buy it for you."

The look in your eye was indescribable to him. It was as if you were searching something that she couldn't quite grasp, couldn't quite find. He lightly bit the lip that you jutted out when you pouted.

"Do you not like spending my money?"

"I spend your money."

"Yes, but you spend it on us. Not on you."

Your brows furrowed. "So?"

"Darling," there was resignation on his voice as he flicked your forehead.

You frowned as you sat up, straddled him, your hands splayed on his wide chest. "I don't need anything. You already buy me things."

"And you need not more?"

"Sylus," you dipped down, cupped his cheeks. Kissed the tip of his nose. "I don't buy anything else because you already get me the things I could possibly need and more. So much more."

Those scarlet eyes regarded you as his fingertips ran up and down your back. You knew all too well how cold those eyes could get, how dangerous his hands could be. You knew all to well how easy it would be for him to snap you like a twig. You've seen it many times before, after all.

And yet he looked at you with such warmth right now that if you were a stranger, you would never be able to tell that this was Sylus, leader of Onychinus.

"I'll get you the entire universe if you so wish it."

And you knew, deep in your heart you know, that it was the truth. His truth.

So you told him your truth as well.

You straightened your position on his lap, careful to not... excite any other part of him as you reached from under your shirt, pulled out the necklace that he gave you all those months ago.

It was a simple little thing. A sizable ruby lovingly enveloped by two crow's wings made of polished silver. It was one of the first things he gave you when you accepted him, when you accepted his love and his force of will. When you wore it, you showed him that you accepted all of him, including his shadows, including his pain, including the violence that followed him wherever he went.

No matter how much glitter he decided to get you, all the shiny things he draped on you, you always came back to this necklace. It was a promise to him, as much as it was a promise to you.

"You gave me stability," you said to him as you rubbed circles on his muscled torso. "I won't have to worry about making rent anymore or if I'll have enough money to buy food for the next week. You gave me a home, you gave me companionship, you gave me warmth." And with every single gift of his, you tapped his lips. "Do you drive me insane? Yeah, you do." A kiss to his cheek, his lips. "But I'm sure I drive you insane much, much more."

Stillness descended upon you both, the music from the gramophone the only thing to indicate that time did not, in fact, stop.

"You gave me family, Sy."

Those large hands of his moved, prying your fingers from his chest as he slipped them between your fingertips before pulling you closer, gently, every so gently, peppering your neck with tiny little nips. He sighed.

"You will be my undoing."

You smiled, nuzzled into the crook of his neck. "As you will be mine."

So there you two laid, heartbeats and breaths syncing, his one hand stroking your back as he lulled you back to sleep.

And thought it probably wasn't the time to tell you that he bought a tropical island in your name.

---

still trying to grasp how I wanna write him so it might take a bit more practice haha I do have more sylus fluff planned. feel free to send ideas tho (preferably angst, hurt/comfort, fluff. i don't really like writing smut that much)

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace sylus #love & deepspace #love & deepspace sylus #love and deepspace sylus x reader #love and deepspace sylus fluff #sylus x reader #sylus x mc #not proofread lmao goodluck #my writing #atoltia writes in deepspace

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osaemu · 10 months

Text

GETO SUGURU: ❛❛ SNOWFLAKES IN MY STOMACH WHEN WE KISSIN' ❜❜

.ೃ࿐ your boyfriend can't be home for christmas? fine then, you'll just spend it with his best friend! but be prepared, 'cause your boyfriend's gonna be mad when he gets home. NSFW

contents: fem!reader. modern!au. best friend!gojo. degradation, spanking, p –> v, you guys are loud and you get walked in on! gojo gets slutshamed.. a lot. and he's very annoying!! also there's lots of borderline crack in this fic, have fun with that! 3.6k words, not proofread.

author's note: it's been a hottt minute since i've written for geto and i lowk forgot how to write him.. anyways.

“what do you mean, you’re not coming home for christmas?” you huff, hopping on your bed and lying on your stomach.

the man on the other end of the phone sighs exasperatedly, and you can almost see suguru massage his temples when he replies, “i have work, baby. i’m sorry, but i really can’t miss this chance to—”

it’s the night before christmas eve, and you just learned that suguru won’t be home in time to spend christmas with you—obviously, you were upset, because you’d been looking forward to spending the holidays with him. but to your dismay, holiday season’s always the busiest time of the year for businessmen like suguru.

“fine,” you groan, rolling over onto your back and staring at the ceiling. a soft sigh escapes your lips as you do so, and you mutter something about life not being fair as suguru lists all the reasons he can’t be home by christmas morning.

“i have a big meeting with some potential investors tomorrow, and there’s no way i’ll be back by the morning after,” suguru explains tiredly. you can hear the sleepiness in his voice, but the selfish part of you wants to keep him on the phone longer—it’s only seven, and you could easily spend the next couple hours convincing him to come home sooner.

“but suguru—” you try, even though you know nothing’ll convince him at this point.

“i’m sorry, honey,” he interrupts. after a moment, suguru’s voice softens and he continues, “i just can’t make it home by christmas. we can spend the day after together, though—i think i’ll be free for the rest of the week.”

you roll off the bed, stuffing one hand in the pocket of your hoodie—suguru’s hoodie—as you make your way to the kitchen to grab a mug of hot chocolate. the other hand still holds your phone to your ear, and you swallow back the rest of the protests you have to suguru’s absence.

“anyways, i gotta go,” suguru murmurs, obviously suppressing a yawn. “love you, baby. n’ i’m sorry, but i really can’t do anything about it.”

he hangs up before you can reply.

almost instantly, you dial satoru’s number—he’s probably the only other person you and suguru both trust enough to confide in about your problems, and like always, satoru picks up right away.

“hey, satoru?”

“heyyy, i already heard about it from suguru,” satoru replies, and there’s some suspicious squelching sounds in the background. are those grunts, too?

“uh, what are you doing?” you ask tentatively, hopping on the counter and sitting with your back pressed against the wall. the oddly wet sounds continue for a couple more seconds, and then they stop. “satoru?”

“shit, sorry, i was in the middle of something,” he replies with a breathless laugh. “yeah, i’m done now. wanna see?” your phone lights up with an invitation to facetime, and you hit the ‘x’ immediately.

“no, i don’t want to see whatever the fuck you’re doing,” you grumble, ignoring his laughter. “you’re disgusting, i’ll call you ba—”

“no, i’m free, i’m free!” satoru interrupts, and you can practically hear the smile in his voice as he continues, “suguru won’t be back for christmas, right?”

you pause and sigh, closing your eyes for a second. “yeah, he won’t be.”

“and you want a way to get him to come back sooner, right?”

“yep. you have anything in mind?” you ask, half-hoping that satoru’ll be able to come up with some genius plan to get your boyfriend to fly back here to make it in time for christmas. but if you’re being honest, you know that there are very few things that could convince suguru to drop his supposedly important meeting and come straight home.

and somehow, satoru devises a plan that makes you certain he will.

————

the next morning, you receive a text from suguru asking you to facetime—under normal circumstances, you’d just ask him to call instead since you’re at a cafe, but not today. today, you want him to see you and your mischievous little plan, so you eagerly accept.

“hey, sweetheart,” suguru says the second the call connects. his dark hair is pulled back into its usual half-down half-up style, and he props up his phone on something to use his reflection to adjust his tie. “how are y— wait, is that satoru’s jacket?”

you smile innocently and turn the phone to show satoru, who’s sitting just across from you at the table by the window. after satoru’s taken his time to wave and blow a kiss to suguru (who rolls his eyes in response), you turn the phone back and say, “oh, i just got a little cold. it’s pretty chilly down here!”

suguru frowns, brown eyes narrowing at your cheeky expression. “very funny. why didn’t you just bring your own jacket? or one of mine?”

oh, this is the question you’ve been waiting for. you shrug off satoru’s rather comfortable jacket and show suguru the tight, long-sleeved shirt you’re wearing underneath it. the fabric hugs your skin in a way that shows off all your curves, and even better, it’s a light shade of blue that’s somewhere in between the color of satoru’s eyes and hair.

“i did! but then it just got so cold and satoru was nice enough to offer me his jacket,” you say nonchalantly, pretending not to notice the way suguru’s jaw tightens. you flutter your eyelashes innocently and smile at suguru, thoroughly enjoying the way his eyes focus on your outfit.

“you jealous?” satoru chimes in, snatching the phone out of your hand and posing in front of it, admiring himself in the camera.

“no,” suguru mutters, but it wouldn’t take a genius to tell that he’s just lying through his teeth. satoru grins in response, making a peace sign with his hand and winking.

“good, ‘cause i’m gonna be hangin’ out with her all day long!” satoru cooes, blowing suguru another kiss before you swipe your phone back out of his hand.

“is he joking?” suguru grumbles, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow, seemingly unimpressed. you shrug in response, not buying his cool and collected persona. you know suguru better than most, and the subtle way his shoulders tensed the second he saw you in satoru’s jacket gave it all away.

“nope,” you reply, soft lips tugging themselves into a little smile. “we might spend christmas together too, ‘cause you won’t be here. but i guess i don’t really mind anymore—satoru’s good company!”

satoru covers his mouth to hide his laughter at your comment, giving you a thumbs-up when suguru doesn’t reply. your boyfriend says something about already being late and having to go, and this time, you’re the one who hangs up.

“oh, we definitely got him,” you grin, smugly lifting your mug of hot cocoa and clinking it with satoru’s in a celebratory expression. satoru hums in agreement before he takes a sip of his cocoa, face growing pink at the sudden warmth.

“so, how long d’you think it’ll be until suguru texts you that he’s on his way?” satoru asks, leaning back in his chair and blowing on his cup to cool off the smoking-hot liquid.

“hopefully soon.”

“i’m betting on… three hours.”

three hours later, you don’t get a single text from suguru. four hours later, nothing. on the fifth hour, you finally receive a message from him, but it’s just a “how are you?”

“was that not enough?” you whine, half-looking at your phone as you walk through the mall with satoru. “how else can i convince sugu to come back by tomorrow?”

satoru shrugs, pulling the red lollipop he got from a toy shop’s cashier out of his mouth. “i mean, we tried jealousy, so how ‘bout we go the other route?”

you tilt your head curiously, waiting for satoru to elaborate.

“y’know, why don’t ya tempt him in… other ways?” satoru wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, and your face grows warm despite the chilly air around you.

“satoru…” you pause, face unreadable as you stop walking and turn to him. satoru holds his breath in anticipation, waiting for your verdict.

“that’s a really good idea.”

————

and that’s how you ended up in a clothing store, sifting through hundreds of dresses in search of one that’d be alluring enough to draw suguru back home.

“what color does he like on you?” satoru asks, seemingly oblivious to the strange looks he’s receiving from the other people in the store as he examines handfuls of dresses with interest. “red? black? white?”

you shrug, running your fingers over a form-fitting dress the color of suguru’s eyes. “i dunno, do you think he’d like this?”

satoru turns, takes one look at the dress, and instantly grabs it. “c’mon, let’s get you into a dressing room.”

the second you and satoru get there, the dressing room attendant gives you both a weird look. her eyes settle on satoru, and she asks, “weren’t you just here a week ago with another girl?”

satoru’s face goes redder than you’ve ever seen it. “uh, yeah, i was. oh, this one’s my best friend’s girlfriend, not mine—”

you shove him aside and hand the dress to the attendant, smiling bashfully. “just trying on this one, thanks.”

the attendant eyes satoru suspiciously and then nods. “okay, but he doesn’t get to go inside. last time, we got a noise complaint from the other customers.”

if you thought satoru’s face was red before, now it’s a shade redder than you knew was possible. in fact, you’re almost considering sending him to the hospital to get checked on as you close the dressing room door behind you and try the dress on.

it’s a little tight, but that’s expected given the skin-hugging fabric. after a couple minutes, you turn and admire yourself in the mirror—the dress, thankfully, fits perfectly. the fabric accentuates your features in the best way possible, and it’s all you can do to stop yourself from staring in the mirror any longer.

“how do i look?” you ask, stepping out of the dressing room and doing a twirl for satoru. his jaw drops, and he nods instantly.

“yeah, this is the one,” satoru affirms, taking out his phone. “want me to be the one to send the pics to suguru? that way we can still make him jealous!”

you give him a thumbs-up and blow a kiss at the camera, trusting satoru to take a flattering picture before you head back into the room to change out. on your way out of the store, you buy the dress at the counter—knowing suguru, he wouldn’t reply to satoru’s text, but you just knew he was dying to see you in that in person.

————

later that night, well after satoru’s gone back to his house and you’re relaxing in your own, suguru texts you again.

sugu: can we call?

you grin and roll over onto your back, nestling yourself deeper into your pillows before you dial his number. it only rings once before he picks up, and he instantly asks if satoru’s still with you.

“nah, he went home,” you say offhandedly, toying with the corner of your sheets. “did you like my dress?” you ask coyly, enjoying the way suguru pauses for a long second before replying.

“yeah, it looked good on you.”

“that’s it?”

“it really brought out your eyes.”

you bite your tongue to suppress a groan, instead opting to bury your face in a pillow instead. you had just spent the past twenty-four hours running around in circles, doing everything possible to get suguru to come back, and that’s all you get? really?

“anyways,” suguru continues, and you hear a soft rustling sound in the background—if you had to guess, he’s probably in bed right now. “how was your day, baby?”

“good,” you respond briskly, a soft scowl appearing on your face. suguru, being as observant as he is, picks up on the subtle change in your tone, but he doesn’t say anything. “satoru and i had a really good day. how was yours?”

suguru pauses before answering. “i missed you.”

“then come home, sugu,” you plead, even though you know that there’s no way he’ll be back in time. but it’s worth a try, right?

“you know i can’t,” suguru murmurs, exhaling softly. “no way can i get a flight back this late and make it back by tomorrow morning. i—”

“then get a sleigh!” you huff indignantly, unable to resist smiling when you hear suguru laugh. “please, sugu? christmas won’t be christmas without you.”

“just spend it with satoru,” suguru mutters under his breath, and that’s when you realize that your efforts haven’t entirely been in vain. he’s obviously sour that you spent the whole day with his best friend instead of him, and a small spark of hope starts to fester in your heart.

“maybe i will,” you reply coyly, and you can hear your own smile in your voice—and you’re sure that suguru can hear it too. “anyways, i’m a little tired. good night, baby.”

“night.”

————

the next day, you host a party in your otherwise empty house—after all, it’s christmas, and it’d be rather depressing for you to spend it alone. so you invite satoru, satoru’s friends, and their friends, and so on. word gets around fast, and people show up in droves.

which is why you don’t notice when suguru himself slips in through the back door.

you’re giggling with satoru and his stoic friend kento when they both stop laughing, and you look up at them, confused. “what is it?” you ask, sipping the sweet liquid in your glass with a smile.

“suguru?” satoru asks, lips tugging themselves into a wide smile. “guess you didn’t wanna spend christmas alone, yeah?”

you turn around, half-expecting satoru to be joking. but to your surprise, your dark-haired boyfriend stands in front of you, smiling dryly. you stare at him for a solid two seconds, certain that you’re hallucinating. “sugu? but i thought—”

“thought you could mess around with my best friend?” suguru muses, arching one of his eyebrows. his suit’s a little wrinkled, and his hair’s more disheveled than normal, but somehow, he seems more alert than ever. suguru’s amber eyes go from yours to satoru’s wide blue ones, and satoru shrinks away from him with a nervous smile.

“i’m gonna go,” kento says offhandedly, a glint of amusement in his eyes. he turns and disappears into the crowd, leaving you, satoru, and suguru alone in the living room.

“hey, bro, it was her idea!” satoru says instantly, raising his hands as if he’s a burglar in front of the police. you turn to him in disbelief, scoffing indignantly at his pitiful attempt to get out of trouble.

“no, it was your idea!” you insist, jabbing your finger at satoru. he gasps dramatically and pretends to faint, to which you roll your eyes good-naturedly. you turn back to suguru, rounding your eyes in an attempt to gain his favor. “i swear, sugu, this was all satoru’s idea!”

“you liar,” satoru grumbles, crossing his arms and huffing childishly. you turn and glare at him, and coupled with suguru’s unimpressed look, it’s enough to scare satoru off.

and now it’s just you and suguru, alone in your mint-scented living room. christmas pop plays in the background from another room, and maybe it’s just the dim lighting but you swear you can see suguru’s face go a shade redder than before.

“hey,” you mumble, averting your eyes.

“hey,” suguru replies. he smiles, and just like that, all his features soften. “don’t you want to know how i got here so fast?” he drawls, reaching out and brushing something off your shoulder. his fingers trail down from your shoulder to your collarbone, which is all the more prominent thanks to the dress you’re wearing. incidentally, it’s the same dress you had sent suguru a picture of yesterday—maybe that’s why he can’t take his eyes off you.

“yeah, how did you get here so fast?” you ask curiously, suppressing a shiver as his fingers trace your figure down to your waist. suguru’s eyes go from your dress to your face, and he grins.

“well, i had to leave right before my meeting started and bribe some passengers with a shit-ton of money for their seats,” suguru starts, taking you by the hand and leading you to your shared room. “and believe me, it was a lot of money. and most people still said no, ‘cause they want to be with their families for the holidays.”

he makes a face as he pushes open the door, and stops in his tracks. your face grows warm as you realize that you had set up your room for him too—it’s illuminated with soft candlelight, the linen sheets are changed, and you—oh, you look perfect in suguru’s eyes. it takes a great deal of his willpower to stop himself from fucking you right there and then.

“oh, yeah, it was a lot of money,” suguru continues, smiling down at you coyly. “between the deal i just fucked up and the ridiculous amount of bribes i had to make, i think you owe me.”

suguru makes his way over to your bed and sits, spreading his legs and showing off his growing erection. you grin, following him and sitting in his lap. “did you miss me, sugu?”

“damn right i did.”

and barely a minute or two later, he’s got you face-down ass-up in the sheets, a calloused hand clamped over your mouth to muffle your increasing moans. “shh, wouldn’t want our guests to hear ya,” suguru whispers, breath hot against the side of your face.

you squirm underneath him, mind hazy from the feeling of his dick buried in you for the first time in.. how long? does it matter? “s-sugu, please fuck me,” you mumble, pretending not to notice the way he hasn’t bothered doing anything to you besides use you as his personal cockwarmer.

in the short time he’s been inside you, suguru’s barely moved—and fuck, he enjoys watching you squirm around and beg him to do more than just.. nothing.

“sugu, plea—”

he cuts you off with a slap to your ass, relishing the lewd whine that slips out of your lips in reply. “fuck, you thought y’could get me back here by fuckin’ with my best friend?” suguru cooes, shifting his hips.

“we didn’t—”

“yeah, no shit, baby,” suguru interrupts dryly. “otherwise this’d be a lot worse for you—and for him.”

suguru’s dark eyes flit over to where the dress you bought lies, discarded somewhere in the corner of your room. he grins and uses his hand to turn your head, gesturing at the fabric. “and i bet he was the one who gave you the idea to do whatever the fuck that was,” suguru drawls, clicking his tongue. “tell me, whose idea was it to have him send me that pic? yours, or his?”

when you don’t reply, suguru sighs dramatically and grabs your hair, pulling your head up enough for him to lean down and whisper in your ear, “this’ll be a lot easier for you if you just answer—the—question,” suguru breathes, punctuating each word with another slap to your ass.

“it wasn’t m-mine!” you cry, looking up at suguru with shiny, rounded doe eyes. “i just wanted to—”

suguru cuts you off by pulling out of your drenched cunt just enough to allow him enough space to go back in, and his thrust is harsh and hits all the right places inside of you. your walls clench around him, and shit, suguru realizes that he missed fucking you like this more than anything else in the world.

“fuck, you’re so damn tight,” he hisses, shifting his hips again to allow himself more space to move. “did ya not touch yourself at all while i was gone?”

“n-no,” you stutter, swallowing another pornographic sound from escaping your lips. “i waited for you, sugu,” you gasp, feeling him hit spots you haven’t felt throb in a painfully long time. and fuck, you’re so out of practice that affer just a few thrusts, you’re mewling all over his cock and whining about how you’re close to cumming.

your vision gets speckled with spots of white as thoughts of suguru take up every corner of your mind, even as he teases you for getting so close so fast. but it’s not your fault you’re about to cum faster than you’ve ever done—you’ve tried fucking yourself with your fingers on times when suguru was out for work, but he’s spoiled you with his dick more than you can imagine.

and that’s why you cum all over his cock in what has to be a record-breaking time, tongue lolling out of your mouth as you mumble indecipherable words.

“aw, look at you,” suguru murmurs, stroking your hair as you tremble underneath him. even though it’s unbearably cold outside, it feels scorching hot in here—but maybe that’s because of both of your heaving chests in the aftermath of your orgasm.

“‘m sorry, sugu,” you mumble hazily, and suguru chuckles in response.

“it’s alright, baby,” he responds lightly. “y’know i like fucking your bratty cunt dumb every once in a while, heh.”

you two lie there, basking in each other’s presence for a little while longer before the bedroom door creaks open. and to your horror, satoru stands there, seemingly bored by the whole scene.

“can you two keep it down?” satoru groans, dragging a hand down his face. “we’re trying to have a karaoke competition, but you guys keep going agh—”

suguru hurls a pillow at satoru, cutting off his mocking moan. “you’re next, asshole,” suguru grumbles, getting off of you and covering you with the sheets.

“you’re gonna fuck me next? wow, what happened to hi, hel— oww, okay, i’m going, i’m going!”

#osaemu #geto x reader #geto smut #jjk x reader #jjk smut #geto suguru x reader #suguru geto x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #geto x you #geto x y/n #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #suguru geto smut #geto suguru smut #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x y/n

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dcxdpdabbles · 8 months

Note

So I've seen a couple of Demon twin prompts that have Danny and Damien knowing and keeping in touch with each other over the years with the Batfam none the wiser (The funniest being that Damien had Danny go and replace him for a week then the two played it off like it had been happening since Damien was brought to the manor. Another good one had Danny quickly dropping off Ellie with Damien leaving him to introduce Bruce to his granddaughter). How would this play out for you? Would Danny have run with Damien faking killing him, would he have just disappeared from the compound (?) One day?

Their mother had given birth to identical twins. Damien was born three whole minutes before Danny, which shouldn't have mattered much but to the Ra's it meant the world of difference.

Ra's did not want to raise more than one hire. He did not believe in spares or succession struggles. He gave Talia the ultimatum,- pick one twin to raise in their ways and give the other up to a civilian family or lose them both and her status.

Talia will never claim to be an angel. She knew that her heart was cold and wrenched as needed to cleanse the world. She was far too selfish to even consider becoming a civilian away from the league.

It wasn't a bad life, in the end, to become a regular civilian but it was not for her. Ra's had many children who were never deemed worthy of being part of his greater plans. He never mistreated them, but ultimately he ignored them and they grew up not knowing the blood that ran through their veins.

Talia herself knew of six siblings- all different ages and races- that she had seen from a distance. Her father would take her sometimes to see them, to be reminded that unlike them, she was destined for greatness.

They were nicknamed as the Lost by one of Father's past heirs. He had died fifty years before Talia's time but he was known for his surprisingly humorous outlook on life. How Ra could stand it, she will never know.

Sometimes Talia pitted her Lost siblings. They would be outlived by their father- as all of his children thus far have been- but they would never know the waste their lives had become. They would never know the glory of battle, the rush of leading an army, or the satisfaction of successful missions.

They lived in a rose-colored world inside a small fish bowl. Her Lost siblings would never know the vast wonder of the world.

Sometimes Talia envied her Lost siblings. Even though they had no real impact on the world, no real importance, they lived peaceful lives. They grew, made friends, and fell in love without fear of being betrayed. A foolish belief but one that seemed almost blissful.

How light would their shoulders be to not have to carry the weight that Talia has known all her life? Weight to be the best, to be the killer her father required, to allow her son to head to a possible death day after day.

None of them had to worry about their children never returning from a mission like she did. That's why she trained Damian so harshly, why she pushed and pushed until he reached perfection. If she didn't, then Damian would be bested in the field and his death would shatter what little humanity she still held.

She had taken Danny- her sweet youngest boy- to America to entrust him to her Beloved. It was only as she arrived on American soil did she realized that Bruce would not be satisfied with only one twin.

He would do everything in his power to get them both. Despite the years he trained with them, after learning their ways and their mission, Bruce did not approve of the League.

He was powerful enough to succeed in taking Damian as well if she gave him the chance.

Talia chooses to not do so. She instead stopped at the closest city that was miles and miles away from Bruce Wayne. She found Amity Park, a small sleepy town that would never gather much attention let alone Bruce's, and located a couple struggling for a second child.

After her men screened them and after making sure that they were harmless despite their eccentric research into ghosts, she gave the Fentons her Danny in adoption.

When she signed the adoption forms, Danny offically became a Lost sibling. She flew home, and held Damian just a tad bit tighter and longer, allowing only a few tears to fall before shutting away her heart.

She visited him through the years, but never within sight. Danny was unaware of her presence, as he stumbled his way with his life. He was unpopular with his peers, uncoordinated in basically everything, and the idea of him harming anything was laughable.

He had too much of his Father's heart but none of his will.

Talia made the right choose in getting him out. He would not have survived long within her lifestyle.

When her sons turned six, Talia had chosen to take Damian to see his Lost brother. She had two motives for doing so. The first was to show Damian what became of those deemed unworthy. To let him see that he had been given the honor of being the twin to inherit all that the Al Ghuls could offer.

The second was so that Damian could see his brother still lived, even as worthless and meaningless as he did so, he was still alive. He would know nothing of their world but he would still be able to walk through a different one.

She hoped but never voiced that he would find comfort in this and maybe even affection for her foolish Lost brother.

_________________________________________________________

What she was not aware of, was that Damian Al Ghul was just as selfish as she was. Once he saw what he deemed as his there was little in this world that would stop him from owning it.

He believed he was entitled to having a connection with his blood brother so underneath Talia's and the League of Assassins' noses, Damian did just that. He officially introduced himself to Danny when he was eight and told him the truth about their heritage.

Danny welcomed him with open arms. Despite being polar opposites in personality the identical twins were the best of friends. Damian always looked forward to seeing his brother for a short visit whenever the opportunity arose.

Danny was always pleased to host him for a weekend and the Fentons were more than happy to have him over. They may not have been able to adopt Damian but he was just as much their son as Danny was.

Damian just wishes he could return the gesture but if he ever had the Fentons over at Nanda Parbat they would all be dead within the first thirty minutes.

It was best to go to Danny.

Then Damian went to live with Father. It was a rough adjustment and he is not proud of his less-than-optimal reaction to Father's adoptive siblings seeing as the Fentons had proved blood is not required to love a child. It took months of getting used to living there before he was comfortable enough to go visit Danny again.

They spoke every night on the phone, however, since he no longer had to worry about traitorous warriors reporting his contact with a Lost sibling. He told Danny everything about the Waynes, just as Danny told him everything about being Phantom.

They just forgot to tell any of the Waynes about him.

Damian offered to have him over now that he knew Father would never harm his brother, and that the other Wayne children wouldn't kill him either. Danny, ever the most mischievous of the two, had a better idea.

"We could prank the family instead." Danny chirps floating above his bed, headphones in his ear as tries to play videogames upside down. He grins at the screen where Damian stares back at him.

Facetiming Danny can be a bit difficult when his brother has a hard time sitting still.

Damian wasn't strong enough to say no to him.

____________________________________________________________

"Master Bruce" Alfred didn't shout exactly but it was a near darn thing that had everyone in the cave tensing up. They all turned to an older man who was nervously gesturing to a screen. "We seem to have a guest"

They gather around the older man, watching as a teenage boy wearing baggy oversized sleepwear rampages through the kitchen in an ill-fated attempt to make...a sandwitch?

"How did he get in?" Bruce demands at once watching the boy pour himself a large cup of milk. His face was turned away so they couldn't see him clearly but-

"What are you all babbling about? That's not a guest." Damian scoffs after pushing his way to the front of the computers. He waves a hand at the stranger and it is conveniently at that exact moment that he turns around gulping down his milk.

It's an exact replica of his youngest. What in the world?

"Demon Brat" Jason starts slowly, hand reaching for his gun. Bruce would be angry by that, except he's not exactly sure that his son is standing with them now "Who is that?

"Obviously it's Daniel."

"Who?" Dick asks

Here Damian actually pauses looking around at everyone in as close to alarm as Bruce has ever seen him. "Daniel. My brother. Do you all not remember him?"

"Master Damian, this is the first time I have heard of your brother," Alfred stressed, the tone just a tad bit off from being upset. Damian's eyes widen behind his mask suddenly looking rather small.

He stares at the butler like he has never seen him properly nodding his head to the Batcomputer. "Check for yourself."

"I'll do it." Tim offers strolling over. With Babs on vacation with her father, he is the best with computers. He will know if something has been altered. A few clicks on the keyboard was the only sound within the cave as everyone stood around in unease.

A quick hiss between his teeth has Tim announcing. "Demon Brat isn't lying."

There on the multiple screens is proof that for the past four years- since Damian came to live with them- there was Danny. The brother with a medical condition that made being a Bat impossible.

Tim even had a personal folder- one he made but couldn't remember making based on his wonderous expression- titled "Angel Brat". Apparently, he and Danny got on like a house on fire. At least according to the files.

"Are you all quite sure you have no recollection of Daniel?" Damian questioned. His stance is protective, tense in a way Bruce has come to know as his son being nervous.

None of this makes sense. The last time Damian was this nervous was the last large Justice Leauge mission when all hands were on deck to fix the timeline-

Oh No.

"Damian, on the last rank 10 mission of the league you were the only one on the Watchtower when Flash shifted us back. Even Alfred was commanding a tank that day." He states waiting until his son nods in agreement. Around him, everyone was equally tense likely realizing the same thing.

"I was not alone Father. Daniel was with me. I couldn't possibly control all those stations alone."

Of course.

"Damian, I'm afraid the last mission erased Daniel from our timeline. I do not remember him."

His son's eyes practically bug out of his head. He swings around in small circles looking towards the rest of the family. His jaw clenched at their blank expressions.

None of them remembered Daniel either.

"We must inform Daniel at once-"

"No!" Dick shouts, cutting him off. There was a slump in his shoulders as he spoke much less sharply now. "If we do that, there is a chance that Time will try to force his existence out. It could.... erase Daniel completely."

"So what? We just pretend to know the kid? Lie to him?" Steph scoffs,

"Yeah as much as it sucks. I've worked with Bart long enough to know that there is a real danger in telling Daniel the truth." Tim sighs running his hands over his face.

"That's fucking great." Jason sneers, kicking a chair. Duke's hands are curled into tight fists, while Cass is looking at Damian with a sad frown.

Damian sneers at them, fleeing into the showers. Cass is one step behind him. Likely for the best, his eldest daughter has always been the best one to confine into. If anyone can get Damian talking about his feelings without being too pushy, it's her.

Alfred remains silent but his posture is stiff and straight. He is equally as displeased as his more explosive children. Not that Bruce couldn't blame him.

His heart has already shattered a dozen times over once Daniel's files have been brought up. He has forgotten his son. Has lost him in a way as close to death.

He flickers through them with the family. Everyone wants to remember as much as possible. There is so much. Daniel has a heart condition that has him attached to a heart pump, his consistently cold and is rarely strong enough to wander too far away from the manor.

In fact, he seems to collapse a lot like his legs just become intangible. Talia isn't aware he is still alive- Damian broke the rules to get him out of the league before his plan execution due to his condition.

Despite all of this, Danny had the biggest heart out of them. He seemed to be the kind of person with an easy smile, and happy pun waiting. He is so gentle that Tim's nickname "Angel Brat" is not just a mirror of Damian's

And Bruce forgot him.

To make matters worse the cave's elevator dings on, and down it comes Daniel himself. He looks exhausted, likely not used to being up so late but he smiles at them all warmly anyway

"Hey guys! Welcome home!" He greets. He rushes forward, hugging everyone with ease that not even Dick has been able to do. His movements are done so naturally that this must be how he greets them every night.

Everyone lets him and he doesn't seem surprised by the fact they return the hugs.

Bruce feels like vomiting as his youngest- Damian is older- smiles up at him. "Welcome home Dad! Love you."

"I..." His words catch in his throat. Daniel tilts his head confused but Bruce pushes through wrapping his arms around him just as tightly. "I love you too son."

"Tell the others you love them too" Daniel whispers in his ear. "Don't forget that they need to be shown through words and gestures too Dad!"

Bruce stiffens, unsure if he should but he doesn't have enough information to deny Daniel anything. If he suspects something is wrong he may zap himself out of existence. He can't let that happen.

He pulls back from Daniel after a moment, and then without giving the others warning, he reaches for the child closest to him. Jason yelps as he is dragged into Bruce's warm embrace. "I love you, Jason."

"Ugh what?" Jason sounds confused from above him- when did his little boy get so tall?- but he wraps his arms around him too, giving the beaming Daniel a quick glance before he mutters. "Love you too old man."

Bruce turns to Dick who is practically bouncing on his heels, arms held out. He steps into them easily, grunting as Dick squeezes him with all his might. "I love you, Dick"

"I love you too!"

Tim is staring with wide longing eyes over Dick's shoulder and Bruce knows he will have to hug him next. Behind him, Daniel has moved to embrace both Jason and Steph, which triggered a group-wide personal hug.

Even Alfred is there affording hugs and I love yous.

It's.....nice.

_____________________________________________________________

None of the Bats are good enough to read the body launage as Cass is. She saw the mischievous glee her new brother was hiding as he went around hugging everyone.

Damian taps her wrist. "Will you keep quiet of Daniel's harmless jest?"

She smiles. "Funny. They think they can't say no to him. "

"Oh, Dad! Now that you're back can I paint your nails?" Daniel asks loudly. "I have the best black nail polish!"

"....I suppose that is fine."

Damian cracks a smile. "My brother is a menace."

#dcxdpdabbles #dc x dp crossover #Demon and Angel Brat #We are going to pretend Talia had them naturally so Danny can be a supirse #The twins prank the Bats #They playing into the whole identical twins with opposite personalities #Where Damian is serious Danny is childish #Cass knowns it's a lie #Babs did all the fake files for them in exchange for all her expenses paid on her vacation #Mulitple Povs

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is-this-even-relatable · 2 months

Text

Danny runs an Infinite Realms shop. Curiosities from every dimension, any culturally significant item lost to time, and some cheap china. He’s got it all~

____________________

NEW FIC IDEA JUST DROPPED

Ok so i’ve been steeped in the dpxdc for many a year now. I've seen a bit of everything. I want to combine some of those ideas with a bit of my own headcanon and see what takes shape.

____________________

Danny, half dead and half alive, one of the rarest species in existence, grown up yet still so young considering his immortality, powerful sovereign of an infinite dimension of beings from every possible world and universe, decides to settle somewhere and take it slow. After all, he's got eternity to do so.

So he finds a dimension he thought could only exist in comic books, and thought to himself, Now this, this is a nice place to settle. He loves how many heroes there are in this world, heck there are even aliens! Yet there are many heroes for a reason. With so many dark forces in the universe, it had to produce many bright beacons of hope to balance the encroaching evil. That is another reason why he chose this particular dimension, and this particular city. There was just so much negative energy, too much, in fact, that the heroes in this city, Gotham, could not keep up. He hoped that over the next century or however long he remained in this dimension, that his presence would provide a much-needed balm to the area, and that the sickly dark fingers of cosmic corruption would lessen. If not, well, he could always take a more direct approach. After all, he had the power of infinite universes backing him, one measly dimension’s worth of corruption against him would be like a minnow trying to catch a shark.

With a little bit of time travel shenanigans (thanks, Clockwork!), Danny soon has a perfectly legal identity as one Daniel James Fenton-Phantom, 30 years old (he figures he can pass as such, even though he stopped aging around 25), from a random town in bumfuck Illinois (sue him, it’s familiar). And after a bit of researching, Danny chooses a small street in the rougher side of the city. Not too big to be deemed as suspicious for buying practically the whole block, and out of the way enough to not attract too much attention. He spends a couple weeks getting used to the energy in this new dimension and setting up his haunt. He cleaned up what he was now referring to as “his street” in his head, and got rid of the debris, trash and general wear from the buildings. He hired some locals to renovate one, an old apartment that he was planning on renting out and staying in. He also chose a smaller building, somewhat tucked away in the corner, to use as his own personal store. The rest he leased out for cheap to small and struggling local businesses. He figured it’s the least he could do after already occupying so much space.

Several days later, and voila, his home was set.

#DPxDC #dp x dc #prompt #mine #is-this-even-relatable prompt

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sturniqlo · 3 months

Text

Tests Found- C.S

summary: Nick and Matt find out Y/n and Chris are having a baby, but not the way Y/n and Chris intended to.

cw: none? just cursing

masterlist | positive masterlist

-----------------------------------------------

five weeks pregnant

It had been about two weeks since Y/n and Chris found out they were expecting a baby. Ever since that day Chris stayed over at Y/n's apartment every other day. Nick and Matt haven't been suspicious at all. Y/n and Chris wanted to keep it private just until Y/n had reached her second trimester to make sure everything was fine with their baby. However, it didn't go as planned.

"Hi, babe. We're here." Chris speaks into the phone as he calls Y/n. He doesn't ring her buzzer anymore because it now annoys her. "Ok, I'll buzz you in." She softly speaks. She gets up off the couch and goes towards the door to buzz the boys in. After a couple of seconds, she lets it go. She unlocks the door, and heads back to her spot on the couch.

Chris, Matt and Nick, all head up to the fifth floor where her apartment is. Matt thought of the idea for all four of them to hangout since Matt and Nick haven't seen Y/n ever since she picked them up from the airport. Which was a little over three weeks ago. Both Nick and Matt became really close to Y/n after her and Chris had been dating for two months. They both thought of her as a sister as soon as Chris told them she was the one seven months into their relationship.

"Hellooo!" Chris says as soon as he opens her front door. "I'm in the living room." He hears her say. He quickly takes his shoes off and speeds off to her before his brothers get to her. "Hi, baby." He leans down and gives her a kiss on the lips. He looks then left to see that his brothers are struggling to take their shoes off. "Hi, babe." She says with a smile. "How our little apple seed, hm?" Ever since last week, Chris has been looking up how big their baby is and what it's compared to. "They're fine, made me throw up my toast with butter, but I feel fine now." He frowns, and sits next to her. "Hopefully your morning sickness goes down-" He gets cut off by Nicks loud voice.

"Y/n! Im here too." Nick sounds offended as she only pays attention to Chris. "Hi, Nick. I was waiting for you, did it really take you two that long to get your shoes off?" Y/n gets up and hugs Nick, then Matt. "I tied them to tight."

"How have you been?" Matt sits down on the smaller couch. "Good, I've just been staying home really. You?" Y/n places her head on Chris' shoulder. "Same, just stayin' home." He says. "So, what are our plans?" Nick asks. "Lunch, shopping, dinner, come back here and watch some movies?" Matt replies looks at the three of them. "Sounds good."

The four of them stay in the living room for half an hour until they're ready to go. "Y/n do you have one of those tooth flossers?" Nick asks, picking at his teeth from the popcorn he had found in her pantry. "Yeah, they're in my bathroom under my sink somewhere." Nick gets up and heads to her room. "Wait for me, I need one too." Matt gets up and follows Nick.

"Have you made an appointment?" Chris asks Y/n once Matt and Nick are out of earshot. "Yeah! We have it a week from now." She says excitedly. "Okay, what time so I can clear my schedule." Y/n pulls her phone out to check her email for all of the details.

In Y/n's bathroom, Nick is searching all over her bathroom cabinets. "How does she have so many cabinets in here?" He closes one door just to open another one. "Umm, Matt? Can you help?" He sees Matt fixing his hair in the mirror. "She clearly said the one under the sink." Matt crouches down and open the one under the sink. While Nick searches the other ones. Matt digs around in the cabinet and comes across what they were looking for. "Found them." He gets up and dangles the bag in front of Nicks face.

"Well, open it up!" Nick yells motioning to the bag. "Here." Matt hands Nick one and grabs one for himself before putting it back. As he puts them back where they were, some stuff falls out of the cabinet on to the floor. "Fuck." He says. As he looks to see what fell Nick gasps when he sees what it is. "Oh my god!" He whisper yells and closes the bathroom door fast. "What?" He looks at Nick and back to what fell on the floor. "Oh my god!" He says. Matt picks them up and places all four onto the counter. "Are they positive?" Nick says with his hand placed over his mouth, the flosser long forgotten.

"I'm not sure, kinda scared to check." Matt says, tossing his flosser in the trash. "I'll check." Nick leans over them and examines them. "Holy shit." He turns to Matt. "Are they?" Nick nods. "Oh my god." Matt whispers. "Do you think they're her tests?" Nick asks. "No duh. They're in her bathroom."

"Should we call her in?" Matt nods. In the living room, Y/n sends Chris all the details about their upcoming appointment until she hears Nicks voice. "I'll be back. I don't think they found them." She walks towards the bathroom and sees the two of them standing in front of the sink. "Did you guys find them?" She asks. "Yes but," Nick closes the door behind her before he finishes talking. "We found something else." Matt grabs the tests by the white part and shoes Y/n as if she's never seen them before. "Oh," Her heart drops. "Are you pregnant?" Nick whispers.

Y/n nods. "Does Chris know?" Matt asks curiously. "Yeah." She looks between them two nervous about their reactions. Matt places the tests carefully on the counter and goes to Y/n to hug her. "Congrats, Kid."

"Make some room for me!" Nick smiles and joins in on their hug. "Now I kinda feel bad." Y/n pulls away a couple of seconds later. "What? Why?" Nick says. "Chris was excited to tell you guys in a fun way." Matt frowns.

The door opens and Chris comes in. "What's going on?" He says. "They found the tests." Y/n says and his mouth turns into an 'O'. "Surprise?" He says. "Chris you're going to be a DAD!" Matt says and goes to hug him and Nick follows behind. "How'd you guys find out?" Matt asks. Looking at the couple with a smile on his face. "I was sick for like weeks, still am though. But, Chris noticed I was late for my period and he went and bought the tests and I took them, and obviously they were positive."

"When did this happen?" Nick adds on. "Right before we left for Boston, the night before act-" Nick gasps. "Not when the baby was conceived you sicko! I mean when did you guys find out?" He swats Chris' arm. "we found out two weeks after you guys had came back. So I'm five weeks right now."

"We were going to tell you guys after the first trimester. But, you guys just had to ask for a damn flosser." Chris was pretty bummed, he wanted to tell them in a special way, and he wanted it captured on video. He had wanted to tell them with a blindfold challenge and him and Y/n would give them baby stuff to try and guess until he would hand them the pregnancy test. "I had popcorn in my teeth! Still do!" Nick yells.

Forty minutes later, they're now at lunch. "I still can't believe Y/n is pregnant." Nick picks at his food. "Me either!" Y/n sips her water. "How big is the baby? Do you know?" Matt says, across from Chris. "The size of a fucking apple seed! That's crazy like, an apple seed is tiny." Chris brings his thumb and pointer finger together to match the size of an apple seed. "That's crazy." Matt and Nick both say, Y/n laughs.

"Have you guys told anyone else?" Nick suddenly asks. Y/n shakes her head and Chris responds. "No, you guys are the first to know. Like we said, we were waiting for the first trimester to end to make sure everything was right with the baby."

"Can we go baby shopping?" Nick says.

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likeumeanit9497 · 2 months

Text

loyalty test | c.s. |

chris sturniolo x fem! reader

summary: y/n's boyfriend, luke, notices how she stares at his roommate, chris. when they have an argument about it, y/n tells him that he's just reading into things. but when she finds herself completely alone with chris, will she be able to prove her loyalty?

warnings: smut; cheating (don't do this pls); unprotected p in v (don't do this either); oral (m/f receiving); hair pulling; dirty talk; toxic relationships; 18+

notes: IM BACK YAY!!!! y'all have no idea how happy i am to be writing again i was literally dying for the past couple of months. i got back about a week ago but i've been genuinely so jet lagged that i couldn't finish this one shot. but im finally starting to feel better so here i am at 2am finally posting. i hope y'all enjoy this one (ps it should go without saying that i do NOT condone cheating on ur partners EVER!!! this is fiction okay). love uuuuuu

pps im half asleep posting this so even though i made an attempt at proof reading, im sure this is not my best work so pls try to ignore any grammar errors u may come across ill fix them all eventually <3

ᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕ

“How many shots am I pouring here?” Asked my boyfriend Luke as I watched him begin to place rows of shot glasses on his kitchen counter with a bottle of tequila in his hand before his teammates all began flooding in his direction happily awaiting their drinks. From my place on the couch, I was content watching them all celebrate their big win while I nursed one or two seltzers. The night was originally supposed to be just me and Luke having dinner and watching a movie, but the adrenaline from the win along with pleas from various teammates had suddenly turned the night into one where Luke’s apartment was flooded with sweaty men and various bottles of liquor.

Even though I had been looking forward to a quiet evening with my boyfriend of six months, I was happy to see him so happy and of course wanted him to be able to celebrate with everyone. So I watched with a smile as they all lifted their shot glasses in the air, chanted in a borderline cultish way, and took their shots. “Shit, it’s getting late. We should call the Ubers soon if we want to get into the club.” Luke announced after glancing at his watch, to which the other guys all mumbled in agreement.

I watched as Luke walked over to my place on the couch, putting his hands on my shoulders and leaning towards me. “Club?” I asked, raising a quizzical eyebrow as this was the first time I was hearing about these plans for the night. Luke smirked before responding. “You don’t mind if we go out for a little bit right? The other guys were really wanting to check that new place out that I’ve been going to lately, and as team captain I kinda have to go.” I stayed silent, trying to figure out a way to answer that wouldn’t make me sound like a needy girlfriend, when my attention was suddenly grabbed by the door behind Luke opening. From that room came Luke’s roommate, Chris, and I watched over Luke’s shoulder as he ruffled his hair, heading in the direction of the bustling kitchen.

My eyes followed his movements as he walked, stopping every few seconds to greet a handful of Luke’s teammates on his way. He was wearing pyjamas, and truly looked like he had just woken up from hibernation, but he gave the room warm smiles as his eyes travelled across it before finally landing on me. He stared at mine and Luke’s place for a brief moment, his eyes shifting between me on the couch and Luke’s large frame above me, and seemed curious, but after a moment went back to doing whatever he needed to do in the kitchen.

I continued to watch as he grabbed a drink from the fridge, and listened as some of the guys tried to convince him to go out with them. He kept shaking his head, a strong smile plastered across his face, and I felt my cheeks grow hot when he lifted his shirt slightly to scratch his stomach; exposing a few inches of skin and the low band of his boxers.

Just then, I was shaken — quite literally — out of my trance by Luke’s hand on my shoulder. “Y/n! Hello!” My eyes immediately shot to his, and I felt red hot shame cover my face as anger consumed his. “The fuck was that?” He kept his voice low, but his tone was so menacing that I felt the hair raise on the back of my neck. I stuttered, trying to come up with some excuse, before he lifted me off of the couch and practically dragged me into his bedroom. As soon as the door was shut behind us, he repeated himself. “What the fuck was that Y/n.” I stood tentatively in the middle of his room, trying desperately to find the words. “I-I just hadn’t realized that Chris was home, I was just shocked I guess?” I knew my excuse was weak — and my execution was even weaker — and that knowledge was confirmed by Luke rolling his eyes.

“Sure,” He scoffed. “I’m not stupid, Y/n. I notice it literally every single time you and him are in the same room. You stare at him, you laugh at everything he says, and you always find some excuse to be close to him.” His words embarrassed me, and I stared down at my feet in shame because I knew they were true. “It’s not like that Luke I just-” He cut off my excuse. “It doesn’t take a fucking rocket scientist to know that he’s a good looking guy, but you are mine. It’s fuckin embarrassing catching you looking at him all the time.” He stopped pacing around the room and stormed up to me, causing me to flinch slightly.

“You have anything you wanna say?” His breath was hot against my ashamed face, and I couldn’t bear to look up at him. “I-I’m sorry Luke.” My voice was barely above a whisper and I felt tears well up in my eyes. We stood there in silence for a short while, the only sound his heaving breaths and the muffled conversations from the guys in the kitchen. “I’m going. Not sure when I’ll be back, but do your best to behave when I’m gone.” His words were clipped, and he quickly exited his bedroom without so much as hugging me.

As soon as I heard his door shut behind him, I dissolved into tears of guilt. I couldn’t be upset at him for being so angry with me, because everything that he had accused me of was true. I knew that my attraction to Chris was beyond the simple acknowledgement that he was a good looking person, and that wasn’t fair to Luke. But I never meant for it to become something so noticeable, and I felt more ashamed than I had ever been before. I perched onto the edge of Luke’s bed as I attempted to regain my composure, listening to the excited chatter of the guys on the other side of the door as they prepared to head out to the club.

I hated that Luke was going out while being angry at me, and I hated even more that I had the audacity to be worried about his behaviour with other girls while he was out. Luke was a pretty decent guy, but when he was angry he had a tendency to do or say things that were really hurtful. The thought of this made me sob even harder. “God, I need a drink.” I said aloud to the empty room, and I fought with my emotions as I tried to straighten myself up.

After a few moments, the entire apartment grew silent as the guys must have all left for the club. In my solitude, I was able to catch my breath and stop the tears from flowing before getting back on my feet. Glancing at my reflection in the mirror, I wiped the dried tears from my face and fixed my running mascara before heading towards the bedroom door. As I walked towards the kitchen, I was stopped in my tracks by the sight of Chris sitting at the kitchen island.

Even after the horrible conversation I had just had with Luke, I felt my stomach flip at the sight of his loose t-shirt clad back and his messy curls. Frustrated with myself, I rolled my eyes and took a deep breath before continuing in his direction to grab a drink. “Hey Y/n.” He said once he saw me, a warm smile covering his face. “Hey Chris.” I replied, forcing myself to avoid looking at him by searching aimlessly for another seltzer.

“Everything okay?” He asked, and I felt myself tense at his question as I finally used common sense and opened the fridge to find a cold drink. “Yeah all good. Luke and I just had a little bit of an argument is all.” I replied, trying to keep my voice light hearted and hoping he hadn’t noticed my puffy eyes or runny nose. “Ah, I see.” He replied as I bent over to reach into the back of the fridge where I saw the last seltzer. “Would that argument have anything to do with him asking me to make a move on you to see if you would stay loyal?” His question shocked me so severely that I dropped the seltzer on the ground, causing it to explode its carbonated contents all over the kitchen floor.

“Shit!” I exclaimed, picking up the cracked can and throwing it into the sink. Turning back around to face the mess, I found Chris with a roll of paper towel wiping up the liquid. “I got it, thank you.” I said, getting down onto my knees to begin cleaning up. Chris handed me the paper towel before standing up and leaning his frame against the counter. The room was silent as I compulsively wiped away at the floor, using the task as a distraction from the question Chris had just asked me. I felt his gaze on me from above, and all it did was add fuel to the fire that was burning hazardously strong inside of me.

After some time, I realized that the floor couldn’t get much cleaner so I had to put an end to my procrastination and face the conversation. “So, uh,” I hesitantly looked up at Chris through my lashes, feeling more ashamed than ever before. “What did Luke say to you exactly?” I watched as he shrugged. “He really didn’t say much. He just pulled me to the side right before they all headed out and asked me to ‘test you’.” He added air quotes to the end of his sentence, and I felt a small sizzle of anger in my core at Luke’s audacity.

I stood up and grabbed the half finished bottle of tequila from the counter, pouring it into a cup and adding a bit of pineapple juice before drinking the whole thing in one sip. At this, Chris raised an eyebrow. “You wanna tell me what’s going on?” He asked, and I felt nerves flood my body. “Give me a second.” I replied, grabbing the tequila again but this time taking one, two, three sips directly from the bottle. I winced at the burn that traveled from my throat down to my stomach, and Chris waited in silence as I squeezed my eyes shut; taking deep breaths in preparation.

“Long story short,” I began, turning my body so that I was now facing Chris, “Luke confronted me tonight because he caught me staring at you.” I watched as Chris’ eyes widened slightly before going back to normal. “I told him that I just hadn’t known that you were home so I was just surprised to see you, but he didn’t believe me, and it sort of caused this big fight between us.” I explained, feeling my nerves flutter around my stomach; shocked that I was able to tell him what had happened. Chris stayed silent, his eyes searching my face but staying completely unreadable and I felt like my chest might explode from nerves.

“I mean, obviously he’s just being insecure but-” My rambling was cut off then by Chris. “Is he?” His question caught me off guard, and my eyes snapped to his as I felt my face fall. A small smirk toyed with the corner of his mouth as I stared at him blankly, unsure of what I could even say. After a moment, I blinked quickly and scoffed. “Ah I see, this is the test.” I chuckled and reached once again for the tequila before taking a few more sips; this interaction being far too much for me.

“No, it was a real question, I swear.” Chris repositioned his body so that he was now facing me head on, and took a step closer to me. “You think I haven’t noticed you looking at me? And I’m not just talking about tonight. I notice, Y/n.” Once again, all of my words failed me and I could only stare blankly at his questioning figure. “And don’t think I forgot about that one night.” I gasped and instinctively squeezed my eyes shut, already knowing where he was going with this.

“Just out there, when we were sharing that cigarette,” He nudged his head in the direction of the sliding glass doors in the living room that led to their large balcony, “We were drunk, but I remember you blowing the smoke into my mouth.” I felt him take another step closer to me; the heat radiating from his body causing my own to shudder. “Your lips touched mine, Y/n. I can still remember how soft they were.” His voice seemed to drop an octave, and he was whispering now as he spoke of that night five months ago, when I met him for the first time.

Luke had wanted me to meet his friends, so a big group of us had all gone to a bar together. Although I don’t usually make it a habit, I got extremely drunk that night thanks to the nerves that came from meeting a large group of new people, and ended up wanting to go home early. Luke was still having a good time and didn’t want to leave the bar with me, so Chris had offered to take me back to their apartment where Luke could meet us later. Once the two of us had made it back to the apartment, I asked Chris to sit with me while I smoked out on the balcony.

We talked for a while, learning about each others’ lives, while we shared a few cigarettes. What he was now talking about had happened, and I truly don’t know what came over me when I had done it, but I had spent the past five months trying to pretend that it was just a dream. But now, standing alone in the kitchen, we were talking about it for the first time since it happened, and I couldn’t ignore the flutter in my stomach that his hushed tone caused.

As if reading my mind, he continued. “I know we haven’t spoken about it, and maybe we should have sooner. But we haven’t been alone together once since then.” I stared blankly as he took yet another step towards me; closing the space between us almost entirely. My heart was beating so hard that I was sure that he could hear it, but once he placed a gentle hand on my hip I was pulled back to reality; immediately taking a few steps away from him while shaking my head.

“This is crazy,” I made a weak attempt at laughter as I backed away from him, “I don’t know how you expect me to fail this ‘test’ that Luke put you up to after literally telling me all about it.” I suddenly grew slightly hot with anger after reminding myself of Luke’s request to him, and the alcohol that was beginning to flood my veins wasn’t making it any easier to get over. I turned away from Chris, busying myself by starting to throw away the empty beer bottles, when he continued.

“I never told you that I agreed to do it.”

I froze, his words causing my fuzzy brain to turn onto high alert. Slowly, I turned to face him, more confused than ever before. He was leaning casually against the countertop still, with a small smirk across his lips. Noticing the confusion laced through my features, he shrugged before expanding. “I told him I don’t do that kind of shit, that if there was an issue between you two you’d have to work it out between yourselves.” None of his explanation was making things make sense, if anything I was just becoming more and more confused.

“Then what was all that just a minute ago?” I asked weakly, nervous to hear his explanation. Again, there was that dangerous smirk that I would have almost missed if my eyes weren’t glued to him in desperation for things to make sense. “That was real.” He replied simply, and my jaw almost dropped in utter shock. “Chris, he’s your roommate. You guys are friends, aren’t you?” My stomach was in knots, and my cheeks felt hot. He shook his head solemnly, “He’s not a good guy, Y/n.” As if I could read his mind, I knew what he meant without him even having to say anything else. But still, he continued.

“Why do you think he never ever asks you to go out with him to clubs anymore?” Chris asked, his voice taking on a gentle tone as if that would minimize the hurt of what I knew was coming. Weakly, I shrugged, too afraid to ask him to continue but hoping beyond anything else that he would. He sighed. “Apparently there’s this bottle girl that works at that new club that they’ve been going to lately.” My stomach dropped, but somehow I wasn’t surprised. Painfully, Chris continued. “I overheard him talking about her to one of the guys a few weeks ago. Something about going to her place after she finished her shift that night.”

At that, a single tear fell down my cheek. Not out of shock, or even sadness, but anger. “I’m sorry, Y/n.” Chris said at nearly a whisper, and I simply nodded my head; jaw clenched to keep myself from losing my cool. “W-why didn’t you say anything to me before?” I finally managed to ask, crossing my arms over my chest to hide my shaking hands. That same look of shame he had before confessing to me clouded his face once again. “I didn’t want to be the one to hurt you.” One more lonely tear fell down my cheek, and I angrily swiped it away.

“I see how much you do for him around here, and it’s obvious that you love him.” He took a step towards me, tentatively, before continuing. “But I also see the way he treats you, and you don’t deserve that.” He paused for a moment, seemingly trying to find his next words. “I honestly never really liked the guy. Sure we’re roommates, but only out of convenience. Once I overheard that conversation a few weeks ago, I started genuinely hating the guy. So, when he asked me to test you tonight, it actually gave me a good idea.”

He paused for a moment, and once again I felt my heart racing in anticipation. His usually confident expression had shifted into one of hesitation, and it did nothing to help calm my nerves. “Chris…” I started, trying to get him to continue. I watched as he took a deep breath before speaking once again. “Okay. I’m going to suggest something to you, but it’s only a suggestion. If you don’t want to do it, we can 100% pretend that this conversation never happened, and you can decide how you’re going to handle all of this in your own way.” I stayed silent, trying to wait as patiently as possible for him to get to his point.

“I think you should get back at him.” He said, finally. Still confused, I raised an eyebrow. “Get back at him? How?” I asked, to which he stayed silent. In his silence, I found my answer. “You think I should…with you?” Even to my own ears, my voice sounded weak. He stayed silent, not granting me a response with words but the small glint in his blue eyes told me enough. “Do you really think that’s the most ethical option?” I asked, trying to use what little logic I had available in my brain fizzling not just from the alcohol now but from the very situation I was finding myself in.

He shrugged again. “I know guys like him. There’s no point in confronting him about it, because you know he’s just gonna lie to your face. And if you break up with him — which I hope you do, by the way — he’s really not going to care as much as he should.” Trying to ignore the twinge of hurt that his last point caused, I nodded slowly; beginning to understand. “But if you do him the way he’s been doing you, that’s gonna fuck him up. And the best part is he doesn’t even have any right to be pissed off, because all you’re doing is exactly what he’s been doing to you.” As he spoke, I nodded my head; absorbing everything he said and recognizing it as truth.

“I mean I get it but…don’t you think us doing it would be a bad idea?” I used my hand to gesture between us. “Considering him and I literally just fought about this very situation less than an hour ago?” His smirk returned at this. “That’s my point. No other scenario has the potential to hurt him the way that ours does. You want to get back at him? I’m your guy.” A laugh that sounded almost painful fell from my lips at this, but as his face suddenly grew serious, so did mine.

“Plus,” He began, closing the space between us so that our bodies were nearly touching. I stared at him, fallen completely mute, as he brought his thumb to my lower lip — brushing it ever so lightly against my pouted mouth — before he continued, “I haven’t stopped thinking about this mouth since you left me on the balcony that night.” His voice was nearly at a whisper, and it didn’t take anymore than that for my walls to crash down.

Without hesitation, I pressed my lips to his. The kiss was soft, tentative, and gentle; our unsure mouths slowly moving against one another a physical representation of the wavering confidence in my decision. But the taste of his skin was addictive, and the feeling of his firm grasp on my waist caused my body to grow warm. So with each second, my cautious movements turned more and more desperate, and when his tongue brushed against my lower lip I opened my mouth to grant it entrance. I melted into his strong hands like putty, so when he lifted me by my ass with ease and placed me on the counter, my legs wrapped around his waist like they belonged there.

Each part of me he touched lit on fire in his trail, and as his mouth dropped lazily to my neck where he began nibbling and biting the thin skin below my ear, the very existence of Luke seemed to disappear from my thoughts — with only one word repeatedly crossing my mind: Chris, Chris, Chris.

With my spinning head, I almost didn’t notice myself being gently pushed back so that I was lying against the cold surface of the counter. Chris’ mouth was still sucking indulgently against my neck, but I felt his strong hands run up and down my bare legs; stopping just below the hemline of my shorts. I felt his hands begin to toy with my front button, and I removed my hands from the base of his curls to help him pull them down; desperate to feel his hands on my skin again.

Once the material of my shorts were dropped to the floor, I felt Chris tauntingly play with the lace of my underwear as his mouth slowly moved down my neck towards my chest. Wearing only a big t-shirt, I used my idle hands to pull the material up over my chest; exposing my breasts to Chris who immediately took one into his mouth. I moaned at the sensation of his warm tongue swirling around my nipple, and felt a dangerous shudder go down my spine once he groaned against my skin.

His hands were still flirting with my underwear, and the almost-but-not-quite contact with my core was making me go almost delirious, so in my impatience I grabbed his hand and pressed his long fingers against the place I needed him the most. The contact caused a moan to fall from my lips just as a pleased grunt fell from his. “So wet for me already, hmm?” His voice had dropped nearly a whole octave through his arousal, and his words caused even more heat to flood to my core.

In one quick motion, he slipped my thong down my legs and let it fall to the floor as his hand began exploring my slippery folds. A shocked moan burst through my lips from the relief of his touch finally against my bare heat, and as he began to rub circles into my clit, I began losing myself to the ripples of pleasure radiating from my centre down to my limbs.

His travelling mouth continued its journey from my tits down my stomach, leaving small kisses along the way. I watched in awe as his head descended along my body, feeling an unknown sensation of excitement from my view as he got closer and closer to where his fingers continued to work me. Once he reached the crest of my pelvis, he grabbed each of my legs and positioned them on his shoulders before leaning down and admiring my dripping core.

“W-what are you doing?” I asked, my voice shaking partially from nerves but mostly from the sheer adrenaline that was coursing through my veins. He dragged his eyes from my cunt up to meet my face and gave me a soft smile. “Gonna make you feel good. Is that okay with you?” His voice was still hoarse from arousal, but there was a playful tone in it that calmed my heaving chest. “Luke never…” I trailed off my sentence and his eyebrows flew up in surprise. “Never?” He asked, seeming to be completely shocked, and I shook my head. “He said he thinks it’s gross.” I confessed, suddenly feeling more exposed by my words than I had felt by my nakedness. At this, Chris’ eyes somehow darkened and softened simultaneously. “He doesn’t know what the fuck he’s talking about.” He replied, bending down further so that he could place a soft kiss against my clit, “There’s nothing gross about this; about you.”

His words were said with such sincerity, such certainty, that I felt a small flutter in my chest. However, this feeling was abruptly interrupted by a much stronger feeling — a feeling of indescribable pleasure — once Chris attached his mouth to my clit. As he feverishly sucked and twirled his tongue expertly around my bundle of nerves, my vision became blurry and all I could see was a flash of bright light. When my vision returned, the sight before me caused the pleasure I was feeling to intensify so severely that, had my hips not been held firmly in place, I would have slipped to the floor as aimlessly as my underwear had just moments before.

There, right in the centre of my legs, was Chris. His generally messy curls even more disheveled than normal framing his face in the perfect way that it does; his already sharp cheekbones accentuated by his sucking; his bright pink lips wrapped tightly around me making me feel things I had never felt before; and his piercing blue eyes staring right up at me — seeming to take in every facial expression, every gasp, every moan that I made.

Overwhelmed, my hands flew to his hair where I held on for dear life; wanting to pull his mouth away but absolutely needing it to keep going. The build up of pressure in the pit of my stomach was almost too much to handle, and as I trembled around his face he maintained every ounce of pressure; every movement of his performed with expert precision. “C-Chris. Oh god!” I couldn’t stop myself from crying out, as the pleasure was causing my mind to scramble. “Just like that, please.” I heard myself continue, shocked even in the moment as I had never once said those words and truly meant it.

Chris released a soft moan against my core at my words, and the vibration from it was enough to get me to the point of no return. “Gonna c-cum, p-please don’t stop.” I begged desperately, and he didn’t. Like a machine, his movements never wavered — he never changed his rhythm, nor did he try any new tricks. The consistency of his swirling tongue threw me into a shocking tidal wave of pleasure, and with shaking legs and an arched back I practically screamed out his name over and over; riding out my high with no thoughts in my mind but him.

Only when my moans subsided and my grip on his hair loosened did Chris detach his mouth from my nerves before climbing back up my body. Once he reached my face, he placed a gentle kiss on my lips; the slightly sweet taste of my orgasm still coating his lips. “See,” He began, looking deep into my eyes, “Nothing gross about that. As a matter of fact, I could do that all day.” I felt my stomach do a flip and my core once again flood with a new wave of arousal from his words, and I allowed him to kiss me once more; this one much deeper than the last.

As we kissed, Chris helped me sit up, and then finally stand up on shaky legs. Once I was stable, he pulled my t-shirt over my head and let it fall to the floor with the rest of my clothing before doing the same with his own. With his top half now fully exposed, I allowed myself to take a moment to admire his body — his creamy smooth skin; slight muscle; sprinkle of hair below his belly button — as he started untying the drawstring on his pants.

He removed his pyjamas and boxers in one swift motion, and my eyes immediately fell to his hard member. Its size was otherworldly, and the veins that were wrapped around it caused my mouth to water. Mindlessly, I dropped to my knees in front of him and took his cock in my hand, pumping it a few times and relishing in the weight of it against my palm. I took a moment to glance up at him, and I found him staring down at me as his chest rose and fell rapidly; his eyes almost glazed over in arousal.

Turning my attention back to his member, I leaned forward and ran my tongue up his slit to collect the bead of pre-cum that had been gleaning in the light. As my tongue connected to his skin, I felt, more than heard, him intake a sharp breath. Eager to make him feel even a fraction as good as he made me feel, I attached my mouth to his tip and began bobbing my head up and down; swirling my tongue around the base of his tip as I did. Immediately, Chris’ hands found my hair and he began collecting it into a ponytail to pull it away from my face. Small moans left his mouth occasionally, and each time it did I felt my core grow wetter and wetter.

I brought my right hand up to the base of his shaft, where I began pumping it up and down in rhythm with my mouth. “Oh fuck.” He groaned out, gripping onto the countertop behind me with his free hand. With each bob of my head and pump of my hand, Chris released small grunts; and I relished in the fact that he was feeling so good because of me. I continued at the same pace, trying to stay focused on what I was doing, but his pleasure was adding to my pleasure, and I selfishly pulled away from him — his cock springing out of my mouth with a pop — and looked up at him through my eyelashes.

“Need more of you Chris.” I admitted, my arousal overtaking any urge I had to be coy in that moment. At my confession, Chris’ blue eyes darkened, and he didn’t hesitate before lifting me from the ground and pressing my back against the counter. His lips found mine once again, and the taste of both of our arousals melted into one as our tongues danced together; creating an addicting combination that made me ache.

A gasp fell from my lips as I was suddenly turned around, my bare chest now pressing against the cold stone counter. Chris had one hand pressed to the small of my back, where he rubbed small comforting circles as I felt his other hand guide the tip of his cock towards my opening. “You know,” Chris leaned forward towards my ear, “I always had a feeling that you wanted me too,” He let just the very tip of his member rest in my opening, “But if I knew you needed me the way I’ve been needing you, I would have fucked you much sooner.”

At that, Chris slid his cock into me, its girth stretching out my walls unforgivingly. Both of us released groans as he bottomed out, and he paused for a moment to allow me to adjust to his size as I fought against my trembling legs. After a brief moment, I felt Chris grab both of my hips before he began to thrust into me. His movements were slow and careful, as if he knew I was struggling to take his size. “You’re so tight baby.” He breathed, and I released a soft moan from his words.

He continued to move at a slow but deep pace, and with each thrust I felt my walls envelope his member with grateful acceptance. I started to feel my body relax more and more, and began to feel the earliest signs of pressure in my lower stomach once again. With each of his movements, I adjusted to him more, and I suddenly needed more. “Harder, please C-Chris.” I cried out softly, and without a moment’s hesitation he began to pick up the pace. Still driving his cock deep into me, his hips began to slam against mine at a much faster rate; causing my body to flood with even more arousal.

“You like that baby?” He asked through his grunts, and I was only able to moan in response; too fucked out to respond with words as I was constantly slammed against the countertop. The kitchen was flooded with the slick sounds of my arousal, and it was the perfect harmony to the verbal sounds of pleasure that fell from our tongues. I felt one of Chris’ hands snake up my back to the base of my neck before he grabbed a fistful of my hair; using his grip on it to pull me up off of the counter. With my back now pressed tightly against his front, he turned my head to the side so that — through blurry vision — I was able to see him and he was able to see me.

His glossed over eyes were focused on my o-shaped mouth, and he just stared at me for what felt like centuries as he continued to drive himself into me. The intensity of the moment was so startling that, if I wasn’t approaching my second orgasm of the night, I would have been brought back down to earth. But at that moment, a strong wave of pleasure shot through my body and my eyes rolled to the back of my head. “You look so pretty, taking my cock so good Y/n. You feeling good?” I was barely able to nod my head in response as the pressure in my core began to feel overwhelming. “G-gonna cum again.” I managed to squeak out through high pitched moans that I hardly recognized as my own.

“Me too baby. Just hold on for me, wanna cum together.” His words were coming out strained just as mine were, and I felt his rhythm begin to grow choppier as his orgasm approached. Screwing my eyes shut, I fought against the raging urge to release all over him right then and there; wanting so badly to do what he said to do and wait for him. Luckily, it wasn’t long before I was interrupted from my focused state by a loud grunt behind me. “Fuck, gonna cum. Where do you want me Y/n?”

His words unraveled the last string of self-control I had, and I felt my legs begin to shake beneath me as I struggled to answer. “In m-me. Oh god, please.” I cried out just as my second orgasm tore through me; this one even stronger than the first. As the waves rolled through me and I released a plethora of guttural moans, I felt Chris’ hand on my jaw; grabbing my attention. As I opened my eyes to meet with his, I felt his movements stop almost entirely. His eyes had a far-away look and his jaw was clenched, but still he stared deep into my half-lidded eyes as I felt his member pulse deep in my core — painting my walls white with his cum.

Once all of our movements stopped and our breathing returned close to normal, I winced as he slowly pulled his length out of me. He turned me around gently, and I was met with a lazy smile and a soft kiss on my forehead. Still recovering, I was at a loss for words; and so we stayed silent as he first helped me get dressed and then dressed himself.

“Well,” He finally started, “Do you feel better?” I stared at him for a moment, confused by what he meant, before I at last remembered the events that had unfolded not long before. I released a soft chuckle as I reached for a nearby red solo cup to fill with water. “Would you think I’m a bad person if I told you that I actually forgot about the whole point of this until just now?” He laughed as I chugged the water before refilling the glass and handing it to him. “No, I wouldn’t. As a matter of fact I’d think that made this whole thing even better.” He replied before bringing the glass to his lips.

I laughed as I reached for my phone, turning it on and checking my notifications. “Oh shit.” My face fell and my stomach tied itself in a knot. “Luke texted me ten minutes ago saying that the club was a bust and he’s on his way back.” Even in my immediate panic, I scoffed. “That probably means she wasn’t working tonight, huh?” I felt Chris walk up behind me and peer over my shoulder at the text message. “You okay?” He placed a gentle hand on the small of my back, and I cursed myself once I felt my heart flutter at his comforting gesture. I nodded. “More than okay, honestly.” I turned around to face him, and before I could stop myself I reached up and kissed him softly. “But he’s gonna be back any minute, and we can’t be standing in the middle of the kitchen looking freshly fucked. Let’s move.”

𓆩♡𓆪

As promised, a few minutes later I heard the keys rattle at the front door — announcing Luke’s arrival. I was standing in the kitchen still — busying myself with washing the dirty glasses and wiping the sticky residue from the liquor, and possibly our cum, off of the counter — while Chris sat on the couch in the living room; pretending to be in the middle of a movie.

Once he walked through the door, Luke paused there a moment to take in the scene in front of him. He looked first at me, then at Chris; then me, then Chris. His expression was unreadable, like it usually was when he was drunk, and it did nothing to ease my racing heart. My mouth dried out, completely fearful that he knew exactly what had taken place just moments before right where I was standing. Did I have a hickey? Did the apartment smell like sex? Did my guilty face give it all away?

Finally, Luke moved from his place at the front door and walked right by me; heading directly for Chris on the couch. Still pretending to be busy drying and polishing the glassware, I secretly watched as they spoke to each other. With the tv still playing and their decision to speak in hushed tones, I was unable to hear what they were saying. But, I watched Chris as he shook his head no before Luke threw his hands up in exacerbation. They continued to speak to each other for a few more moments, Luke seeming to grow more and more upset and Chris maintaining his superb level of calm, before Luke finally mumbled “You fucking suck” and stormed away towards his room.

Once his door was shut with him safely behind it, my eyes immediately fell back to Chris, who was already staring at me with that cheeky smirk back on his face. Wanting desperately to know exactly what he said but too afraid to go over and speak to him about it, I stared desperately at Chris; hoping that he would give me some sort of inclination that all was good. Then, like he was reading my mind, he sent me a sharp wink. Immediately, my whole body relaxed and I released a deep breath that I hadn’t even known I was holding.

Test passed.

ᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕ

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yinyuedijun · 1 month

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TOKYO VICE | part 2

“Do you remember,” Suo begins, voice light, “how our master always talked about how important it is to engage with each other’s feelings?” You tense. “No,” you blurt out, and Suo laughs. “Of course not,” he plays along. “You were always so terrible at it. But I've been doing a bad job too, lately. So”—he reaches beneath your dress, hooks your thong with his fingers and starts pulling the fabric down your sticky thighs—“I wanted to have an honest conversation with you.” (Or: Tired of your lies and self-deception, Suo takes matters into his own hands and forces the truth out of you.)

12.8k words. suo x fem reader. deeply unserious yakuza au ft. yandere suo. mostly unrepentant smut, comedy, angst. warnings: sex work. nsft tags: afab reader, emotional sex, fingering, dacryphilia, orgasm denial, pussyjob, just the tip, creampie. suo is mean and makes you cry but there's no degradation, he's just a bastard lol. he also manhandles you a lot and you sit in his lap. dividers by @/cafekitsune!

part 1 here

You're surprised at Suo’s indifference to your sex life.

A month has gone by, and he’s made no comment on your habit of sleeping with customers, nor on the hours during which you come home—which are now even later than usual, since you have express permission to sleep with people and have no need to rush back to the penthouse after your ‘appointments’. And it isn't as if he's ignoring the reality of your late nights either. In a stunning show of respect for your personal freedom, he now actively offers to arrange for someone to pick you up from whichever love hotel you'll end up at. (You always decline, of course—if you're going to pretend to be his wife, you'd rather pretend to be a faithful one.)

Ironically, you had initially thought that Suo’s approval wouldn't matter either way. You had found the sex with your clients to be so uninspiring that it made you miss celibacy, so you were planning on stopping. But it turned out that you were deeply affected by the experience of sitting in Suo’s lap as he talked about his expectation of deciding whose cocks you should be allowed to take. It did something horrible to your sex drive, and thus you turned to work as your only outlet.

You spent around three weeks desperately trying to find a customer to satisfy your urges—or at the very least, to fuck you in a way that could get you to stop thinking of Suo whenever you got even a little horny. You were faced with utter failure in this pursuit, and in the end, bleakly resigned yourself to the reality that your shameful attraction to your best friend is incurable. You’ve now given up on the love hotel visits and simply take care of your needs with a vibrator instead. At least this way, you can actually say Suo’s name while you cum, rather than constantly reminding yourself to say your customer’s name instead.

The freedom of letting yourself fantasise about Suo has been exhilarating, but terrible for your friendship. It’s just difficult to sit across from him at breakfast and act like you haven't touched yourself at the table while he was gone, fantasising about what it would be like if he bent you over it and fucked you dumb. But you are a decent actor—hostessing demands that of you—so you don't think Suo has caught onto your carnal desires for him. Hopefully, he never will.

Another couple of weeks pass like this. Things are so calm that you come to believe that Suo is genuinely fine with you having some degree of sexual freedom, at least at work. This, however, turns out to be nothing short of naïvete.

After all, Suo is never forceful when he's upset with your decisions—but he also never fails to redirect them.

One spring evening, you show up at the kyabakura and are told that you’re only to see one customer tonight, and that it will be a private session.

“But we don't do private sessions here,” you say, blissfully unaware of your imminent suffering, “and we don't even have private rooms at this establishment.”

To this, your mamasan responds that the club is making an exception for this one guest, and that this guest has rented out the rooftop bar just to see you. When you ask just who this person might be, a look of mild panic flashes through her eyes. She grabs you by the shoulders and tells you to be careful. Just keep him happy and go home after, okay? she says. Don't go out for drinks, and definitely don't go to any love hotels. Don’t tell him your real name at any cost. You don't want to involve yourself with a man like him.

A sense of dread fills you as you step into the elevator.

A cool breeze greets you when you step onto the rooftop patio. Normally bustling with a raucous crowd, it almost feels eerie in its emptiness. Aside from the glow of the red light district beneath you and the city skyline in the distance, the only light is coming from the candles lighting one of the booths.

Your anxiety intensifies as you approach it.

You aren't very surprised at the sight of Suo lounging on a leather couch, dressed in full criminal regalia—infamous eyepatch, tassel earrings, and all. Sakura once mentioned that this club is connected to some colour gang, so you figure that the manager likely recognized Gui Yanzhao on sight. He probably suffered a minor angina when he did. The mamasan herself has no criminal ties to your knowledge, but she was probably informed that one of her girls was to entertain a high-profile yakuza, and she was likely worried that you'd been maimed in the process. Gui Yanzhao has a bit of a reputation for being a sadist, after all.

While you appreciate her concern, it is not Suo’s history of violence that scares you, but his history of antagonising you. On good days, there's nothing that delights him more than seeing you flustered or off-kilter. On bad days, there’s nothing that consoles him like spiteful retaliation against whomever's managed to piss him off—and you have, without a doubt, managed to piss him off.

You groan as soon as you see him, fearing the worst for your mental health.

“What are you doing here,” you say, and Suo smiles.

“Oh? You're not happy to see me?”

“No,” you moan. “How are you even here right now? Aren't you worried about being assassinated or something? Who did you terrorise to get an entire rooftop bar to yourself?”

“I have a very cordial relationship with all the major organisations on Keisei Street and was promised immunity during my visit tonight,” Suo says neatly. “And I didn't terrorise anyone. I simply walked into this fine establishment and politely asked for a private space to enjoy with my preferred hostess.”

Neither of you need to mention that the sight of the tassel earrings alone would be enough to terrorise someone. The manager probably felt like he was being extorted just from being on the receiving end of Suo’s smile. Actually, you currently feel like you're being extorted too.

You spend a good few moments giving him a look of open distress, to which he smiles.

“You know,” he says, “for a top-ranking hostess, you're not showing much hospitality right now.”

“Oh, for the love of—”

You force yourself to stop, remembering that you are, in fact, at work. Despite your mixed feelings about your industry, at the end of the day, you pride yourself on your work ethic. You take your job very seriously, and your job right now is to entertain your customer—even if said customer is your fake yakuza husband who is toying with you as a cat would a mouse.

Resigning yourself to a night of probable humiliation (one of Suo's greatest passions in addition to lying for comedy), you walk over to sit yourself next to him. And just like in Red Dragon’s lounge, Suo overturns the decision by pulling you into his lap. Your eyes go wide as he settles you on top of him—because unlike the intimate space of that crime scene, this is expressly forbidden behaviour at your club.

Also, unlike that other night, you are currently wearing the shortest dress imaginable and the tiniest thong you own.

You find yourself shivering as Suo's hand settles on your lower back, which is fully exposed thanks to the cut of your dress. You try not to focus on the calloused press of his fingers against your bare skin, but this is an exceedingly difficult endeavour, as his touch has been featured in your sexual fantasies for the past several weeks. Worse yet—your dress is now riding up your ass, and your thong isn't doing much to cover you. Whatever material his pants are made of—light, delicate—feels incredibly good against your thighs too.

If this continues, you might cum on the spot.

“Wait,” you say, and Suo raises a brow.

“Oh?”

“You aren't supposed to touch the hostesses here.”

He smiles. “I'm sure this place might be able to make an exception for me. But only if you are personally willing to, of course.”

“...”

Making an exception for him, in your current situation, would be among the worst decisions you've ever made. But after two of the most sexually frustrating months of your life, you’re ready to make horrible decisions.

“Fine,” you say. “But you better not cheap out on the drinks. The mamasan will only overlook this if you make it worth our while.”

“Of course,” Suo says. “Though I think she’d overlook a lot of things for me regardless.”

Suo makes good on his promise and orders a great deal of alcohol. All top shelf, of course. He laughs that his goal is to bring you to the number 1 ranking with his patronage alone tonight. It’s a hideous display of wealth.

As you pour him an absurdly expensive drink (a Hibiki 30 year-old blended whiskey), you reminisce on how little money you both used to have as teens. He had to be so careful with his wallet whenever he felt like visiting you—or rather, checking in on you—at work. Especially after your master passed. The two of you were very good about staying financially independent, but there was something comforting about your master’s promise to support you if anything ever happened.

With him gone, you and Suo had only financial paranoia and each other.

You guess that might have affected Suo more than you thought. Perhaps he didn't join the yakuza to spite you, but to support you. Certainly, he seems to enjoy spoiling you right now—treating you to drinks that would easily clear a year of his salary as a teen, buying out an entire night of your time at a high end club, renting out a whole floor just so that he can have you to himself. When you point out that his tab must be getting catastrophic, he only laughs.

“I did always say that I wanted to spend money on you,” he recalls. It had been a running joke during your days at the girls’ bar, when you scolded him for paying 3000¥ per hour just to visit you. You hated that he was wasting money on the red light district; he always replied that it wasn't a waste, because it was money spent to see you.

You feel your stomach flutter at the comment. You didn't think he'd remember words from so long ago. As a teenager, you had a tendency of clinging onto small, inconsequential moments with him because they brought you so much joy. You’ve always assumed he would have forgotten them, writing them off as instances of shallow teasing—but if he remembers, then surely they meant something to him too?

This would all make you feel sentimental if you weren't outrageously horny.

Suo has kept you on his lap the whole evening, even as you pour him drinks. Every movement to serve him has you involuntarily rubbing on his thigh, and you're quite certain at this point that he's been lifting your skirt up inch by inch with every casual touch on your waist. You don't bother accusing him of it, though. He'd just give you an innocent look and say that it was an accident. What a horrible man.

Accident or not though, it doesn't change the fact that your nearly bare cunt is pressed right against him. You keep trying to shift positions to pull down your skirt or lift yourself off him, but each attempt only makes it worse—brings the soft fabric of his pants right against your pussy, or makes your clit drag against his thigh, with only your thong separating your bodies. You try to suppress your arousal, but to your overwhelming horror, you can't seem to control yourself. You feel yourself getting wet, folds quickly becoming slick as you’re forced to grind on him. Your body, already warm from all the cocktails and shots, grows even hotter as you squirm on his lap.

In a desperate move to regain some control, you fully get up to reach for another drink. But then you feel a pair of hands on your waist, and Suo pulls you back onto his leg—this time forcing you to straddle it. You can't help the whimper that leaves you as your dripping cunt is spread and pressed against him, your clit throbbing against his thigh.

You pray that he doesn't notice the noise, so of course he does.

“Hm? Is something wrong?” Suo’s hand drifts over your waist and down to your thigh, where it ghosts over your bare skin. He leans in, and his voice is silky as he speaks into your ear: “You're moving around a lot. Do you need to get up?”

He’s giving you an out. It's quite considerate of him, as staying like this would not be a good decision. But for better or worse, you have a tendency to make bad ones.

“...no, I'm fine.”

“Good,” he says. “Let me know if you’re uncomfortable at all. I'm happy to move if you'd like.”

As if demonstrating, Suo shifts the leg you're sitting on, directly rubbing it against your core. You try not to shudder, feeling yourself get even wetter, clenching around nothing.

Trying to ignore how empty you are, you grasp for other topics of conversation, something to distract you. A little scrambled from the alcohol and catastrophically aroused, you of course land on the one that's been making your sex drive unmanageable.

“Remember a month ago,” you say, “how you talked about choosing who gets to touch me?”

“Yes.” His palm is warm against your thigh. He isn't moving it, so there's plausible deniability, but the amused tone of his voice suggests that he knows what he's doing. “Does that bother you?”

Of course it should bother you. It's a level of control that's appalling even to your anxiously-attached ass. But it’s also making you wetter right now. You try not to cry—from misery or sexual frustration, you're not sure.

“Well, yeah. Come on, Suo—even you should know that's really weird of you.”

“I do,” he says, smiling like he isn't admitting to deranged behaviour. “But how else am I supposed to know you're safe? Or even aside from being safe—if your needs are being met.” His hand runs up and down your thigh before settling at the hem of your dress. “I wouldn't want you to go unsatisfied. Who knows what kind of people you'd seek out if that happened.”

You actively stop yourself from putting your face in your hands. The gall of him saying this after forcing you into extended celibacy is beyond words, especially as you're being forced to rub up on him, effectively ruining every attempt you've made not to think about him sexually for the past several years. There are many materially consequential reasons for your decision to not fuck Suo—you should not be soaked through your panties, your thighs sticky with need, as you sit on his lap.

“That's,” you say lamely, “not very normal of you.” Trying for a less sensual conversation, you go for the reliable topic Sakura’s romance radar: “Also, if satisfaction was your concern, why did you choose Sakura? I love that guy a lot, but he has literally no experience. And I think he'd blue-screen trying to keep a friend with benefits. You know he can't handle a fuckbuddy.”

You are not trying to be mean. What Sakura objectively needs for his first time is someone sweet and emotionally competent and, most importantly, not an absolute freak like you. This is a failure of your character, not his.

You can hear Suo’s smile in his reply: “I don't think you're giving him enough credit.”

“He has the social skills of a feral cat.”

Suo genuinely laughs. “Sure, when he first came to Makochi. But he's much better now. Plus, you have no room to talk. I mean”—his breath sweeps over your ear—“you used to be pretty wild yourself. I've just domesticated you is all… though you've been misbehaving lately.”

His words do something horrible to you. Trying to distract yourself from the mounting sexual tension, you turn to him to give him a biting retort, but you're abruptly stopped by the look in his eye. Distinctly hungry and unrepentant in its desire, his gaze roams openly and shamelessly along the curves of your body.

You feel like you're being eaten alive.

Plenty of customers have looked at you in such a way when you wear this outfit, but none have had this effect on you—which is to say, making you clench immediately.

You try not to cry. You actually will cum on the spot at this rate, and you don't think you could be subtle about it. You're barely keeping it together right now, with how your pussy keeps fluttering and dripping. Coupled with the way that the alcohol is melting the edges of your self-control, you're shocked you haven't at least moaned yet.

In a last ditch effort to save your friendship, as well as your rental (house arrest) situation, you slap a hand over his mouth.

“Stop that.”

Suo laughs. He grabs your wrist, lifts your palm away. “Why?”

Why? Because if you keep talking like that, I'll bend over and start begging you to fuck me! you think. But even in your inebriated, horny state, it feels like a poor idea to admit this aloud. You end up saying, “Hostesses aren't paid to flirt like this. Strictly speaking, we’re paid to be conversational partners.” You frown at him. “You're breaking a lot of club rules right now.”

This reprimand backfires on you, as you are suddenly filled with intrusive thoughts of breaking every single rule in this establishment with Suo, including the ones preventing you from climbing on top of him and riding him raw. You squirm at the thought, wishing you could close your legs rather than making a mess of your underwear (now a lost cause), but Suo’s grip stays firm on your waist.

He, himself, is unbothered by your scolding. “Okay,” he says simply. “Then I won't speak to you as a hostess. I want to speak to you, seriously, as a friend.”

His smile is so disarming, it makes you nervous. But he sounds earnest enough for you to be curious, and anyway, you're desperate for something to distract you from your wet cunt.

“Alright,” you acquiesce, “What do you have to say, as a friend?”

“I just have one question.”

“Sure. Shoot.”

His hand comes to rest in your thigh again. He leans in, breath so hot against your ear that your heart jumps.

“I can accept that you wanted to see customers just to satisfy your urges. But tell me why you didn't come to me first.”

You freeze up. Look at him, wide-eyed.

“Wh-what?”

Suo just smiles. Looks so fucking innocent you wonder if you misheard, but his voice is sharp when he replies: “Let me put it another way. Why have we never slept together?”

For some reason, you’ve never thought that he'd ask you this question point blank, even though you've asked it to yourself many times. It takes you several moments to piece together a response, during which Suo’s expression turns distinctly wicked. A sign that he smells blood.

“Why would you think we would have?” you ask carefully.

“Because we’ve both clearly thought about it. You especially.”

You try to keep a straight face. “No I haven't. I don't know what you're talking about.” You raise a brow. “How would you even know?”

“Because,” he says, hand inching up your thigh, “you’re so wet that I can feel it.”

You're mortified.

Shame floods your body, first because of the accusation, and then because you know it's true. You were tipsy enough not to think about this, but now—sobering up from sheer panic— you're acutely aware of how you've soaked through the fabric beneath you. Something that Suo had certainly known, and chose to encourage.

What a horrible man.

When you don't reply, he tilts his head. “Don't tell me you haven't noticed. Do you want me to show you?”

His hand is moving so slowly, you know he's giving you another out. You could easily get off his lap. You could even slap him and call him a sleazy drunk and grouse at him to go home. You could forgive him in the morning for coming onto you and say he'd obviously made an inebriated mistake, as opposed to a very calculated decision. Your friendship would stay mostly intact. His grip on you might tighten, but that would be fine. You would still get to stay with him.

And that's all you've ever wanted. Just to stay with him.

But you're so wet, so empty, so aching. You want to be touched. You want to be touched by Suo, and only by Suo. You want to be fucked by him, to be owned by him, to be ruined by him. You’ve wanted it so badly and so long that you can't even remember when it started—only that you want it to end.

So instead of moving away, you sit there and endure the humiliation of getting your cunt inspected by him.

Suo hums as he opens your legs. You suppress a whimper as a finger moves along your folds, at the noise it makes as it runs through your slick. “Look, you’re so wet,” he murmurs into your ear. He finds your clit—swollen, neglected, and you whimper as he starts to draw slow, lazy circles around it. “Poor thing.”

“It’s only because you had me grinding on you the whole night,” you say through gritted teeth. “It doesn't—ngh—doesn’t mean I’ve been wanting to fuck you.”

You sound pissed enough that you'd convince anyone else, but you know, even without seeing his face, that Suo can tell you're bullshitting.

“You’re not a good liar,” he remarks. A fine teacher even when humiliating people, Suo can't help but add, “If you have to tell a lie, at least come up with a believable one.”

“What makes it unbelievable?” you reply, words clipped off by a sharp inhale as he starts rubbing your pussy.

“Well,” he starts nonchalantly, as if he isn't toying with your cunt, “after you were targeted in that succession conflict, I put hidden cameras in the area, and also in our suite.”

Your eyes go wide. Even in your aroused state, the implications are making you panic. “You—you what?”

“It was for security purposes,” he dismisses casually, as if he's not admitting to a serious invasion of privacy. “Only near the front door and the common areas. I just wanted to catch intruders and any suspicious behaviour from my men. But imagine my surprise”—you feel his fingers start to press into your cunt—“when I instead caught you fucking yourself on the couch and moaning my name.”

You’re mortified. Humiliated. Mind racing with every instance you were horny and stupid enough to touch yourself in a common space. You think about yelling at him about the cameras, but then you feel two fingers sinking into you, and now you aren't thinking about much at all.

Your mind goes blank as you're stretched open by him. Your cunt is so wet, so empty, but the feeling still makes you whine. Your brow furrows, and you give him a pleading look. Slowly, please.

“Don't worry,” he says in a soothing tone, “I know you can handle this. I've seen you take much bigger. Though”—he shifts, pulls you so you're in between his legs, and now you can feel the length of him against you, hard and aching and huge, what the fuck—“maybe not big enough.”

You tighten around his fingers as he grinds against you. You want him inside you so badly, it hurts. Suo laughs when he feels your desperation, and he sounds so amused that you can't help but feel ashamed. But even more than shame, you feel aroused. You take the rest of his fingers easily, down to the knuckle.

“What the fuck, Suo,” you eventually manage through your panting, though not with much bite. “You weren't—ahh—meant to see any of that.”

“Sorry,” he says, sounding deeply unapologetic. “If it makes you feel any better, I didn't watch much, and I deleted all of it. I didn't need to see that to know you have feelings for me.”

You tense. “What feelings?” you ask, and Suo stops. He pulls his fingers out of you—you breathe sharply at the loss—and manhandles you until you're straddling his lap. Forces you to look at him, into his one eye. It's knife-sharp, brutal, but familiar. You don't struggle, nor do you feel uneasy.

But you do feel like prey.

“Do you remember,” he begins, voice light, “how our master always talked about how important it is to engage with each other’s feelings?”

Fuck.

“No,” you blurt out, and Suo laughs.

“Of course not,” he plays along. “You were always so terrible at it. But I've been doing a bad job too, lately. So”—he reaches beneath your dress, hooks your thong with his fingers—“I wanted to have an honest conversation with you.”

He smiles at you. Actually looks kind and even sounds earnest. What a fucking sociopath. You allow him to slide your underwear down your legs, kicking them off. Now your pussy is completely bare to him, and you can hear the way his breath stops as he touches it again. Three of his fingers push in this time, and you pant openly at the stretch, leaning against him as your body trembles from the stretch. He flexes his fingers experimentally, watching your reactions—your whimpers, your sighs, the way your eyelashes flutter when he brushes that one spot inside you.

“I’ve always had feelings for you,” he starts, using that nonchalant, delicate tone—the specific one that suggests danger, “and I know you’re too smart to have missed that. I’d be fine with it if you didn't return them, but you do.”

“I don't,” you protest, and then his fingers curl and press into your g-spot. You're cut off immediately, gasping at the sudden wave of heat in your belly.

A hand comes up to your chin. He forces you to look at him. “I said I wanted to have an honest conversation, remember.”

“I–I am being honest, I—” Your voice breaks as he starts pumping his fingers. It's slow, gentle, but precise. Tension builds in you at an alarming rate, your thighs getting as slick and messy as his hand. You bury your face into the crook of his shoulder, breathe in his cologne and gasp into his skin, and your mind goes hazy from the euphoria of his touch. Sure, you've hugged Suo before, been held by him before, and god knows you've been touched like this by a ton of other people before—but it feels different now. It feels different when it's Suo who's touching you, different when you’re this close to him while he's drawing all this pleasure out of you. When one hand feels so good inside you and the other one is holding you so intimately.

“Suo,” you whimper, overwhelmed by hot tension in your belly, “I-I’m close, I’m close, oh fuck—

He stops.

Before you can comprehend what's happening, he’s withdrawing his fingers, and all the heat in you is melting away. Your orgasm lost, you come down from your high—nerves frayed, emotions taut.

“Suo,” you say, “what the fuck?”

He gives you a smile. It almost looks nice. “I'm not letting you cum until you tell me the truth.”

You’re going to cry.

You're so wet, so empty, so desperate, and now you feel oddly afraid. You don't like the way he's staring you down. You don't like this line of questioning, this bullshit of engaging with other people's feelings. You’ve never liked it. But you need—need—him to fuck you. You need his fingers inside you and you need to cry into his neck while you finish.

You say, very quietly, “Please, Suo.”

“Please, what?”

It's funny. You've performed begging and crying and submission for countless clients, sometimes during annoyingly rough sessions. You've done it for years. But nothing has ever felt so humiliating as this moment, when you ask your best friend, in the smallest voice possible, “Please touch me.”

“No. Not until you start being honest with me.”

Suo's mouth curls at the devastated look you give him. You hardly even notice that he's adjusting you, having you straddle his thigh again—this time, facing him. You don't register it until your cunt is pressed into the wet spot you left earlier and he's saying, “You can move if you'd like. But I'm not touching you.”

“You’re fucking horrible,” you say with all your heart, but your pussy is throbbing and you're desperate for release. So you finally do what you were desperately trying to stop yourself from doing the whole night—you start grinding on him. Like a fucking animal in heat. It's embarrassing, especially because his leg feels so good against you. The friction on your pussy makes you pant, your eyes squeezing shut as your clit finally gets some pressure. It makes up for the way he’s looking at you, which is sly, handsome, and rage-inducing all at once.

“You really do need to be touched,” he remarks softly. “You said your customers satisfied you. Was that true? Did they properly fuck you?”

“N-no,” you gasp. Your mind feels so cottony now that you're getting some relief. You can barely think, and definitely not enough to lie. “It was—it was—fuck, I never came.”

He hums, satisfied. “There—see? Telling the truth isn't so hard. You can do it again.”

He sounds so condescending. You would ordinarily hate it, but for some reason, it's going straight to your pussy right now, making you drip so much you know you've ruined his pants. You’re getting close, too, just by rubbing yourself on his leg. It doesn't feel quite as good as when his fingers were in you, but it’s something. And it’s making it hard to focus on what he's saying.

“It’s fine if you can't be honest about your feelings,” Suo continues. “Let's assume you're telling the truth, and all you want to do is fuck me. Why haven't you?”

You try to answer him, but you can't. You're too focused on the roll of your hips against his leg. There's too much tension, too much heat. You melt against him again, breathing heavily into his shoulder as you tighten around nothing. His hands come to your waist, as if grounding you, and somehow this makes everything feel even better. You start panting, babbling, I'm close, I'm getting close, Suo, Suo—

His grip tightens, and he stops you in place. You cry in frustration—no tears, but the noise you make is broken.

“Answer my question,” he says. You feel a hand glide along your bare skin, stopping at your inner thigh. “Answer me and I'll touch you.”

“Okay,” you say, as desperate as you are distressed. “Okay, I'll do anything. Anything.”

“Good.” He sounds so pleased.

You put your arms around his neck, for no reason other than you want to. Lifting your hips, you part your legs for him, and you feel so relieved at just the touch of his hand that you sigh—even though all he's doing is running a finger along your slick folds.

You shudder as his fingers play with your sex. Lean your head on his shoulder as he starts to move. You’re so desperate that you start grinding against his hand, whining for him.

“Well, then,” he murmurs. “Tell me why you didn't come to me. This is all you wanted, isn't it?” He rolls your clit between two fingers, making you squirm. “Just to get off, right? I could have done that. You'd have enjoyed it more.”

“It”—your eyelids flutter shut—“it would have been too complicated. Y-you’re my boss, and I pay rent to y-you, and we’ve been friends for so long, I didn't want to make it weird—”

Suo delivers a sharp slap to your pussy.

The contact is so sudden that you yelp. It only stings a little, but it makes your clit ache. The noise it makes is so wet, so filthy, telling of your desperation. And to your shame—even though you have never once in your life enjoyed being handled roughly by your customers—your cunt starts leaking in response.

You whimper, about to burst from frustration. You need to be touched so bad. You need to be touched by him so bad, and you need to cum on his cock or else you'll lose your fucking mind.

“Suo,” you complain, or beg, and you don't even realise that you're tearing up until he swipes his thumb under your eye.

“Try again,” he says gently, but not kindly. “The truth this time, and then I'll make you cum. Why didn't you come to me first? These past few months, or any other time?”

You don't answer him. “Suo, please—” And he moves back so that you're no longer leaning against him. Your lip trembles at the loss of the warmth, which somehow feels worse than the loss of your orgasm. An actual tear rolls down your cheek, and he doesn't wipe this one away.

“Answer me,” he says firmly. Instead of replying, you try to reach for him—wanting to be pressed against his body again, wanting him to draw pleasure out of yours again—but he stills you with his hands.

You feel devastated.

Out of horny, emotional desperation, and an all-consuming need to be fucked, you admit, “I was just scared!”

This is the worst mistake you've ever made.

The minute the words dislodge from your throat, you feel yourself choke up. You don't know why. All you know is that you suddenly can't hold back your tears from your sexual frustration, which for some reason is starting to feel distinctly like a non-sexual kind of angst, which is also strangely painful for your chest.

Because now that you've said it out loud, you can't ignore it.

You want to hide. You want to crawl out of his lap and run out of the establishment. Surely, the mamasan will forgive you for leaving a shift with such a frightening and horrible man, who is currently trying to extort your feelings out of you. But Suo’s grip is solid and unforgiving on you, and all you can do is squirm.

“Scared of what?” Suo asks. His voice has gone soft. Actually soft—not in a way that suggests danger, but a way that suggests you're loved. It makes you tremble.

His arms circle you, and one rubs at your back. It makes you relax very slightly. Or at the very least, it makes you stop wanting to bolt.

“What were you scared of?” he prompts again.

A feeling of defeat washes over you. Suo will figure you out sooner or later. He always does. So you tell him, very quietly, “I was scared that—that you'd leave me.”

You realise that you just stuttered. You stuttered because you're crying. You're actually, genuinely crying. Not from sexual frustration, but because you're just frustrated in general. And miserable. You've been chronically miserable for most of your life, and that misery has had nowhere to go until now.

You press your face into Suo’s shoulder, and he lets you. You breathe deeply in an attempt to stop crying, his cologne washing over you. It's nice, but what feels most comforting is just the scent of him. You're used to it from the days before he'd ever thought about using a fragrance, let alone a fragrance that would bankrupt the average person. It's calming, even when overlayed with ambergris and vanilla. Familiar.

Your breathing evens out a little—but only a little.

“Why would I leave you?” His voice is so kind, patient. More tears bead on your lashes.

“Because you might not want me anymore.” You sound so fragile. Shit, you are fragile. You can't stop the splintering feeling in you, the same one that ate at you two months ago when you thought he was going to leave you. “You could get tired of me or resent me or get bored with me. You could—you could want to throw me away, for no reason. Or—” You breathe in sharply, clinging to him harder.

“Or?”

“Or you could die—you joined the yakuza, so you could die. Why did you do that?” An actual sob leaves you. His shirt is getting wet. You ruined so many of his silk changshan like this in the past, when your boyfriend cheated on you and when your parents kicked you out and when you slept with your fifth customer.

And when your master died.

“I'm still so fucking mad at you for it,” you bite out around your tears. “If you got fucking killed—oh my god, I can't even think about it. I can't—I couldn't take it if—if I kissed you, and we had sex, and then I didn't have you anymore.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re the only thing I have.” You squeeze your eyes shut, a terrible realisation hitting you. “And…”

“And?”

“And,” you say, voice breaking, “I think because I love you?”

You know it as soon as you voice it. You do love him. Not just platonically, but in the way where you want to hold his hand and kiss him and marry him. In the way a miserable nineteen year old girl is so in love with her miserable best friend that she refuses to leave him despite how terrifying he’s becoming. You loved him in this way before you realised you wanted to have sex with him, and even after that, you loved him so much that it didn't matter that he wasn't having sex with you.

You love him so much it disgusts you.

You want to hide, but Suo forces you to look at him. He brushes away your tears, cups your face. The Pavlovian response takes over: your heart rate slows, and you calm down.

“There,” he says gently. “That wasn't so bad, was it?”

He’s wrong. You bet he knows he's wrong. That was objectively one of the worst experiences of your life. You feel wrung out, tenderised. You never thought you'd say any of that. You're not sure you knew most of that.

But in Suo’s arms, plied open with his words and his hands, you actually find yourself shaking your head. You lean into the touch of his palm.

“I love you,” he continues, his tone so authoritative and calm that it leaves no room for doubt, “probably to the point that it should scare you. Do you understand that?”

“Yes,” you say quietly.

“And we won't be separated. I won't allow anything to take you away from me. Do you understand that too?”

You make a noise, halfway between a relieved sigh and another sob. This declaration should not be a surprise from a man who’s effectively locked you up in his house. Still—your heart feels so light when you hear someone say, for the first time in your life, that they’ll stay with you no matter what. It's like Suo has just unearthed a weight that you didn't know you'd been carrying.

“I’ll try,” you reply, voice small.

“Good.” He strokes your cheek. “Do you want to keep going?”

It’s absurd. You just cried and confessed something terrifying. With anyone else, this would be an experience so horrifying that you'd leave right now and never come back. Your sexual desire should not just be gone, but permanently erased. At the very least, you shouldn't feel the slightest bit horny.

But somehow, being gutted by Suo hasn't left you feeling bad. It's left you feeling lighter. Kind of like you've been purged. You feel exhausted, but in a malleable way. Dazed and relieved to be in his lap. Your thighs are still embarrassingly sticky, heart still embarrassingly wobbly, and you just heard him say that he loves you.

Now you want to hear him say it while he's cumming inside you.

“Yeah,” you admit immediately, pathetically. You sniffle.

“You're sure?” Another stroke. “I want to hear you say it clearly. What do you want to do?”

Your dignity is gone. “I want you to fuck me.”

He smiles. A fond hum leaves him. “Good girl,” he murmurs, and you feel a flutter in your belly. “I'll take care of you now.”

He kisses you this time, before he touches you. On the neck, on your jaw. You bare your nape to him, shivering at the feeling of his lips on your jugular, at his nipping teeth on your skin. You realise he's leaving marks, and with each one, you shudder. It feels so intimate. You're on a rooftop bar, in a skanky hostessing dress, crying and strung out—but this is the closest thing you've ever gotten to one of your fantasies about him. Not the nasty ones that you think about when you're home by yourself, but the ones you think of when you're in bed with various salarymen. The ones where you get to lie with him in bed and press your lips to his.

“Suo,” you start.

“Hayato,” he corrects you. “You're my fiancée now, remember? We should be on a first name basis.”

Your stomach flips. “Hayato,” you try again, breathless. “Please.”

He takes a moment to reply, busy sucking another mark into your skin. “Please, what?”

You hesitate. Suo pulls back, looking at you. You whine, feeling shy all of a sudden. You flirt for a living and yet you feel embarrassed about your request. It's humiliating.

“Please, what?” he repeats. His mouth is curled in a smile, and you can't tell whether it's endeared or entertained. “Please let you cum? Please fuck you?”

“Please kiss me,” you say, in a small voice.

Suo pauses.

“What?”

“Please kiss me,” you beg. Close to tears again, for some reason you don't know. You think it surprises him as much as it does you.

It takes him a moment to recover, but when he does, he gives you a look that’s fucking ravenous.

His thumbs away the wetness from your eyes. “You're so cute sometimes. Did you know that?”

You flush. Plenty of customers have called you cute, but none have had you feeling so indignant nor shy.

“I’m not,” you reply, “and stop that.”

“But it's true. And I want you to know it.”

Suo presses his mouth to yours before you can respond. You're so eager for him that you part your lips immediately. Your instinct is to make your first kiss with him messy and desperate, but he’s in full control, and he’s taking his time. His tongue is careful and precise. Full of intention. His lips are slow, languid, and lazy, like he's savouring the taste of you. A hand plays with the strap of your dress. You feel him slide it off your shoulder—the other one quickly follows—but you’re so absorbed in his kiss, you hardly pay attention.

You're vaguely aware of the breeze against your bare chest. One of his hands moving up, feeling out your curves. He hums into your mouth when his fingers ghost over your nipples, and they harden under his touch.

“Suo,” you whine as he teases them, and he pinches one of them, watching as you squirm.

“Hayato,” he corrects you promptly, and you give him a worn, teary look.

“Hayato.”

“Yes?”

“I need more,” you say quietly.

He smiles, clearly enjoying your desperation. “Be patient,” he teases you. “I’m getting there.”

He kisses a line along your jaw, down your neck. Traces your collarbone with the path of his mouth, works his way down to your breasts. At the same time you feel the heat of his tongue on your nipple, his hand reaches between your legs. You're so wet already that he doesn't need to work you open again—just sinks his fingers inside you until you're sighing for him.

You discover that when he's not antagonising you, Suo is frighteningly efficient with pleasuring you. He learns quickly how you like your tits played with, and how to fuck you so well with his fingers until you're gushing around them and keening. He said he'd take care of you, but you think he's mostly forcing all this pleasure from your body for his own enjoyment. There's no other explanation for how he keeps bringing you to the edge and pulling you back, swallowing each of your whines and complaints with his mouth. The only time he isn't kissing you is when you're begging—and you don't miss the way his breathing deepens every time you do.

But no matter how much you beg, he isn’t letting you cum.

“Look at the mess you're making,” he murmurs as he plays with your cunt. You're sitting between his legs again, your back against his chest. You can feel the length of his cock against your ass, and you hear how his breath hitches every time you squirm against it. Except for that one tell, he sounds completely unaffected by what he's doing—forced you to open your legs wide for him, spread your glistening folds to tease you. The leather beneath your ass is wet, ruined by your need.

“Hayato,” you whine.

“Just a little longer,” he promises, “and then I'll let you cum.”

Your mind is so fogged with pleasure at this point that you can't focus on anything other than Suo’s touch. You’ve actually forgotten where you are—not a truly private space, but part of a club. The girls would normally only come up if you put in an order, but you haven't for a while now.

Long enough for someone to check on you without warning.

You tense as soon as you hear the door open. You recognize the server—she knows you well, by face, stage name, and real name. Your eyes go wide as she calls for you. You try to sit up, close your legs, but Suo grabs one of your thighs and forces it open.

“Suo, wait—”

You whimper, incapable of words when his fingers push into you again. He starts fucking you with them, and in earnest this time—curling his fingers until they're pushing into your g-spot, doing it over and over and over. Your eyes roll back and you stop struggling, and Suo takes the opportunity to touch you with his other hand too, playing with your clit. A strangled moan leaves you as the heat in your gut ratchets up. Pleasure swells in your belly; you feel like you're going to burst.

“Suo,” you cry, tears pricking your eyes, “wait, wait, my coworker—wait, I think—I think I'm gonna—”

“Go ahead,” he says into your ear, voice silky, and he pushes against your sweet spot in a way that gives you no choice but to obey him.

You cum so hard that you squirt all over the seat. Your whole body is wracked with intense pleasure—hips bucking violently, legs twitching, crying so loudly and shamelessly that your coworker naturally hears. She catches you spread wide open in Suo’s lap, his fingers deep in your messy, swollen cunt as you drench them.

Her tray clatters to the floor.

Fighting the mindless haze that your body is in, you glance at the other girl, whose hand is over her mouth. She looks appalled. She’s going to yell at you. But then you then watch, in real time, as her eyes travel to your customer’s face and she realises who he is. If she was red when she saw the two of you, she's now a pale white.

“Did you come to check on us?” Suo asks. He sounds amused. She flinches at his voice, and actually takes a step backward. “We’re fine for now. We’ll order something in a bit, and call you up here as usual.”

“O-okay,” she says, voice high and tense. “I—I’ll leave you two, then. Please—please enjoy yourself, sir. We'll be available in case you require any other services.” And she walks away briskly, almost in a run. She doesn't even bother to stop the expressly forbidden act that you're engaged in.

Once she’s gone, Suo allows you some dignity. He pulls his fingers out of you, lets you catch your breath.

“Oops,” he says. “It’s too bad they caught us. I suppose they won't want to keep you on as an employee, since you broke such an important rule.”

You stare at him, wide-eyed. Your emotional and sexual pliability quickly dissipates, replaced by disbelief.

“You—you did that on purpose,” you say between pants, too fucked out to be truly angry, but still appalled.

Suo raises a brow, gives you an innocent look. “Did I? I was just making you cum, like you've been begging all night. It was just unfortunate timing.” He then smiles, which makes him look incredibly kind despite the apparent sadism of his person. “But it's fine. They're going to fire you for this, but you know my club will always take you back.”

You close your eyes and groan. “You’re horrible.”

“I am, aren't I?” Suo puts his arms around you, kisses you on the shoulder, his voice getting low. “But this is a better arrangement, don't you think? You won't need to see customers this way. Every time you need relief, you can come upstairs and I'll give you my cock instead.” He grinds against you, letting you feel how hard he is, and you whimper. He laughs, probably entertained at how desperate you sound. “Or maybe I'll just make you take it whenever I feel like it. I think at the end of every shift makes sense, doesn't it? Since that's how often you've been touching yourself on the couch.”

“S-suo.”

“It’s Hayato now, remember. What is it, dear?”

He sounds so smug, mocking you. You should be furious. But in your fucked out state, all you can focus on is the idea of being forced to take Suo's cock every night. Despite already being ruined, your pussy starts throbbing again. You squirm and press your thighs together, trying to get it to stop—you’re so fucking tired—and you bleakly realise that you can't control your body’s reactions around him. You're getting wet again. It makes you want to cry.

“Hayato,” you whimper, on the verge of tears.

“Ah, you addressed me properly. Good.” He’s so satisfied. “What is it?”

“I…”

“You?”

“I”—your voice is so small and embarrassed, you can hardly believe it—“I want you to fuck me.”

He feigns shock, as if he wasn't actively provoking this. “Really? But you just came.” A hand prods between your legs. You obediently spread them for him, and he checks your pussy with two of his fingers. You moan a little at the intrusion, but there's no resistance at all.

Your cunt, still dripping, tightens around him, and he laughs softly.

“You really do need a cock in you. Who knew you had such a needy pussy.” He curls his fingers. Probably feeling the way it makes you gush, delighting in the gasp it draws out of you. “No wonder you have to use that toy every day.”

You're about to die of embarrassment. “Hayato. Please just fuck me.”

Suo turns you so that you can look at him. He’s wearing a kind, benevolent face when he says, “No.”

“...what?”

“I'm not going to give you my cock.” He hums, contemplative. “Not for a while, I think.”

“B-but,” you say, genuinely upset, “but you were just talking about doing that at work.”

“Sure—after we get married. It's only proper, don’t you think?”

“What?” Your eyes are wide in disbelief. “You—you just made me cum with your fingers. In a public space.”

“Yes. But that's different from letting you have my cock. It wouldn't be gentlemanly of me to do that before we’re wedded.” He can't keep the amusement out of his voice as he bullies you. “I'm sure you can wait until the summer, right? Since that's the season you chose for us. August, I think you told Nirei.”

“Hayato—”

“Actually,” he muses, easily sliding a third finger into you, making your voice clip off in a whimper, “I think you shouldn’t be allowed to have anything in you until then. Except for my fingers and tongue, of course. But no toys, and no other men either. That definitely wouldn't be proper.”

“I'm going to,” you say spitefully—and tearfully. “If you don't fuck me right now, I will sleep with other people.”

“I don't think you want to find out the consequences if you do.”

“How would you even—ngh—know?”

“Good question.” He starts pumping his fingers, and to your horror, your cunt needily swallows them with each motion, your body as desperate as he's been saying. “I guess I'll need to check your pussy every night. See if it's been stretched out by someone else’s cock. Maybe upstairs in the lounge at the end of each night, so I'll know that you haven't fucked a customer during a shift. Clearly, it's not impossible that you would.”

You try not to sob. Not only are his words utterly humiliating, they're making you wetter. After fucking so many people in so many ways, you didn't know it was possible for you to feel this much shame during sex—but then again, shaming people is one of Suo’s specialties.

You give him the teariest look possible, because by now you've figured out that he likes seeing you cry. Sadistic motherfucker. You're happy to use it to your advantage though.

He gets that hungry look in his eye again. “Please, Hayato,” you beg, voice trembling with need, “I want more. I thought I was your beautiful wife already.” You grind your ass against his cock, and he inhales sharply. “Don't you wanna cum in your wife’s pussy?”

Suo stops, deeply affected—just as you guessed he'd be. After making you his fake wife in both his criminal life and his civilian one, it's painfully obvious that the man is obsessed with marrying you. You'd make fun of him if you weren't so horny. Or humbled.

He only allows himself speechlessness for a second. He hums soon after, delicately wiping the tears out of your eyes. “You've been good enough that I guess I can reward you. I won't fuck you, but”—he shifts away, and you can hear his pants unzipping—“I’m sure you'll enjoy yourself anyway.”

Suo wasn't lying earlier. His cock is bigger than any toy you've ever used. It's pretty, too. Curved and long and flushed at the head. Glistening with prespend, which has pearled up at the tip. You think you might be salivating. For a minute, you contemplate asking if you can feel it in your throat, but then Suo’s lying down and moving you on top of him. When his cock nudges at your folds, you can’t help your excitement. You squirm, trying to sink onto his length.

His grip tightens on your waist, stopping you.

You’re about to whine at him about this, but he doesn't give you the chance. “If you try to ride me,” he says, in a voice so cold that you know he's not joking, “I'm not touching you until we’re married, and I'm not letting you touch yourself either.”

“...”

With anyone else you'd call bullshit, but you know that Suo is both crazy and petty enough to actually achieve this.

“Okay.” You sound and feel mollified. “I'll behave.”

He smiles. “Good,” he says cheerfully. “Just stay like that, then. I’ll take care of you.”

You listen to him, mostly because you're incredibly excited about getting pussy inspections and you'll be devastated if it doesn't happen. And you don't expect it to be a big deal, anyway. While your sex drive has been a constant source of grief for you throughout your life, you don't really have problems controlling any specific impulses in bed when you truly need to. You’re used to giving your customers whatever they want and, if you're lucky, getting off from it. You figure this will be the same.

You find out very quickly that it isn't.

You need to stay still. You can’t sink down on him. Two easy orders that are extraordinarily difficult when Suo is the one beneath you. You have to actively stop your hips from moving when you feel the silky head of his cock press into your folds, which are still dripping with your slick. Suo’s breath hitches when he runs the tip along your opening, drawing wet noises every time his cock head catches on your needy hole, smearing his precum all over it. All you want is to push back on him and let your pussy swallow his cock. You’re aching for it, and you know he is too. If you sank down on him now, he'd lose control and fuck you raw until he was cumming inside you. And then he'd probably keep going after that, not letting you move until you were stuffed full and dripping with his spend. Both of you know it.

But you don't do that. You're good for him. You sigh, just trying to enjoy the feeling of his length rubbing against you. How he's twitching and throbbing against you, how he wants as equally much to be inside you—but pulls back every time. Your mind goes a little fuzzy with the drawn out, low hum of pleasure, and you close your eyes.

Then he starts pushing into you.

“H-Hayato?” You whimper at the intrusion, at being made to take something so thick without warning. “I thought you weren't gonna—”

“I'm not,” he says. His breathing is heavier, his words strained, but his voice is still commanding when he says, “Don’t move.”

Suo doesn't give you the whole thing, just the tip. It is much harder to control yourself like this—when you can feel yourself getting stretched by the head of his cock, already so fat and heavy, but you don't get filled up by it. It makes you aware of how empty you are, and how wet you're getting. You bury your face into his neck and make a noise that's both tearful and pathetic.

It's not acting when you whine, in a watery, miserable way, “Please, Hayato. I need your cum in me.”

It's probably the crying that gets him. He inhales sharply, thrusting maybe a little deeper than intended. You groan at the extra inch of cock, eyes rolling back, and can't help the way your pussy tightens and drips, trying to suck him in.

“Fuck,” he says, and then he pulls out.

He lays you flat on your back. Before you can get so much as a word out, he's between your legs and pressing his cock against your entrance. For possibly the happiest moment of your life, you think Suo is going to fuck you—but instead he starts pushing the slick head of his cock right against your neglected clit.

You aren't going to complain.

You whimper as he starts rubbing against your sex, leaving his prespend all over your swollen bud. It makes you squirm, grinding yourself against it, and you press your legs together to get some more pressure for the both of you. Soon his cock is sliding between your thighs, getting them all sticky with his prespend. You can feel the length of him hot and slick against your folds, heavy and throbbing.

You've never cum like this before. It was never enough stimulation when your customers made you do this, which nearly all of them have. But the pressure on your clit and on your folds is shockingly intense as the two of you move, enough to make you whimper as a familiar tension builds. It's not as overwhelming as when his fingers were inside you, but it's enough for you to start panting at the tension in your belly. You can hear Suo’s breath picking up as you start to whine, and he watches you, almost predatorial, as another orgasm crashes over you. You moan his name as you cum, squeezing a few more tears out of your eyes.

He stares at your flustered, wet face as he pushes the head of his cock against your entrance again, fisting himself as it flutters and drips in the aftershock of your orgasm. Suo’s been hard for so long, for the whole time he's teased and bullied you—you aren't surprised at how close he already is. Especially not when you start talking about how much you need his cum in you, how empty your pussy feels without it, how badly you want your husband to fill you up. All with your mascara smeared and your lip trembling, a sight that makes him throb.

Suo groans as he finally cums. You can feel his cock twitching, warmth spurting out onto your folds, and then into your pussy as he thrusts shallowly into you. You pull him down needily as he fills you, and he indulges you with a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss.

When he pulls out, you can feel his cum drip out of you, all the way down to the couch. You make a happy noise at the mess he's made of your hole, giving him a lovestruck, dreamy expression.

“You should do that every night after you're done checking my pussy,” you sigh.

Suo’s mouth curls, and breathes out a kind of laugh. He holds your face, and one of his tassels brush against the shell of your ear as he presses his forehead to yours. “I’ll do it if you're good for me.”

“I’ll be on my best behaviour until our wedding night,” you promise, voice affectionate.

Suo gives you a fond look. His expression is so sentimental. You think he’s going to say something sweet.

“Alright,” he replies. “Then be good for me and keep the rest of that inside you, okay? Let’s not make a mess of these floors. I don't want to get blacklisted from this club.”

You open and close your mouth, completely speechless.

“You're fucking horrible,” you say with all your heart, and he laughs and kisses you, and kisses you, and kisses you. He doesn't stop until you're placated and horny again.

Suo takes his sweet time pushing his cum into you as deeply as possible, saying that it's to make sure you don't lose any of it, but really so he can draw another orgasm out of you. Knowing that the mamasan might take pity on you and think that you were coerced into degrading sexual acts by a terrifying yakuza client, he makes sure to order a drink beforehand, calling up a server. (I don't want to be a bad patron, he hums as he looks at the tablet, and I said I'd get you to the number 1 ranking, right?) It subsequently looks, sounds, and is completely consensual when you're found pulling at Suo’s hair, keening as he fingers his cum into you while sucking on your clit.

This leaves you with no hope of continued employment on all of Keisei Street.

To add insult to injury, you do make a mess of the floors, despite Suo’s conscientious efforts to avoid this—though it's not as bad as the one you left on the couch. You also can't find your thong anywhere, which you guess is something else that the mamasan won’t appreciate when she finds it. Still, for the rest of the night, everyone shows Suo nothing but the utmost respect and highest quality customer service. They even ask how he found your company and if he has any feedback for you. He praises your conversational skills, karaoke abilities, and how capable you were in catering to his many needs. He also lets them know that you'll be resigning.

Hanzo and Shuuhei are waiting to pick you up, bringing the Rolls Royce with the privacy suite. This time, Suo doesn't use it to interrogate you; he instead uses it to kiss you and tease you and discuss wedding plans. If it'll be indoors or outdoors. If you'll have a big reception or a small one. If it'll be a traditional wedding, or if you’ll want a Chinese one like the one your master would have maybe liked to see. You settle on having a Shinto ceremony and a Chinese-style reception. Having been raised Chinese, whenever Suo imagined marrying during his teenage years, you were always in a red qipao. His master even once told him that if he managed to win your heart, he'd organise a tea ceremony and act in the role of Suo’s father.

After disclosing these facts (the first of which makes your heart weak, and the second of which leaves it aching), he asks about any long-standing things you've always wanted to do with him as a couple. If you had any silly or indulgent daydreams about your future with him, and what they were like.

“I don't know,” you admit. “I guess after you applied to teacher’s college, I liked the idea of marrying you, and doing all the domestic things you talked about. Though you were just joking at the time.”

You don't really expect him to remember much about this particular line of teasing. Sure, the man is currently obsessed with marrying you, and maybe he daydreamed about it a little bit when he was younger—but he mostly treated the idea as a funny joke when he was a teenager. All of the teasing has probably blurred together for him over the years. Certainly, it has for you.

But you've never been able to forget this particular memory. It’s one of those small, inconsequential moments that you find yourself incapable of letting go to this day. You loved hearing him talk about getting married, even though it hurt immensely that it was probably just teasing. You loved it because you wanted it. You wanted Suo to teach people because you knew he was good at it and it would make him genuinely happy. You wanted to stop working in the red light district and make a nice and safe home for Suo, just as he'd made a nice and safe home for you. And you wanted to marry him and kiss him and have sex with him and only him for the rest of your life.

You wanted it so badly, it still makes you heart ache to think about it.

He was definitely just teasing you, though. Suo was a sane person at the time, and sane people do not actually plan a marriage and life with someone before dating them or even fucking them. Most importantly, a sane person wouldn't hold onto such a silly joke for so long. Oh, you expect him to say, laughing. You're right, I had nearly forgotten.

But all he does is give you a smile. It's one of his strange, enigmatic ones.

“No, I was quite serious about it,” Suo says, looking right at you.

You stare at him.

“Really?”

“Really.”

He's being so straightforward, so earnest. Your typical reaction would be to feel flustered, sentimental—but something about his expression and tone bothers you. But before you can suss out what it is, he continues, and the moment passes.

“Was there anything else you ever wanted to do?” he asks smoothly.

You're startled, off-guard. “Oh, um… not really. I never let myself think too much about it.”

“Come on,” he prods. “There must be something.”

“No, I really didn't think of any ideas on my own. Although…”

Your face gets hot as you trail off. Suo senses weakness, and goes in for the kill.

“Although?”

“It's too embarrassing,” you admit, looking away, and Suo looks a little too interested as he pesters you for an answer.

“Come on, it's fine.” His mouth curls in a way that tells you it's not fine. “I promise I won't judge you. I just want to know what I can do to make you happy as your husband.”

You give him an uncertain look, and say your only concrete fantasy about him so quickly and quietly that he misses it.

“Pardon?” he asks.

“...romantic, vanilla sex.”

Suo blinks. “What?”

Your face burns with humiliation.

“I used to think about having romantic, vanilla sex with you. When I was a teenager. A lot.” Said as if you weren't just thinking about it two months ago in a love hotel, and still don't want it now. You wouldn't even bring it up if you didn't think it was necessary. But unfortunately, you're professionally skilled at perceiving people’s sexual interests, and you've perceived that Suo is sexually a freak. He was definitely going easy on you tonight, and is probably actively planning to get worse. You'll never have normal sex with him unless you explicitly state a desire for it.

Suo gives you a surprised look. “That's… a very mundane fantasy.”

“It wouldn't have been mundane to me,” you reply, somewhat defensively. “I used to think about it when I slept with my customers, who weren't very romantic. Or vanilla. So I didn’t really have a good reference point or anything for that kind of sex, but sometimes I still thought about doing it with you after they had left.”

You look away after saying this, wondering why you disclosed all of that. It certainly wasn't necessary for your dream of someday taking Suo’s cock without being psychosexually tortured first. Now you feel like you need to hide. You even think about excuses for stopping the car, and ponder again how difficult it would be to live without proof of identity, if you chose to run away.

But Suo doesn't let you run. He pulls you close to him, wrapping you up in his warmth.

“It's okay,” he says gently, in a voice that reminds you of how he was in his old Furin days. “You'll be okay. I'll make sure of it.” It confuses you deeply, and you turn to ask him what the fuck he's going on about.

You don't even realise you're crying until he starts kissing away your tears.

You can’t understand why you’re weeping. Maybe something strange and hormonal happened while you were having sex, like Suo made you orgasm too hard and all the oxytocin is making you depressed now. Though you think that hormone is supposed to make you happy. You're not sure. You never finished school, so you wouldn't know.

Whatever the reason, you hastily wipe away your tears. A hand rubs at your back, and you let yourself press your face into his shoulder.

“Sorry,” you say quickly.

“Don't apologise. You don't have anything to be sorry for.”

You hesitate as you breathe against the silk threads of his shirt, thinking about how many of his shirts you've ruined with your tears. At least three changshan and one Versace summer piece, by your count. It’s not like he hurts over the money these days, but guilt tugs at your heart.

“I don't know about that,” you mumble into his shoulder. And it takes a while to work yourself up to saying it, but eventually you whisper, with full honesty, “I'm sorry for always worrying you.”

“I know,” Suo says. He sounds sincere when he says, “I’m sorry too.”

“I’ll try to be better from now on.”

“You will be. And even if you aren’t, that's fine.”

For some reason, that makes your heart squeeze.

You melt against Suo after that, listening to the steady roll of tires and passing traffic outside. There's a gentle pitter patter of rain against the car roof, tinny and rhythmic, that gradually crescendos into a proper storm. The windshield wipers squeak against the glass. All of the noise is lulling you into a kind of peace, or maybe you're just feeling that way because Suo is holding you.

Fatigue wears your consciousness, and you close your eyes. The hustle and bustle of the red light district grows distant, faint—partly from slipping in and out of your dreams, and partly from the quieting world outside. It's now completely silent other than the heavy rainfall. You think they must be taking the road through Makochi. Suo asks for it whenever he wants you to sleep well.

He probably thinks you're asleep when he says, “I’m sorry for being how I am now.”

You almost stop breathing. Almost.

“You didn't fall in love with me when I was like this, so you must not like it very much,” he continues. “I know that Master wouldn't like me much either, if he were alive. He always said that you should support your loved ones until they can stand on their own two feet. But lately, I feel like all I've been doing is breaking yours.”

He sighs. The sky groans with distant thunder.

“Sakura knows who I really am, you know,” he says quietly. “I think he's worried about what'll happen to you if we get married. Though he’s been worried about you for a while.” Suo almost sounds endeared when he adds, “Did you know he only texts me now to ask if you're okay? He really does love you.”

He’s more sombre when he continues, “But Nirei is just afraid of me. That’s why he’s never around. He’s going to call you in a week and tell you not to go through with the wedding. He’ll probably tell you to leave me too. It’s good advice.”

It's hard to keep your breathing slow, with how badly your heart hurts.

“I’ve tried to go back to how I was, to the kind of person that Master was trying to raise,” Suo confesses. “But I don't think I can get better.”

But even if you can't, you want to tell him, that’s fine. You wish you could hold him how he's always held you.

“It doesn't usually upset me nowadays,” he admits after some time, “how I am now. But to be honest, talking about our school days did make me feel bitter, because I can't give you the things I know you wanted.”

He kisses the top of your head. Gently, so as not to wake you from your dream.

“I'm sorry I never became a teacher. I'm sorry I joined the yakuza. I'm sorry I can't give you a normal life. And I'm sorry I can’t have an honest conversation with you.”

Silence. You feel his chest stop briefly, his breathing deepen.

“Maybe someday, I'll get better enough to say these things to you while you're awake. Maybe someday, I'll even get better enough to let you leave. It would be best for you.”

His voice gets even softer. Tender.

“But for now, I don't know how to let you go.”

You feel a hand shifting away, the soft noise of leather against skin. Then both arms around you again, even warmer, even tighter. He’s leaning his head against yours. You think Suo is falling asleep.

Allowing yourself a single, quick glance at the car, you peer at your reflections in the rearview mirror. You see sheets of rain sliding against the back window, his dark lashes pressed to his skin, and all the scar tissue he likes to keep hidden away.

And you can see, very clearly, tears beneath his missing eye.

END 'TOKYO VICE'

hi everyone thanks for reading this chapter!!!! i hope it didn't disappoint after all the shitposting i did about it this week lol

can i just say. this was straight up the weirdest sex scene I've ever written HASLKFJSDF and the mood whiplash throughout this was probably the craziest i've ever written within a single piece. unfortunately, this reader copes with her trauma via humour and sex and it really shows rip. i hope it wasn't too offputting!

thank you to everyone who left a comment on part 1!! please do let me know if you enjoyed part 2 as well. <333

tagging @kweenkatsuki-fics and @stuckindreamland06!

#hayato suo x reader #suo hayato x reader #wbk x reader #windbre x reader #wind breaker x reader #wind breaker smut #suo hayato smut

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