Washio Tatsuki X Reader - Tumblr Posts

pink magnolia, part one

washio tatsuki doesn’t need love. he needs drugs, women, and people to stop making him work so damn hard. a chance meeting with a daycare worker flips that all upside down and changes him—for the good and the bad.

pairing: mafia underboss washio tatsuki x daycare worker f!reader with hair, 8.1k, part one of two (nsfw, 18+, minors dni)

warnings: graphic depictions of murder/death, depictions of abuse, depictions of prostitution, depictions of drug use, heavy degradation, hair pulling, pussy slapping, oral (m!receiving), face fucking, breeding kink (no pregnancy kink), overstimulation, dacryphilia, spit kink, thigh fucking,

thanks to: i owe @vanille–kiss and @anime-nymph my life <3 <3 <3 betaing and ideas are mostly all them and i am forever thankful!

banner by the amazing @vanille–kiss — please go check out her works!! she is amazing!

tagging: @hqintheclub, @anime-central, @stargirl2898, @erinoikawa, @betheydochaos, @miyarinrin, @antique-remains, @theoriginaleclipse, @rinsangel

join my taglist here! tipjar (not necessary) here!

part one || part two || black petunia || red peony || white lily || mafia au masterlist

The thing about being an underboss in the mob is that no one questions him.

People know why Washio Tatsuki is there when he comes calling. It’s why their eyes grow wide, why they try to scramble away, why they beg for their lives before he sends a knife into their gut or a bullet into their skulls. Underlings bow their heads whenever he walks into the Raijin parlors, quickly making space for him at his favorite table, no matter how powerful the clientele sitting there is. Women flock to him, draping their arms over his shoulders with flirtatious giggles before riding his cock with loud moans and watery eyes.

It’s also why his sister Kana agrees to let him pick up his nephew from daycare for the foreseeable future, even though her shitty husband is vehemently against it. He can hear them fighting from the other room as he lounges on the couch, arm swung over the back, a half-drunk beer in his hand.

“You can’t let him—”

“He won’t do anything to Kaito, he’s a good uncle!”

“He’s part of the—” Her husband pauses. “You know what he does.”

Yeah, and what he does paid for the entire apartment he’s currently sitting in, watching the 5-year-old Kaito draw stick figure policemen on the floor.

“Why the policemen, kid?”

“They’re cool,” Kaito responds with a boyish grin. “They get to carry guns!”

Washio snorts and finishes off his beer, suddenly very aware of the gun hidden on his hip.

The only reason he is bothering to pick Kaito up in the first place is because some tech mogul owes Suna a large amount of money and refuses to pay up. Washio prefers to spend his time in places filled with bags of white powder than places with snot-faced kids, but this is the only place Ninomiya Shintarou has been spotted alone lately. He must really love his kid to pick her up every day from the daycare, or maybe he thinks that the Raijin clan won’t attack him if he has his daughter with him. Either way, the guy is more slippery than a goddamn fish.

So he walks up to the lemon-colored building, past the pink magnolia trees lining the front walkway, and throws open the door.

The place is a zoo, screaming kids running around with their plushies dragging along the ground, or smashing their toys along the wooden floor. There are a handful of teachers trying to round up the students for an afternoon snack, and some of the kids listen while others continue to laugh with their friends. One boy who can barely even walk on his own comes to a stop right in front of Washio’s feet, big eyes blinking up at him, the blanket in his hand falling to the ground when he opens his mouth—

—and absolutely wails.

This isn’t the first time a kid has cried from looking at his face; he’s gotten used to how downright menacing he can look when his face is resting. It’s worked in his favor ever since he was recruited into the Raijin clan in high school, but that doesn’t mean his ears aren’t shattering with how loud this boy is crying.

“Jesus kid, shut up,” he grumbles but it does nothing.

Hurried feet pound across the floor and there’s a gasp of “Natsuki!”—and that’s when Washio sees you for the first time.

Your red and blue checkered apron is stained on the bottom and covers your khakis and black t-shirt. You’re pretty—too pretty to be stuck in such an ugly get-up anyway—and you kneel down next to the boy, scooping him up in your arms. He calms down slightly, quieting down enough so that you can stand up and blink at the underboss before you.

“Can I help you with anything?”

“Nope.” Washio shrugs, taking a look around. He doesn’t see Kaito but that doesn’t surprise him. The kid’s always been popular, just like Kana always was. “I’m gonna hang for a bit.”

“No, you won’t,” you counter with a narrowing of your eyes. “What’s your name? Are you on the designated pick-up list?”

“Definitely not.” Washio stares at you and the way your lips set at his answer. “Listen, I’m here for Kaito.”

“You can’t just walk in here and demand to see a child. You’re a stranger.” You glance behind you, checking on the other workers still rounding up the kids before dropping your voice. “If you don’t leave, I’m going to call the police.”

“Calm the fuck down, lady. I’m not a stranger, I’m his uncle.”

“Even so, Kaito’s pick-up time is at 6PM and it’s 4PM. You can come back later after I’ve called Kaito’s mother.”

Washio crosses his arms over his chest as he regards you. The crying boy is fast asleep against your shoulder so there’s no way you can bar him entry. You’re tiny compared to him anyway, looking like you haven’t worked out a day in your life, probably because you’re too tired after wrangling up brats all day. You wouldn’t last a day in the parlors, not with all the grabby men who sit at the tables, betting their savings just to get a girl to finally fawn over them.

So he shrugs and walks past you into the daycare. Who are you to stop him?

Well, you might not be able to stop him, but the police you call certainly can.

Washio didn’t actually expect you to go through with it, but two men in blue uniforms and ugly yellow vests show up barely fifteen minutes after he’s taken a seat in a much-too-small pink plastic chair, watching Kaito play with his friends. He stares at you incredulously as you take a breath and ask him to step outside, the two men behind you silently backing you up. It nearly makes him laugh, the power you think you have just because you called the cops. Once that protection is gone, it would be easy enough to make you disappear, one way or another.

“Like I told this lady before,” he grinds out between clenched teeth. “I’m Kaito’s uncle.”

“My name isn’t lady,” you huff and give your name before crossing your arms over your chest. “And I called Kana-san—”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake—”

“—And,” you continue after the interruption, tone clipped with your annoyance. “I’m asking you to wait outside until she arrives.”

You’re not asking him anything. You’re telling him, commanding him with the back-up of two fat old men and the correct assumption that he won’t cause a scene in front of a bunch of toddlers. He sighs, slapping his thighs as he stands with one last glare to you.

“Sure, queen, whatever you want.”

Kana is none-too-pleased when she rolls up in her crappy old car, the motor sputtering as she throws it in park and turns the car off. It isn’t her exasperated expression Washio is focused on, but the fact that her tires are still bald and old. He had given her money for new tires just last week—what happened to it?

“Tatsuki,” she sighs when he comes up to the landing where he’s been waiting for thirty minutes. “What did you do now?”

“Hell if I know.”

“So you do know him?” You question after bowing and offering greetings. “Is he really your brother?”

“Yes, he’s my idiot younger brother, Washio Tatsuki,” Kana sighs and turns to him. “You know for a—” Then she pauses, glancing at the police officers still standing around. “A powerful guy, you’re a right dumbass.”

“I’m not the one who called you down here when a phone call woulda been fine, but whatever.”

“Excuse me!” You huff discontentedly, and Washio only regards you with an annoyed glare.

The police officers excuse themselves; Kana explains that he’ll be picking Kaito up for the foreseeable future; you begrudgingly agree, the smile on your face stretched a little too far to be believable. When Kana leaves, Washio turns to you with a tilted grin.

“Well, I guess we’ll be seeing a lot of each other, huh?”

“I guess.”

By the look on your face, you’d rather take a bullet to the face than let him back into the daycare, but you step aside anyway.

If you’re serious about that, Washio thinks with amusement as he steps inside and reclaims his tiny pink throne, he’s definitely the guy who can make it happen.

It’s cute how you think glaring at him will make him go away. He arrives around 3 or 4PM every day, sitting in a wooden chair (Kaito stole his pink throne a few days ago), waiting for Ninomiya Shintarou to show his face. The mogul hasn’t been back since he was spotted last week which is probably good for him, because if he showed up now, he wouldn’t be showing up ever again.

Still, it’s a perfect opportunity to observe you as you flit around the room, taking care of the little punks who always need your attention. In fact, he’s pretty sure he’s never even seen you take a break while your other co-workers definitely have. Washio knows some of these kids as children of the rich politicians around the city—the daycare is private and expensive for a reason, after all—and the rest, well, he doesn’t really give a shit.

“Why do you keep coming so early?” You ask him one afternoon when he strolls in, nose scrunching up when you smell the nicotine on his breath. “You don’t need to come until 6PM.”

“Why? Do you miss me when I’m gone?” Washio teases as he walks past you, eyes flickering down to your annoyed expression. It’s cute. Most girls fawn over him because of what’s in his wallet and his pants, but you’re the only one who challenges him. Probably because you don’t realize exactly who you’re dealing with; Washio is sure you’d change your tune pretty quickly if you ever stared at the end of his gun barrel.

“No,” you emphasize as you follow him. “You scare the children when you sit in the playroom like some kind of… mob boss.”

Well, no shit.

“You sure it’s just the brats?” Washio stops and turns to you, and you nearly run into him with how hot you were on his heels. “You sure you aren’t scared of me, too?”

“I’m not scared of you,” you immediately answer, and by the hardened look on your face, Washio knows you’re completely serious. Maybe he should fix that. “I’m—”

He doesn’t know what you’re going to say. There’s a high-pitched cry from the playroom and you both look over to see Kaito on the ground, holding onto his knee after tripping over the leg of a table. Washio’s at his side in a minute, pulling him up to sit and checking his leg for any cuts or scrapes. When he sees there’s nothing, he chortles.

“Alright, quit crying.”

“Uncle Tatsuki,” Kaito whines. “Hurts.”

“Yeah, yeah, but it could be worse, kiddo,” he laments, putting a hand on the top of his head. “What do we say about pain?”

“It’s terp- uhh, tremper, uhh- temporary.”

“Yup. Unless you’re dead. You dead?” Kaito shakes his little head, tears still leaking from the corners of his eyes but no longer crying. “Didn’t think so. So get up and go play with your friends.”

Kaito mumbles ‘okay’, and as soon as he’s on his feet again, he takes off, running around like there wasn’t a commotion in the first place. Washio turns his head to the right and sees you standing there, a curious tilt to your head, a light smile on your face. It makes his heart thump against his will, and his frown sets as he stands up.

“What?”

“I didn’t know you were such a good uncle.”

Washio smirks. “You fallin’ for me or something? I can be a nice guy.”

“I said a good uncle, not a good person,” you frown and turn on your heel.

Washio watches you go to the next room, bending down on your knees to help a little girl color some picture in a coloring book. He only realizes he’s been staring the entire time when a kid bumps into his legs and nearly falls over. He forces himself not to look at you; keeps an eye on the door until it’s time to take Kaito back home; pretends he doesn’t see your gaze lingering on his back as he walks out, Kaito’s sweaty little hand locked with his.

As soon as he’s free, he’s at the parlor, one of the girls draped all over his lap as he swipes bills from rich but shitty poker players. He doesn’t even bother taking her to a hotel; she’s bent over for him in the bathroom, fingers clinging to the sink as he fucks her harshly from behind. His pupils are dilated, body so hot as he snaps his hips into hers, the cocaine buzzing through his system making him feel alive. He doesn’t even know her name, doesn’t bother to learn it, because it’s not like he’s ever going to see her again.

He slaps a hand down on her clit, making her yelp and cling harder to the porcelain, and a hand in the back of her long locks jerks her head up to look at him through the mirror.

“Fuck, you want it?” He asks with his labored breaths, sweat pouring down every crevasse of his body. “You want my cum? Want me to breed this little pussy?”

“Y-Yes!” she chirps, but he knows it’s a lie. They always say whatever he wants to hear in the heat of the moment; he knows no one truly wants him anyway.

Not that he can blame them. He wouldn’t want to start a family with himself either, not with the shitty childhood he had. Absentee father, drug addict mother—you know, one of those stupid backstories you see for the villain in all the movies, giving an excuse for their “vile behavior.” When his mother overdosed, it was only him and Kana left, the two Washio siblings against the world. She supported him through everything, making sure he was keeping up with his studies, not that school ever fucking meant anything. It definitely didn’t matter when he came home to see Kana beaten and bloodied, trembling at the feet of some old, fat, sick fuck who called her “his property.”

“I’m sorry, Tatsuki,” she had whispered as he helped her clean up the cuts on her arms and face. “I didn’t want you to find out like this.”

She had to keep them afloat somehow, didn’t she? Kana was always a pretty girl, popular and caring, with too many suitors to count. And now she had too many clients to count, spreading her legs and selling her body just so she could put food on the table and support him through high school. It pissed him off so badly that he followed that disgusting John, walked right up to him in the back alley as he was smoking and sent a piece of wood straight to the back of his head. Washio beat him within an inch of his life, standing over the man’s bloody and tattered body, adrenaline making his weak little hands shake. He had been so ready to kill him, but—

“You got balls, kid.”

There Kurosu Norimune stood, amusement on his face as he walked closer, suit crisp and wrinkles on his face even crisper. He took one look at the shaking man at his feet before sending a leather loafer right into his side. The John groaned and turned over, his swollen face nearly unrecognizable.

“This guy’s pretty powerful.”

“Don’t care,” Washio spit, crossing his arms over his chest. “You with the cops or something?”

“Far from it,” Norimune laughed and shuffled around in his maroon suit jacket, handing over a business card from a sleek golden card holder. “Here. Could use more crazy fucks like you around.”

If he stopped to think about it, he would have known the offer was too good to be true. The card read “club owner”, but the guard lingering at the end of the alley and the private driver screamed something else. But Washio Tatsuki wasn’t thinking. He was raging—angry at the John, angry at his sister, angry at the world for birthing him into some shithole with no way out.

So he picked up the phone as soon as he got home and pledged his allegiance to the former Raijin clan head at the age of 16.

“That fucker won’t hurt you again,” he told Kana about a week later when she wiped the blood from his cheek and neck and patched up the cuts on his knuckles.

And he never did. Washio made sure of it when he buried him six feet under.

The singer at Ushijima’s Harajuku club is absolute shit.

Or maybe it’s just his mood, because on top of having no leads on Ninomiya, Kana just texted him asking him to pick Kaito up from daycare, even though he said he couldn’t today.

Why can’t your husband do it? He texts back.

He’s busy, is Kana’s simple answer.

Suna sits with Ushijima and Sakusa in a booth at The Cygnus, talking about who knows what because he doesn’t care. After a few angry messages, he slams his phone down on the bar top and nurses a drink, listening to the lifeless girl croon about heartbreak and bullshit.

“Washio,” Suna eventually calls him, and the underboss obediently follows, stuffing his hands in his pockets as they make their way out of the club. When they slip into the car, Suna looks at him from the corner of his eye. “Nothing?”

“Guy’s a fuckin’ snake, Boss. He’ll show up eventually.”

Suna hums his answer, but Washio knows his boss better than that. He’s none-too-pleased, hands settled on his lap, one leg crossed over the other. It’s taking too long for Suna’s liking, but hell, it’s taking too long for his liking, too.

It was his idea to wait inside the daycare instead of lingering outside—easier to keep an eye on the place, easier to pursue Ninomiya if he showed up and happened to run again, easier to overhear the workers talking. They didn’t look up what the daughter looked like, only her name and where she went to daycare. Suna was very clear that he didn’t want to bring a kid into the mess just because her father owed millions of yen to the mob. So Washio came up with the idea, using Kaito as a tool to wait for the asshole to show his face, but it’s all been for naught cause the guy hasn’t shown up before Kaito needs to get home. He’s about to say fuck it and switch to a stakeout (fuck, he hates stakeouts, they’re so boring) when Suna clears his throat.

“Then he figured out you’re there. Stay late and see if he comes. But if he doesn’t show his face by the end of the week, wait outside instead.”

“Sure, Boss.”

Tonight’s the perfect opportunity since Kana said she had to work late. He shows up just a few minutes after 7PM, walking into the building to see your surprised expression as you wait in the foyer, Kaito clutching your hand tightly.

“I didn’t expect to see you today. Kana-san told me she would be late.”

“Yeah, well, I’m here instead,” he grits out. He’s pissed off, eyes flashing murderously behind him to see—no one. Are you here alone? “Where’s everyone else?”

You glance to your right where a few children sit and play between a tornado of toys, broken crayons, and stick figure drawings before you turn back.

“Two people called off sick so I’ve been alone most of the day, and some parents are late.”

Now that he’s looking closely, there are bags under your eyes and you look so tired, obviously run ragged from a long day full of excited toddlers. From the look of the place, you won’t be leaving here til 9 or 10PM, depending on when these parents show up. He looks down at Kaito, the little boy blinking up at him with a smile.

“Are we going home now?”

“In a bit,” Washio says before he shrugs off his shoes.

“Washio-san—”

“I’ll help,” he grits out. “This place is a fuckin’ disaster.”

“Wait, huh? No, no I’m okay, really, I just—”

“I said I’m gonna help,” he deadpans before looking down at Kaito. “Can you play with your friends for a little? Got some work to do.”

He looks bummed but he says okay, running into the room and taking off his little backpack. You glance up at Washio before he shrugs, hands stuffed in his pockets as he follows his nephew. He cleans the place up a little bit, organizing the toys, sweeping the floors, helping you prepare snacks for the three children who are still there just after 8PM. Kaito sits with two girls, one of them in pigtails, one of them with a ribbon in her hair, watching cartoons and sipping on their apple juice boxes.

When you finally get a chance to sit down on the floor, you stretch out your legs with a sigh.

“Thank you, Washio-san. That was… kind.”

Kind is not a word he’d use to describe himself, especially not when he’s planning to use your naivety for his own benefit.

“Told you I could be a nice guy.” He snorts, ruffling the back of his head. “You stay late like this all the time?”

“Lately, yes. A couple of parents have pushed their times later and later. I don’t mind because I love the children but…” You sigh, eyes landing on the girl with pigtails. “She stays the longest. Lately Ninomiya-san can’t pick her up until 9 or so. He suddenly switched about a week ago.”

“Ninomiya Shintarou?”

You turn your head back to him with a nod. “Do you know him?”

Got’em.

“Yeah, he’s some tech mogul,” he lies easily, leaning back on his hands. “Didn’t think Kaito was friends with some famous guy’s kid.”

“Kaito is a kind boy. He has a lot of friends.” There’s a flick of your eyes over to him before you shyly mumble, “It must run in the family.”

Whoa. Whoa. What is happening here? Are you… are you flirting with him? He’s used to swipes of hands over thighs and arms, little giggles or kisses to his neck and cheek, crafty little grinds against his cock as women sit in his lap. He certainly isn’t used to fidgety daycare workers who keep glancing at him out of the corner of their eyes, biting down on their lips the longer he doesn’t answer.

So he tests it. He knocks his knee against yours and nearly laughs when you push back slightly and don’t retreat. You glance over, reaching out for him, and for a second he thinks you’re going to touch him. But then you fix the twisted strap of the apron he put on while doing the dishes, patting his shoulder before dropping your hand.

“It fits you. The apron, I mean. Not working here.”

“The fuck?” He asks with amusement. “You saying I was a shitty help or something?”

“Stop swearing in front of the children,” you hiss before shaking your head. “No, I mean, it doesn’t fit you. You should be doing something else.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Maybe a security guard or something, you have an angry enough face for it.”

Well, you’re close enough.

“This face has made more than a few kids cry. Adults too, probably.”

You laugh, covering your mouth with your hand as you try to contain your giggles. It’s cu—nope. No. He can’t think that. Now that he knows when Ninomiya will show up, he won’t have anything to do with you. Kana can go back to picking up Kaito, her husband can go back to being a lazy piece of shit, and he can go back to doing what he does best instead of sitting in a daycare like some lame ass private investigator on a mission.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you say as you try to calm yourself down. “I shouldn’t laugh but—but I remember Natsuki crying and it’s just so funny.”

“Shut the hell up,” he grumbles, grabbing onto your hand and pulling it away from your face. You try to contain your giggles by pressing your lips together but your face twists with the effort to stay neutral and quiet. “Or else I’ll make you shut up.”

Your face drops immediately, the shift in the air quicker than a bullet to the brain. You stare up at him as he holds your hand, bottom lip trembling when he crawls to his knees, his large body hovering over yours. You have to crane your neck back, lips parting as your breathing picks up slightly, eyes locked on his.

“How?” You breathe out, and you look surprised you even asked him that out loud, eyes widening.

“I can think of a few ways,” he mumbles back, thumb on your lower lip dragging it down slightly.

His cock twitches in his pants when you squeeze his hand, squirming on your ass like you’re trying to calm yourself down, breathing coming even heavier now. Fuck, he wants you so bad. Wants to take you right here on the floor of this daycare, wants to make you tremble more than you already are. Based on that hooded look on your face, you want him too. Kaito laughs about something from the cartoon, and Washio immediately pulls away from you, tugging his hand from your grip. What is he doing? He’s got the info he needs; he doesn’t need to stick around this place anymore after tonight. But then he looks at you, the disappointed tilt to your lips, a sad crinkle to your eyebrows, and that feeling of needing to have you comes back ten-fold.

Shit, this is a fucking mess.

“Should take him home,” he mutters as he rises to his feet, throwing off the apron and letting it pool on the ground. “Kaito, let’s go.”

“But Uncle Tatsuki, the policemen just—”

“Now, kid.”

Washio doesn’t deal with hearts, or feelings, or love, or any of that shit. He deals with guns and knives, blood and guts, white lines on tables, and messy meetings in back rooms.

That’s why he doesn’t look back as he walks out of the daycare.

Suna is a pretty fair boss, all things considered.

Sure, he might be missing a third of his ear from when he tried to take over the clan a while back, but he’s still alive and still the underboss.

That’s more than he can say for Ninomiya Shintarou.

Washio had shown up the next day and waited outside, and just after 9PM, the mogul had come to pick up his daughter, just like you said he would. Washio followed them, keeping a distance until they pulled into the parking garage of Ninomiya’s apartment building. Ninomiya hadn’t been two steps out of the driver’s side door before Washio set a hand on his shoulder, giving him a stretched smile that didn’t meet his eyes.

“Nice to finally meet you.” He glanced into the backseat of the car where his daughter slept in the back then looked back to the shaking man. “Might want to call your wife.”

Ninomiya did, and Washio watched him pass off the daughter in the parking lot elevators before mumbling something about work coming up. A quick drive to the local park later, and Suna Rintarou sat in Ninomiya’s passenger’s seat, drumming his gloved hands on his knee. Washio sat in the backseat, gun in his gloved hand, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

“The money?” Suna asked calmly. Ninomiya had sputtered his answer—there’s some in the glove box, please, I can get more later—but Suna put his hand up to shut him up. “I looked into your company. It’s not doing so well, is it?”

“I-It’s only a setback.”

“So you’ll have the full amount for me by tomorrow?”

“I… I need more time.”

“I think I’ve been more than lenient,” Suna deadpanned, then glanced back to Washio with that all-knowing look. “Washio.”

Washio wrapped his hand around the man’s jaw, forcing it open even though he struggled to get free. That didn’t stop him from setting the barrel of his gun into the man’s mouth and pressing the trigger. Ninomiya went limp immediately, and Washio was quick to wrap his fingers around the handle, finger on the trigger like it was natural, all before rigor mortis could set in. Then the Raijins exited the car, wiped their faces clean of the blood spatter, and drove off together, business effectively finished.

The morning news called it the suicide of a nearly ruined man who thought he had no other options. The police said that they were looking into where he purchased the firearm but “currently do not expect foul play.” The tech company was quick to release a statement, stating that while this was a tragic loss, they would somehow survive and endure. The Raijin clan involvement was erased as quickly as the CCTV tapes from the parking garage, all for a measly half a million yen, not even one-fifth of what Ninomiya owed them.

“Here,” Suna had said, throwing a wad of bills his way as soon as they made it back to his penthouse. “Go gamble with it.”

But he didn’t want to gamble. All he could think about was you.

Now that the Ninomiya shit is over, Washio knows there’s no reason for him to be standing outside, watching the pink magnolias sway in the night breeze. Kana picked up Kaito hours ago now that Washio didn’t need to anymore; workers and children slowly trickled out one-by-one until the daycare went quiet; he can see only one shadow crossing in and out of the closed front window, signaling that you’re still inside. That’s when he slips to the front door, hands stuffed in his pockets.

The knock is loud as it echoes in the quiet night, and your footsteps pound on the wooden flooring as you come to answer.

“I’m sorry, we’re—Washio-san?”

You’re not wearing your apron anymore, and your hair isn’t in its usual ponytail. It floats around your cheeks, framing your face that twists in confusion.

“What are you doing here? Kaito went home hours ago.”

“I’m not here for Kaito,” he answers before he reaches out and grabs onto your upper arm. That feeling from the last time he saw you, the one where he needs to have you, is even stronger now, multiplied when you grab into his shirt with a little gasp. “I’m here for you.”

“Wha—” Your squeak interrupts your answer as he pushes you back, the door slamming shut after he nudges it with his foot. “Washio-san!” You whine when your back collides with the wall, a framed picture next to your head shaking at the force. “Wait—”

“Told you I’d shut you up,” he mutters before forcing his lips onto yours.

There’s a jolt of lightning that spreads through his veins when you immediately kiss him back, arms thrown around his shoulders to hold him close to you. Your lips move together quickly, your fingers tightening in the back of his shirt when he presses his body against yours. You part your lips for him as soon as he swipes your lower lip, and his hand crawls up the back of your head until his fingers are tangled in your hair. He gives a tug and you moan into his mouth, tongue pressing even harder, moving even quicker.

Washio pulls back to run his wet lips all over your chin and neck, tongue darting over your pulse point before he bites down hard. The moan you let out goes straight to his cock, and his hand in your hair jerks your head to the side so he has more room to work with.

“Wait—” You whimper when his free hand ghosts down your front, tugging your t-shirt out of your pants with a few harsh pulls.

“Fuck, I waited yesterday,” he growls into your skin as he licks and sucks at your sensitive flesh. “I saw how bad you wanted this. Don’t fuckin’ lie to me.”

“No, I—I want to but not, ah, not here—”

But your fingers are already tugging at the hem of his shirt, hands pushing into his undershirt so you can run your hands all over his skin. Your nails dig into his sides, pulling his crotch flush against yours so you can start grinding his hardening cock against your covered cunt. It makes him curse into your skin, grinding just a little bit harder until you groan.

Washio pulls back so he can throw your shirt off, eyes glazing over your chest before he follows suit. You gasp as soon as he’s shirtless, eyes wide as you get a good look at his tattoos for the first time. They spiral all down his arms and chest, mixtures of black, blue, and green ink, swirls of Raijins, vines, and thorns.

“What…. Wait, are you—?”

“I just like them.” His lie is smooth. “I’m about to make you see God and you’re worried about some fuckin’ ink?”

Then he’s back on you without waiting for your response, lips and tongue meeting yours, hands on your hips keeping you flush against him. The previous hesitance is quickly forgotten; you’re practically humping him now, needy little whimpers muffled by his mouth, your fingers hurrying to undo his belt.

“I… I work here,” you babble with a gasp, fingers quickly opening the clasp and undoing his button and zipper. When your fingers brush over the growing bulge in his pants, he grunts, hands moving to cup your ass and squeeze hard. “I shouldn’t.”

“Who the fuck cares,” he grumbles before forcing your pants down.

Your panties are the furthest thing from sexy but for some reason, it goes straight to his aching cock anyway. You weren’t expecting to get fucked but here you are, arching into him as soon as he tugs up the bottom of your bra and starts sucking on one of your nipples. You quick fingers undo the clasp and throw it aside so he has more room to lick and nibble on your nubs, tugging harshly with his teeth to make you groan. He does the same for the other side, rolling your hardened nipples between his fingers and tongue, laughing at the way your hips grind at nothing.

“You’re a needy little slut, aren’t you?” He mocks as his fingers pull down your cotton panties in one go.

“Yes, touch me, touch me, please,” you beg.

He certainly wasn’t expecting that. Washio pauses for a moment, looking up at your flushed cheeks, your trembling lips, your dilated pupils, your heaving chest. He can’t remember the last time he’s been this turned on, ready to plunge into your cunt over and over until you’re begging him to stop; break you until you can’t walk out of this fucking daycare without his help.

He settles on his knees in between your legs, spreading your folds with his fingers before spitting. You coo, shifting your legs open for him more so he can do it again. He watches his white saliva drip down your quivering hole before he groans and licks it up, swirling his tongue around your clit before pulling back.

“Washio-san,” you whine, hands coming to his hair to push him closer. “Don’t… don’t tease me.”

“Sluts like you deserve to be teased,” he smirks, fingers running up and down your folds before he pushes his middle finger inside. Fuck, you’re soaked, sucking in his finger as he starts to pump, walls fluttering around his quick pace. “Look how fuckin’ wet you are when I haven’t even done anything.”

“Want you,” you moan, head falling back against the wall as you grind your cunt into his finger. “More, please, I need mo-ah!”

You gasp sharply when he leans forward, licking up your clit and circling around the nub. He takes it into his mouth at the same time he pushes a second finger into you; your groan sinks into his skin and makes him move faster, grip tight on your ass to keep your cunt close to his face. The sounds of your wet pussy are loud, but his harsh sucks to your clit and your whines are even louder. You sound so pretty when you’re so needy, your cunt clenching down around his fingers when he starts to scissor them and drag them along your walls.

Washio chances a glance up and nearly cums right then and there when he sees you’re staring at him—bleary eyes focused on the way he eats you out, bottom lip pulled in between your teeth. No one’s ever looked at him like that, never looked so good grinding into his face and begging him to make them cum. He groans into your cunt, fingers and mouth working faster until you’re falling apart beneath him, whines high-pitched and ringing in the quiet building.

He fucks you through it, tongue circling your clit, fingers roughly dragging along your spasming walls. When your thighs clench up and you harshly tug on his hair, he pulls away, slipping his fingers out of you. They’re covered in your slick, all the way down to his palm, and he wastes no time stuffing them into your open mouth. You squeal around his fingers as he presses down on your tongue, eyes flashing as he stands up to tower over you.

“I’m just getting started with you,” he growls as he spreads your spit all over your tongue, body nearly singing at the way your mouth falls open even further and the way your eyes focus on his every move. “Fuck, get on your knees.”

You comply immediately, sitting on your knees in front of him, not even waiting for him to tell you what to do before you’re tugging at his pants and boxers, dragging them down to his ankles. His cock bobs at his stomach, twitching at the way you lick your lips as you stare at it for a moment before looking up at him.

“The fuck you waiting for?” He digs his hands into your hair again, tugging you closer by your roots and making you moan. “Show me what that slutty mouth can do.”

You’re eager to comply, hand wrapping around the base of his cock so you can take it in your mouth. Washio can tell you’re a bit unpracticed, starting off with little nervous licks to the underside of his cock, but the moment he sighs fuck, you gain a little confidence. You start to bob your head, tongue running all along his length as you move, circling around his tip before doing it again. Your fingernails dig into his thighs as he tugs your hair one more time, your groan around his cock making him shiver.

When you hollow your cheeks and move faster, he curses again, bucking his hips into your mouth. You choke for just a second before taking him even deeper, watery eyes landing on him as you bob. It makes him moan, holding the back of your head as he starts to move. You stop moving and let him fuck your mouth, lips tight around his pistoning cock as he thrusts faster. Fuck, he could cum like this, fill up your mouth and make you swallow it down before he fills your cunt instead. When his balls tingle, he rips his cock from your mouth, saliva still connected to your tongue.

“Lay down.”

He fishes his wallet out of his back pocket as you do, kicking his jeans and boxers away as he reaches for his condom. He curses when he realizes he only has one left, especially with the way you part your legs for him, fingers holding open your wet folds so he can see your glistening cunt.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he mutters, cock throbbing angrily as he fumbles to open the condom and slide it on. When has he ever fumbled anything? He settles on his knees between your legs, hiking them up around his shoulders and grinding his cock along your folds.

“Washio-san,” you whimper, calves flexing against his shoulders as you bite down on one of your fingers.

“I’m not sure you fucking deserve it, slut. Ask me nicely.”

“Please,” you immediately beg him, humping your hips against his grinding cock, hair beautifully splayed out beneath you. “Fuck me, I need it, need your cock.” He only chuckles, making sure to bump your swollen clit with the head of his dick to make you whine even louder. Washio can see the way your face scrunches up like you’re thinking, and then your ankles lock behind his head, holding his face between your calves. “Tatsuki, please.”

Good fucking god. His cock twitches as he lines up his length with your cunt. It’s so easy to push inside with how wet you are, and he shudders when he bottoms out. Your tight walls pulse around his cock, head thrown back with a moan when he pulls out and thrusts back in. He clings to your thighs as he starts a quick pace, one that has you squirming underneath him and arching off the floor. You tug at your own nipples, rolling the hard nubs between your fingers as you try to match him stroke for stroke.

“Who knew this slutty pussy could be so tight, huh?” He mocks, giving an extra harsh slap of his hips to make you cry out. You bite down on your bottom lip so hard that Washio thinks it may start bleeding, fingers gropping even tighter on your tits. He leans forward a little to hit even better, and you practically sob when he hits something deep within you. Your clit is wet with your slick when he touches it, and your body jerks off the ground as soon as he starts rubbing quick circles.

“Tatsuki!” Your voice is breathless, eyes glazed as you stare up at him, looking utterly in bliss. “Harder.”

Fuck. He obliges, one hand moving to your hip to keep you in place as he fucks you even harder. His thumb on your clit matches his quick and brutal pace, and he can feel your orgasm creeping up, walls clenching down on him so hard he grunts. His own orgasm is looming, balls tightening and shiver running up his spine as he splits you in half. He leans down even further, nearly pressing your knees to your chest, chasing his high with heavy grunts.

“Gonna fuck a baby into you,” he grinds out between clenched teeth. “You want that, don’t you, you little whore? Want a little brat of your own to run around here. Huh? Want me to make you a mommy?”

“Yes!” You sob, legs tightening around his head even further. There’s something different about it this time—he feels it when you open your eyes, half-lidded and watery, scratching at his upper arms with your request. “Give it to me, please Tatsuki, want it, want—”

A loud cry rips from your throat when your orgasm slams into you, and Washio thinks he might have stopped breathing for a second with how tightly you clamp down on his cock. Your whole body is shaking, arching and shuddering off the ground as you cling to him, thighs trembling on his shoulders. He slams into you a few more times before he empties himself into the condom, goosebumps rising on his skin, arms shaking as he clings to you. God, you feel so good around him, the pleasure buzzing through his system making him feel so alive.

It’s not enough. He needs more. His cock is still half-hard when he pulls it out of you, sliding off the condom and tying it off before throwing it elsewhere. You look so fucked out, eyes drooping as you fight to catch your breath, and his cock twitches when he sees how much of your juices has leaked out of your cunt and covers your folds and thighs. He parts your legs again, and your eyes shoot open with a yelp when he slaps his cock against your swollen clit.

“Tatsuki—”

“Fuck,” he groans when he does it again, sliding his hardening cock through your folds to coat it in your slick. “Look how fucking messy you are.”

You moan, hips starting to follow his movements as you scratch at the wooden floor. “Because of you.”

“Don’t blame me, you slut. You were drippin’ before I even got here, weren’t you?” He slaps his cock against your clit again, once, twice, three times before slipping the head inside. Fuck, he can’t do that. He pulls out just as quickly as he pushed in, fingers trembling with his slipping restraint.

“I’m not on birth control,” you whisper nervously as you grind against him. “But… but if you—”

“Flip over,” he demands. When you blink at him, his eyes narrow. “Hands and knees.”

You do as he commands, shaking your ass at him once you’re settled on your forearms. He rewards you with a hard slap to your ass, making you jump and squeak before you push back. His cock slips easily between your thighs, rubbing against your wet and swollen folds as he starts to rock against you. Goddamnit, the first thing he’s going to do before he goes home is buy some more condoms because it isn’t enough. Your thighs are warm and sticky, but it’s nothing like your cunt.

“God, I wanna fuck you so bad,” he pants as he grips your hips tighter, pistoning you against his cock, the sound of his skin against yours ringing in the room. “Teach your slutty little pussy who it belongs to, huh?”

“Tatsuki,” you whine as you look over your shoulder at him. There are tears in your eyes as you push back against him, nails digging into the flooring. “Fuck me, fuck me, please.”

When his cockhead brushes your clit, you keen, back arching even more. He slips a hand around your waist, fingers immediately finding your clit and slapping. You cry out, shaking your head when he does it again. The tears in your eyes slip down your cheeks as you look at him, whimpering when he slaps for a third time.

“I-I can’t, can’t, too sensitive.”

“You’re so fucking pretty like this,” he compliments as he works his cock even faster, fingers rubbing your clit in tandem with his quick strokes against folds. Even though you said you couldn’t, you’re whimpering anyway, wet eyes stuck on his expression as you grind against his fingers and cock. “Falling apart for my cock. You want it that bad?”

“Yes!” You gasp, body starting to tremble again as drool begins to slip out of the corner of your mouth. “Yes, give it to me, give it—”

“Shit.”

He moves faster, more desperately, chasing the heat in his stomach, the twitch in his thighs and cock. You’re so loud when you cum for the third time, even when you try to muffle it with your fist, gushing all over his cock as he ruts between your thighs. It doesn’t take long for him to follow, his cum painting your stomach and thighs white and dripping to the floor.

Washio catches you before you can collapse, flipping you over to your back as his eyes roam all over your body. You’re filthy, covered in your juices, his cum, and your sweat, hair clinging to your forehead and cheeks. Your eyes are closed, still fighting to catch your breath, tear stains on your hot cheeks. It’s absolutely beautiful.

“No one else,” he says suddenly, and your tired eyes slide open to regard him. “No one else gets to see you like this, got it?”

“Are you saying I’m yours?”

“I’m saying this pussy is mine.”

You giggle, a sleepy little sound that makes his heart jump faster than it was while fucking you a minute ago. “Maybe you should ask it on a date first then.”

He’s about to say no way but then there’s a brush against his fingers. When he looks down, Washio sees you’ve grabbed onto his pointer and middle finger, holding the two close in your hand as your eyes slip closed.

“One,” he says against his better judgment and tries to ignore your sleepy smile. “Only one.”

pink magnolia, part two

washio tatsuki doesn’t need love. he needs drugs, women, and people to stop making him work so damn hard. a chance meeting with a daycare worker flips that all upside down and changes him—for the good and the bad.

pairing: mafia underboss washio tatsuki x daycare worker f!reader with hair, 7.9k, part two of two (nsfw, 18+, minors dni)

warnings: pregnancy, graphic depictions of murder/death, depictions of abuse, depictions of drug use, depictions of withdrawal, heavy degradation, breeding kink, mentioned pregnancy kink, implied stalking, family man washio?!

thanks to: i owe @vanille–kiss and @anime-nymph my life <3 <3 <3 betaing and ideas are mostly all them and i am forever thankful!

banner by the amazing @vanille–kiss — please go check out her works!! she is amazing!

tagging: @hqintheclub, @anime-central, @stargirl2898, @erinoikawa, @betheydochaos, @miyarinrin, @antique-remains, @theoriginaleclipse, @rinsangel, @sleepy-demon-baby, @jojowantstocry, sunaspillowprincess, bresilienne-ami, @kittycatkrissa, @scentedflower

join my taglist here! tipjar (not necessary) here!

part one || part two || black petunia || red peony || white lily || mafia au masterlist

That’s all it was supposed to be. One date, one more chance to fuck you until all you could sob was his name. It started like that anyway—you bent over the love motel bed, the chair, the tub, juices flowing down your thighs and tears flowing from your eyes.

Then it was another and another. He convinced himself it was only right to wine and dine you before fucking you silly; it’s what you deserved for being his good little slut, for taking his cock so well, drool sliding down your chin as you sucked on his fingers. This was good enough for the both of you.

Until it wasn’t, because you were adamant you wanted more than that. You wanted someone to call your own; someone who had no problem calling you their girlfriend; someone who had no issue showing you off, arm slung over your shoulder, your waist, your ass, all to prove you were taken. Washio Tatsuki didn’t do ‘girlfriends’. He did late night fucks and lines of coke before gambling his money away, wandering hands groping at everything he could find.

And yet he said yes, God fucking knows why. Maybe it was how good you took him; maybe it was how you challenged him whenever he pissed you off. Or maybe it was the fact that he looked at his phone a lot more now, his face softening up whenever you texted him, heart racing whenever he skipped the poker parlors and went to your apartment instead.

So one date turned into one month that turned into one year. One whole fucking year, summed up into one expensive dinner, one tight black dress, one night where he didn’t let you leave bed once, making you cum over and over again on his fingers, his tongue, his cock. One year of you ignoring the red flags he knows you see—the lack of details about his “security” job, the amount of times he has to slip out late at night and comes back “acting strange”, the feigned ignorance about his tattoos, the refusal to move in together even though he’s basically living in your apartment anyway. One year of hiding who he is: the hits of cocaine, the hits on his winning poker hands, the hits that Suna sends him on in the name of the Raijin clan.

You don’t say anything when he comes to you, surely smelling like iron from whoever’s blood. You always welcome him with arms thrown over his shoulders, a smile after you kiss him, warm dinners that you made from scratch. It feels like home, not that Washio knows what home even means after the way he grew up. He thought Kana might know, but her shitty husband walked out a few months ago after stealing her money—well, Washio’s money—and running. (Though he gladly gave it back after Washio broke four of his fingers with a hammer.)

It’s not even a week after the celebration when you text him.

Can you come over? I need to talk to you.

Bad fucking timing, considering that he’s already on the tail of some businessman who decided that threatening to call the police after he lost hundreds of thousands of yen was a good idea. His phone sits heavy in his pocket as he follows the businessman home, and your message burns into his brain, even as he wraps his arms around the man’s neck and drags him into the nearest alley.

The fuck is that message supposed to mean? Are you really about to break up with him now? He’s not going to let you, if that’s what you want. He’s been happy; he never thought he’d be able to use that word in his goddamn life, never thought he’d be able to—

It’s the distraction the businessman needed. Washio didn’t realize his grip had become weaker until his head bounces off the brick building behind him and the businessman struggles to get free. Fuck, that hurt. His head sears with pain, radiating in his skull and spreading all the way to his eyes. The man is able to slip from his grip thanks to the dizziness in Washio’s head and his blurred vision, but it isn’t for long.

Washio lunges after him, tackling him to the wet ground and wrapping his arms around his neck. The businessman chokes and sputters, hands scratching at Washio’s long sleeves to no avail. It isn’t long before he grows limp and quiet in his strong hold, arms falling down to the ground and not moving. Washio hides the body behind a few garbage bags and dials Sarukui, ordering him to come retrieve it. Usually he’d do it himself but he feels like he’s about to throw up—whether from the smack to his head or your message, he isn’t sure—and he’s on the way to your place without waiting.

The pain only gets worse on the way over, and when you open the door for him, he nearly collapses in your arms. You gasp, pulling him into the apartment and helping him over to your couch. His phone and his wallet fall out of his coat when you tug it off for him, and you set them on the coffee table before examining his head.

“You’re bleeding, Tatsuki! What happened?”

“It’s fine, just need to—”

“We should go to the hospital, it’s—”

“I said it’s fine,” he growls out, taking a deep breath. It’s hard to think when his head is pounding this bad. “Just need meds and a shower.”

“Okay,” you relent quietly, helping him stand again. “I’ll get it for you.”

He takes the offered medicine before he wanders off to your shower, letting the hot water flow over his body for much too long. His head stings when the water hits his wound, but luckily it’s not bleeding anymore when he steps out. The pounding in his head has lessened, but he’s still tired, in pain, and ready to go the fuck to sleep.

But then he remembers why he rushed over here in the first place and curses.

He slips into an extra pair of his clothes from your bedroom before he pads back out to the living room, ruffling the back of his wet hair.

“What do you want to talk—”

“Who is Suna Rintarou?” It takes Washio a moment to realize the phone you're holding isn’t your own. It’s his, probably from when you helped him out of his jacket, and you’re clutching onto it so tightly he thinks it might break. There are tears in your eyes as you whisper, “He’s called you four times now. Who is he?”

“He’s my boss.”

“And… and why is he asking about a body?”

What?

It only takes two steps for him to be on you, ripping the phone from your hands and checking the message.

No body. You better find him quickly or you’ll be joining him. This is your only fucking warning.

“Fuck. Fuck,” he growls, stuffing the phone in his sweatpants’ pocket. “Fuck, I gotta go, I’ll be back—”

“Tatsuki!” You shrill, clinging to his arms so he can’t move. “What… what is going on, what is he talking about?”

Washio is silent as he stares at you, considering it for a moment. You were always going to find out sooner or later. There was no way he could keep up the charade of being a hardworking, innocent man forever. But he didn’t want you to find out like this, especially not after he fucked up and pissed Suna off.

You tug on his shirt with a quiet exhale.

“Tatsuki.”

“You already fucking know,” he answers.

Washio thinks he feels his heart breaking when your face drops and you stumble back, bottom lip trembling as you stare at the tattoos underneath his short-sleeved t-shirt. Your breathing picks up, an exhale turning into a sob when you put your hand over your mouth.

“You—…. You’re not…. You’re part of the… Everything you told me was a lie?”

“Not everything.”

“I believed in you.” Tears stream down your face as you stare at him. “Please tell me you aren’t part of the mob, Tatsuki. Please. Tell me you’re lying.”

He can’t. He obviously fucking can’t, but he sure wants to because he can’t stand the betrayed look on your face and the way you can’t even look at him.

“Look—”

“Get out.” It’s so quiet that he barely even hears it, but when it registers, his heart sinks to his stomach and anchors there. “Get out and don’t come back.”

He takes a step closer to you. “Fuck, I—”

“Get out!” You yell, small fists pushing him away before they strike his chest again and again. Your punches don’t hurt him in the least, but they feel like knives plunging deep into his heart over and over again. “You’re a liar and I trusted you. I trusted you, and you—” A sob cuts you off and you push him with surprising force, making him stumble back two steps. “I loved you. I love you, but I can’t be with you if our entire relationship was a lie.”

“For fuck’s sake, I told you it’s not, you have to believe me—”

“How am I supposed to believe you when—”

“Just shut the fuck up already and listen—”

A shrill ring and vibration cut you both off, and Washio looks down at his phone. Suna Rintarou. Fuck, he can’t do this right now. He needs to find the businessman and finish what he started before anything else, and then he can come back and make you listen to him. He nearly shatters his screen with how hard he clutches onto it, and he lets it go two more rings before he slides the answer button.

“Yeah, Boss.”

“Where the fuck are you? Sarukui has eyes on him at his house. If you aren’t there in fifteen minutes, consider yourself dead.”

“...Yes, Boss.”

“Get your head out of your ass and get it together.”

The line goes dead immediately, but Washio doesn’t move. He stares at your blotchy face, at the bags beneath your eyes, at the shaking finger you point towards the door.

“Leave. I don’t want to see you.”

He has to go. Washio knows he does or he won’t be alive to see tomorrow’s sunrise, but every single part of him is begging him to stay, begging him to grab onto your shoulders and bring you into his arms, just like always. Grumble that it’ll be okay, that you’re going to be okay, if you just listen to him.

But he can’t.

“I’ll be back,” he says quietly before he grabs his wallet and coat.

“Don’t—“

“I said I’ll be back.”

Then he slips from your apartment, leaving the echoing sound of your sobs behind.

It’s easy to slip into the businessman’s house; it’s even easier to pull the gun from his belt and shoot him in his bedroom. A quick glance through the man’s phone shows he hasn’t called or messaged anyone, so at least Washio isn’t a dead man walking just yet. Poor bastard probably thought he had enough time to pack and get to safety before calling for help. The bullet in his chest proves that’s false.

Washio calls for the cleaners, this time staying to supervise as they wipe all evidence of wrongdoing away. When the job is finished and the coast is clear, he slips out of the house, but doesn’t make it more than five steps before Sarukui whistles for him. Washio glances up at the CCTV a few yards away. He’s sure the forensic team they hired is already working on wiping the data to make it look like no one was there, so there’s no one to watch Washio slip into the waiting car and drive off.

The base is quiet when they arrive, and Sarukui says nothing as he leads Washio to Suna’s office. Last time he messed up, he lost a third of his ear thanks to insubordination. What will it be this time? His whole ear? A hand? Washio wouldn’t put it past Suna to stab him and leave him for dead like Washio mistakenly did with the businessman.

When he steps into the office and sees seven members of the Raijin clan standing against the wall, he knows it’s going to be so much worse.

Suna regards him from behind his desk, arms folded over his chest.

“Washio.”

Washio bows his head. “Boss.”

“Sit.”

The chair on the other side of the desk has been removed, so Washio lowers himself to his knees and sets his hands on his thighs.

“What should I do with you, Washio?”

The room is deathly quiet, tension as strained as the angry look on Suna’s face. He hasn’t looked this pissed off since Washio challenged him for the clan head role over a year ago. He leans forward in his chair, setting his elbows on the desk.

“Well?”

“You should kill me, Boss.”

“Hm.”

Washio can feel every pair of eyes in the room drilling in the back of his pounding head, his eyes crossing as he stares at Suna’s annoyed expression. The radiating pain in the back of his skull comes back full force, and the heat creeping through his veins threatens to suffocate him.

“Do you deserve to be killed, Washio?”

“Yes, Boss.”

“Why?”

God, this is embarrassing. He feels like a high school student again, powerless to authority, unable to do anything under Suna’s watchful eye.

“I didn’t finish the job and almost got the clan in trouble.”

“Right.” Suna drums his fingers against the desk a few times before he says, “I didn’t realize I had such a dumb fuck as my underboss.” The leather chair squeaks when he stands up, leather shoes clicking on the flooring as he comes to rest against the side of the desk. “Should I find someone else?”

Washio swallows. Maybe this really is it for him. Should he beg for his life? Say it’ll never happen again? Tell Suna the reason he was distracted and the reason his head won’t stop fucking pounding?

“Answer me.”

“…Yes, Boss. You should.”

“Who?” Suna glances around the room to the others standing around, watching the scene unfold. “Who should replace you?”

Washio thinks about it for a moment, but as soon as he opens his mouth to answer, Suna puts his hand up.

“Actually, don’t tell me who I should get. Tell me why it shouldn’t be you.”

How fucking humiliating.

Washio tries not to show the tremble in his voice or the anger lacing his words when he responds, “I’m irresponsible. Reckless. Untrustworthy.”

“And?”

Suna stares at him with those fox-like eyes, and Washio immediately knows what the boss is looking for. The one thing he swore to himself not to be anymore the minute he entered the clan. The one thing he promised Suna he wouldn’t be the moment he became underboss.

The one thing he hates admitting out loud.

“…Useless.”

“Hm.”

Suna disregards him as easily as garbage, eyes flicking to the men standing around the room.

“One hit each and you can leave.”

Washio sits there and takes it, punch after punch to his cheeks as the other clan members get their fill then shuffle from the room. He doesn’t say anything, even as his cheeks burn and blood trickles from his busted lip. Eventually it’s only him and Suna left, and the boss walks closer before slapping his left cheek, then his right cheek.

He keeps his eyes trained forward on the desk, fists tight on his thighs, or else Washio thinks he would fall over. Everything hurts—his head, his cheeks, his heart. But most of all, his pride. He’s spent the last decade of his life trying to become a necessary member of the clan, making sure he did everything he could to gain power and stay alive. Now he was only the underboss in name: he’d lost the trust and prestige that came with the title, regulated to just another useless recruit in the eyes of the others.

“Don’t disappoint me again.”

“Yes, Boss.”

Washio doesn’t look at anyone on the way out. He leaves the base, grabbing the first taxi he can catch at the late hour, and immediately tells the driver your address. It takes way too fucking long because he has to pull over to vomit on the side of the road twice. He’s shaking by the time he reaches your apartment, twisting your doorknob, and—

It won’t open.

It catches on a piece of furniture, only opening a few inches. He can see the lights are on and the shadow of something near the kitchen. He tries the door again but it catches no matter how many times he tries to slam it open.

“Open the door,” he says. Quietly at first, then louder when you don’t answer him. “Open the fucking door.”

He hears you. Hears your light sob, the stuttered gasp you’re trying to hide. Washio tries the knob again, slamming the door a few times to no avail.

“I know you’re there. Let me fucking explain. Just… just open the door so we can talk.”

“Tatsuki, please,” you whimper, deathly quiet and shaky with tears. “Go away.”

He doesn’t know what comes over him. Washio starts kicking and punching the door, throwing his shoulder at it over and over, determined to get it open and make you talk to him. The wood cracks; the door slams against the blockade; but it doesn’t budge more than a few inches.

“Please—just—fuck! Don’t fucking do this, let me in.”

“Tatsuki, stop—”

“I’m calling the police!” A shrill, old voice calls from across the hall, muffled by their closed door.

Fuck, this can’t be happening. You can't be doing this to him. He needs you now more than ever; needs you to wrap your arms around him and whisper that you love him, press a kiss to his forehead before you curl up to his side. But the room is silent as he stands there, heart pounding in his ears harder than the pounding in his head. You don’t say anything; you don’t move an inch, your shadow on the ground completely still when he checks one last time.

He punches the door one more time, swears under his breath, and turns around.

Washio always heard that there were some things worse than dying. He never believed it—what could be worse than sitting six feet under, forgotten by all those you care about, their lives continuing without you while your body rotted for bugs to feast on?

But as he descends the stairs, tears blurring his vision, he wishes Suna would have just fucking killed him to end the suffering he feels right now.

A shiver runs down his body as soon as he’s done snorting.

Washio wipes the tip of his nose with his thumb, licking off the excess cocaine before shaking his head. It always hits just right when he’s like this, always makes him feel the best when he’s at his worst.

You aren’t answering his messages or his calls, not that he expected you to. Still, he kept trying, kept calling over and over to no avail, sure that this time would be the charm. When one of the underlings at the parlor pulled the bag of white powder out and asked if he wanted a hit, his response was immediate. He needed something to take the edge off, something to make his head stop hurting so much.

His face is still slightly swollen and bruised from the punches, but he can’t feel it as soon as his high hits. His fingers shake as he grabs onto his phone again. 6:17 PM. You’re at the daycare now, like you always are. If you’re not going to answer his calls and texts, then maybe you’ll answer his knocks on the daycare door instead. He’s reckless as he drives over there, going much too fast to arrive in no time, taking up two spots in the parking lot.

As he stalks over, he sees you handing off one of the students to a parent in the middle of the walkway. They walk away just as you spot him approaching. You don’t have time to turn or run—his hands are around your upper arms and tugging you close, even as you struggle in his grip.

“Tatsuki, let me go!”

“Why the fuck aren’t you answering my calls, huh?”

“Not… not here, please—”

“There is nowhere else to go because you’re fucking avoiding me!” He yells before pulling back, hands so tight on your shoulders that it makes you wince. “What the fuck else am I supposed to do?!”

You stare at him strangely, head tilting to the right as you look at his sweaty forehead and dilated pupils. “Are… are you high?”

“That doesn’t matter—”

“It does matter!” You shout, knocking his hands away from you and taking a step back. Your face twists with a few different emotions—surprise, disappointment, hatred—until it settles into a melancholy frown, your lips trembling. “You need to leave. We can talk when you’re sober.”

“I don’t believe that for a minute.” He runs his hand through his hair, shaking his head a few times as he starts to pace around. “If I leave here, you’re never gonna fucking answer me again, are you? You’re gonna call the cops on me just like your fucking neighbor—”

“No, I—”

“Don’t lie to me—”

“Tatsuki, please.” There’s a sob in your voice, and you put a hand over your mouth to keep from crying. “Please stop this! I can’t be stressed right now. The doctor says it’s—”

You immediately stop talking, your eyes widening as you stare at him. It feels like someone dumped a bucket of cold water over him, his body going numb as he watches the tears cascade down your cheeks. He tries to formulate an answer, but the only thing buzzing around his mind is a horrified, “What?”

“You—you should go.”

“What the fuck are you talking about? What doctor? Are you sick?”

“No, I—” A pause. A deep breath. “I’m pregnant.”

Jesus fucking Christ. How is that possible? He’s always worn a condom because you said birth control makes you sick. There hasn’t been an accident or a condom break ever, so how?

“You fucking serious?”

You nod slowly, a protective hand over your stomach as you whisper. “I went to the doctor this morning. I’m seven weeks, but I had some bleeding so he said I shouldn’t be stressed—”

“Oh my God.” He’s pacing again, tugging at his hair as his mind whirls. Pregnant. Is this what you wanted to talk about last night? This can’t be happening. Did he do something in a past life to deserve all of his shitty karma? “Fuck, and you wanna keep it?”

You face pinches angrily when you reply, “Of course I do.”

“You gotta get rid of it.”

It tumbles from his lips so easily that for a second, it doesn’t even feel like he said it out loud. But he must have, because the hand over your stomach reaches out and immediately swings. The slap you send to his cheek stings when it makes contact, and your hand clenches into a fist before it drops down by your side.

“How dare you.”

“Fuck… listen, I didn’t mean it.”

“How dare you,” you repeat angrily, taking another step away from him. It feels like you’re fading away and if he doesn’t grab hold, he’ll never have you again. “I know this isn’t you, Tatsuki. I choose to believe it’s the drugs talking and not the man I fell in love with.” He tries to interrupt you again but you put your hand up and shake your head. “I’m keeping the baby, so don’t you dare try and show your face to me again unless you’re ready to be a father. Until then, I don’t want to see you.”

“Wait. Wait, just give me a goddamn second—”

“I’ll give you all the time you need,” you tell him quietly, dodging the hand that reaches out for you with another shake of your head. “Don’t contact me until then.”

Then you turn on your heel and rush back inside, leaving him alone in the walkway with only the chirp of the crickets and the flutter of the pink magnolias as they fall to the pavement.

Washio knows he needs to stop. Knows he needs to pull himself together, keep his nose out of the white powder, and focus on being a presentable man who deserves to stand at your side.

The problem is that he doesn’t know how.

It’s been five months since then. Five long months of no contact, of watching you from a distance as you work, of falling into bad habits the minute he turns away because he just isn’t ready. It’s easier to pretend his life is fine when he follows every single order Suna gives him, then goes back to the poker parlors and girls who used to make him happy. But he can’t bring himself to entertain them or sleep with them, even when they drape themselves over his lap and nearly beg for it—so he throws himself into the drugs instead, just so he can feel alive like he used to with you.

Except now if he goes more than a day without it, his body starts shaking, aching and tired until he gets his next fix to make the pain go away. But he doesn’t care—as long as he has his next hit, that’s all he gives a fuck about, because it’s not like he has you waiting for him at home anymore.

He goes to the daycare like he does every morning, watching you climb out of your car and walk up to the building so he can make sure you’re alright. Something about today is different. You get out of the car like normal, fixing your bag over your shoulder, and then turn back because you forgot your phone inside. It takes Washio a moment to realize what it is.

You’re showing.

It’s a warm September day so you’re not wearing a jacket like you have been the past couple weeks. Your long-sleeved t-shirt is enough, and it clings to your stomach as you walk inside and disappear behind the front door. Fuck, it’s real, isn’t it? He’s really going to be a father, really going to have a brat to raise in a few short months.

His own father had been a piece of shit, Kaito’s father just as absent now that the divorce was finalized. He can’t do that to his kid. While he probably won’t be the world’s greatest parent, he needs to be there to watch them grow. To help them stay on a good path because he was never able to. To make a happy place to come home to because that’s all he’s ever fucking wanted.

Washio sets his head against the steering wheel and closes his eyes. He doesn’t know how long he sits there but it’s at least a few hours. When he’s finally ready, he pulls out of the parking lot and heads to Suna’s apartment where he knows the boss will be. Lucky for him, Suna’s med school girl is also there, looking thoroughly fucked as she makes some tea in the kitchen.

“I need your help,” he says to her, eyes flicking over to Suna and back. It’s hard to form the words; hard to make himself spit it out. “I gotta detox.”

“From what?”

“Cocaine.”

“There’s not much I can do,” the girl tells him honestly. “Maybe an IV for fluids and keeping you monitored, but it’s more psychological than physical. Cravings will be intense and you might feel suicidal.” She pauses, glancing over at Suna before asking, “Do you have someone to watch over you?”

He swallows, looking out the large living room windows because he refuses to look at either of them. “No. I’m alone.”

“Then you should stay here.”

“He has his own apartment—” Suna begins to say, but his girlfriend tuts in annoyance.

“I can watch over him after my classes. Make sure he’s fine. It’s only for a week, Rin.”

“Goddamnit, Washio,” Suna grumbles as he stands from the couch. “Always have to make trouble, don’t you?”

Washio laughs, a bitter and hollow sound compared to his usual ones. Trouble. That’s been his middle name since he can remember, starting with the sandbox fights he used to get into as a kid and ending with a bullet in the chest of some businessman who is “missing with no leads.” Suna’s girl sets up a room for him and Washio doesn’t miss the irony. It’s the same one he was stuck in for days, watching over one of the sick, trafficked girls after he lost to Suna in that fight for power. Now it’s not some trafficked girl who is getting hooked up to a bag of fluids but him—the guy who complained that it wasn’t even worth it to help those women.

Karma’s a bitch, isn’t it?

It only takes a few hours for him to feel the first effects. His body is tired and achy, sweat pooling at his brow as he trembles. Suna’s girl gives him those IV fluids but it does jack shit. He sleeps the night away, tossing and turning with the need to get another hit. It’s early morning when his eyes pop open, cleared of the needle in his arm, and though he tries to force himself back to sleep, it’s impossible with his brain screaming at him to find more cocaine as soon as possible.

He’s about to leave the room when he hears Suna’s voice.

“Sakusa said he’d bought three times more than usual in the last couple months but I didn’t think it was all for him.”

“He’s going through something, Rin,” his girlfriend responds quietly. “I think he and his girl broke up a few months ago and he’s taking it hard.”

“Hm.”

“Oh, please,” the girl laughs. “Don’t look at me like that. I still remember how bad you looked after our break up. Love makes you do stupid things.”

Love.

Washio holds the doorknob tightly, setting his forehead on the wood of the door. Does he love you? He doesn’t even have to think about it. ‘Yes’ floats through his mind immediately. He’s never said it but he’s tried to show it—small gifts of jewelry he knows you like, holding you to his chest whenever you watch a movie, eating your cooking even when he hates the dish. Would things have changed if he admitted it out loud? Would you have forgiven him if he finally uttered those three fucking words?

He lets go of the doorknob and trudges back over to the bed, throwing himself down on it. He’s gotta do this for you and the baby, no matter how badly his mind is screaming at him to get more.

He lasts only two more days before he breaks.

If he stays in that room any longer, he thinks he might go insane. The walls have been closing in on him, making it hard to break and even think. The only thing running through his mind is darkness. His life was so much easier when he didn’t give a shit, when he didn’t have a care in the world and only needed to think about himself. Now everything hurts and he’s pretty sure he’s better off dead than stuck in a room that makes him feel claustrophobic for the rest of his life.

The minute he walks outside, he heads straight for the front door. It’s too much to handle; he has to have his fix, has to call Sakusa and get another hit before he loses it. He’s got one foot in his shoe when someone clears their throat.

Suna stands behind him, arms crossed over his chest.

“Where are you going?”

“I gotta go, Boss.”

“No, you don’t.” He looks as bored as usual, shaking his head. “Go take a shower. You don’t want to do this.”

“You don’t—” Washio clenches his fists at his sides. “You don’t fucking get it, Boss.”

“Tatsuki.” The use of his first name makes Washio blink in surprise. “I don’t need to understand to know you’re making a mistake. Take your shoe off.”

“Fuck you, Rin, as if you care about me.”

“I care enough, it’s why you’re still fucking alive after all the bullshit,” Suna counters with narrowed eyes. “Shower.”

“You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

“That’s an order, Tatsuki.”

Washio doesn’t know what comes over him. He throws his shoe off and charges at Suna, swinging at his boss. He’s tired, lethargic, barely on top of his game, so it’s easy for Suna to grab his wrist and twist it behind his back. Washio winces and tries to get free, but his body is betraying him, weak from withdrawal and days of non-use.

“God—fuck—just let me go, Rin, I need—”

“You need to go take a shower,” Suna repeats, squeezing down on Washio’s wrist so hard he winces. “Now. Before I knock your ass out and make you.”

Washio doesn’t look back at Suna when the boss pushes him away, toward the bathroom at the end of the hall. He sits under the spray for what feels like hours, letting scalding hot water nearly burn the skin of his back off until he’s ready to leave. How long is this going to last? He can’t keep going on like this, wishing for everything to end, wanting something to come and end his suffering.

He forces himself to stay in that room another few days until the shaking has subsided; until the cravings aren’t as intense; until he feels like he can breathe again, the fog lifted, a small light appearing at the end of a very painful and very fucking dark tunnel. When he walks out to the living room, Suna and his girl are leaning against the island in the kitchen, tongues shoved down each others’ throats.

“I’m leaving,” he declares before turning toward the front door, and the med student’s horrified squeak makes him chortle.

“Wait! Wait, Washio-san.” She approaches quickly, worry plastered all over her pretty face. “Someone should go with you, just in case.”

“M’fine.”

“The worst has passed but you can still fall back into bad habits if you go—”

“I’m not going to the parlor,” he promises. He doesn’t look at her as he slips on his shoes. “I’m going home and then I’m going to see her.”

It’s quiet for a moment before the girl nods. “Good luck.”

The worst has passed. Somehow, Washio thinks as the front door clicks closed behind him, he isn’t sure that’s true at all.

Three days.

It takes him three days to actually get out of the car and approach your daycare.

He’s been back to the parlors and clubs, keeping an eye on patrons and dealing with them if they get too rowdy. It was the most difficult thing of his life to decline the hit an underling offered him—he could taste the cocaine on his tongue, feel the rush through his system as he stared at the small baggie—but he did it. He fucking did it. He walked out of the place and immediately came to see you, watching your shadow through the windows to make sure you were doing alright until you locked up and went home.

Washio honestly doesn’t know if he’s ready to beg for your forgiveness but your co-worker forces his hand. It’s usually only you by yourself in the mornings, but today you stand outside with some older woman who looks like she ate some bad tamagoyaki for breakfast. He slips closer to hear what the woman is saying, blood boiling under his skin when he realizes it’s about him.

“—showing, I don’t think it’s appropriate to come to work.”

“I don’t see why it wouldn’t be,” you answer calmly. “Others have gotten pregnant with no issue.”

“They are married. Having an unwed mother is an embarrassment for our daycare and to our clientele. Do you even know who the father is?”

“Of course I do…!”

“Baby,” he interrupts without thinking as he steps forward. He’s never called you baby in his life, but this woman’s pompous attitude is pissing him off. If he were Raijin clan underboss Washio Tatsuki, he’d show her exactly what her sharp tongue would get her. But right now he’s only Washio Tatsuki, your former lover and father of your baby.

You both turn to him and your eyes widen when you see him, your voice a breathy whisper. “Tatsuki…?”

“You forgot your phone this morning,” he lies as he passes you his phone, keeping his hand clutched around yours even though he knows he should pull away. He can’t let go now that he’s finally touching you again, now that he finally is strong enough to stand before you and be the man you need him to be.

“T-Thank you,” you mumble as you use your free hand to set it in your purse.

“You’ve become so forgetful since getting pregnant with our kid, huh? Thought I’d drop it off but—” He glances at the old woman from the corner of his eye with a frown. He almost smirks when she gulps and takes a small step back. “We have a problem?”

“No, no, it’s alright,” you try to placate him, and he almost leaps out of his skin when your hand comes to rest on his upper arm, squeezing once. “This is the owner of the daycare. We were only talking.”

“Oh good, cause I thought I heard something weird.” He hasn’t taken his laser-like eyes off of the owner once, and his stretched smile grows when she quickly shakes her head.

“There’s no issue. Have a good day, both of you.”

As soon as the owner scurries away, you drop your hand from his arm, but he’s quick to grab it, holding onto it like it’s his lifeline keeping him afloat. You both don’t say anything, only staring at each other while the fall breeze whips around you. There’s so many conflicting emotions on your face, your eyebrows raising and dropping, your mouth parting and closing, and he’s sure he isn’t looking much better.

Washio takes a deep breath and immediately drops to his knees. You gasp at the suddenness of it, but he ducks his head down in apology, hands on his thighs.

“M’sorry.” Washio can’t remember the last time he apologized to anyone, but an apology here doesn’t seem like enough for what he’s put you through. “Fuck, I don’t know what else to say.”

“I want to hear everything,” you whisper, and he forces himself to look up and meet your eye. “Don’t lie to me anymore.”

So he does. He tells you about being underboss in the Raijin clan; talks about how he became addicted to drugs and went through withdrawal a few days ago; mentions his shitty father and his drug addict mother and how he refuses to become a useless man like that. You stand in front of him the entire time, listening quietly as he spills his heart like some lame ass romance novel, and when he’s finally done blubbering, you exhale softly.

“If I asked you to leave the clan—”

“I can’t do that. Suna would kill me the second I asked,” he immediately answers, hands clenching even harder on his thighs.

“I’m supposed to just accept this, then?” You whisper, and it hurts his heart to hear how defeated you sound. “Accept who you are and what you do?”

“You don’t have to. I can’t make you do anything. Fuck, if I could, we wouldn’t be here.” Washio runs a hand over his mouth before setting it back on his thigh. “But... what I can do is treat you right. I can protect you and provide for you. Give you everything you need. If you give me another chance, I’ll prove it every day of my fucking life.”

“Tatsuki, I don’t know…”

“I love you.” His sudden confession makes you gasp, and he finally reaches out, grabbing hold of your hands and bringing them in front of his chest. “I fuckin’ mean it, too. Give me a chance and I’ll show you.”

You let him hold your hands for a moment before you shift, lifting them so you can take his cheeks between your palms. There’s a half-smile on your face when you whisper, “Our daughter needs her father.”

“Daughter?” He looks down at your bump and exhales sharply. “Fuck.”

“Do you want to feel her?” You ask. “She’s kicking right now.”

Shit, he’s missed so much. You guide his hands to your stomach, and it only takes a moment for him to feel it. A tiny little shift, then a decently powerful kick that makes him pull back in surprise. You laugh, hands on his wrists when he leans forward to feel it again, his fingers shaking when the baby kicks one more time.

“She really is my fuckin’ kid, huh? Already a fighter.”

“You’re going to have to watch your mouth,” you complain with a pout. “I don’t want her first word to be ‘fuck.’”

“Don’t think I can do that,” he laughs dryly.

“Tatsuki,” you whisper, one hand running up his arm until your fingers are beneath his chin and his attention is on you. “I still don’t trust you… but I need you too, so don’t you dare do this to me anymore. I can’t go through this again.”

“Then you accept me?”

“No, and I don’t think I ever will,” you answer honestly. “But… I’ll try if you do because you’re not getting another chance.”

Washio can only nod, afraid that if he opens his big mouth, he’ll ruin the last chance he’s lucky to even get. Instead he leans forward, wrapping his arms around you and setting his forehead on your stomach, feeling the little kicks of his daughter growing in your stomach. Your fingers thread through his hair as he clings to you, and his quiet whisper of ‘thank you’ is lost in the breeze and chirping of the birds in the bare pink magnolia trees.

The house is quiet when he steps inside and slips his shoes off, locking the front door behind him. Washio pads to the bedroom, stretching out his sore neck on the way. The parlor had been annoying as fuck today, some stupid kids thinking they could swindle the dealer without him finding out. A few kicks to the sides and the stomach and the kids cried they’d never do it again before scurrying off. All he wants to do is shower and relax, but as soon as he opens the bedroom door, he immediately changes his mind.

You sit on the edge of the bed, pretty eyes blinking up at him as you play with the strap of your baby doll lingerie. It’s lacy red, hugging your tits and all the curves you gained after having his daughter three years ago. You bite your lip shyly, squeezing your legs together as you lick your lips.

“Welcome home.”

It’s amazing how easily you make him riled up, even after all this time. He’s on you in a minute, pushing you down to the bed and swallowing your squeal with a bruising kiss. It takes a bit of fumbling, but soon your hair is splayed out over the pillows and your fingers hurry to undo his dress shirt as he kisses and licks all around your neck.

“Where’s Mayu?”

“I dropped her off at Kana-san’s house,” you gasp when he bites down, nearly ripping his shirt open so you can push up his undershirt and feel his skin against you. You moan when he grinds his half-hard cock into your thigh, spreading your legs for him even more. “I wanted to—hng, to surprise you.”

“Fuck, you’re a needy slut,” he laughs, deep and hoarse into your shoulder.

You whimper at the name, wrapping your legs around his waist so you can rut your hips against his cock. “Wanted you so bad.”

“Yeah? You want me to fuck you until you can’t walk?” His fingers slip down your lingerie, playing with the high-cut edge near your thighs before slipping it aside. Washio runs his fingers up and down your folds, groaning when he realizes how wet you already are. “So fucking ready for me and we just started.”

“Tatsuki,” you whine, threading your fingers in his hair and tugging when he sucks on a sensitive part of your chest. “Fuck me, please.”

Washio can’t blame you for being desperate. It’s been so long since it’s been just the two of you. Nights have been filled with baby laughs and tears, exhausted naps, quickies in the bathroom and the kitchen as Mayu slept. But they’ve also been filled with smiles and squeals, stolen kisses, warm welcomes when he comes back to the house and falls into your arms, tired from the day’s work. He’s so wound up that he thinks he might burst in his pants, so he quickly undoes his slacks, jerking them and his underwear down so his cock can spring free.

“Fuck, you look so fucking pretty in this. Would be a shame to take it off.” He tugs the fabric even further to the side so he can run his cock up and down your folds, grinding against you as he smirks. “Wouldn’t it? You wanna be fucked in your lingerie like a needy little whore, don’t you?”

“Yes, yes,” you beg, fingers tugging off his shirt and undershirt, pulling him flush against you so you can kiss him. Your neediness shows in the sloppiness of your tongue and the way you hump his cock with a whine. Your tongue swirls around his, sucking when his cock bumps your clit, legs tightening around his sides. “Tatsuki, condom, now.”

Washio hesitates for a second, eyes sliding over to the nightstand where you keep the condoms. He could grab one, roll it on like normal, then fuck you seven ways til Sunday. But—

“Tatsuki?” You ask when he sits back on his haunches, fingers finding your clit and circling, making you whimper.

“I think I want another.”

Another little brat to dominate this place like it’s her little kingdom, the Washio family scowl on her face as she squeals, “Daddy, that’s my candy!” Another little girl to give uneven pigtails before daycare, holding her hand the entire way there. Another kid to watch play on the playground in between visits to businessmen who can’t keep their shit straight. Washio never thought he’d be saying that in his life, but here he is, two fingers slipping into your needy cunt, cock throbbing and begging to be inside and make it happen.

“How ‘bout it? Want me to make you a mommy again, huh? Stuff you full of my cum until you’re swollen with a second?”

“Yes,” you sigh, and there are happy tears lining your eyes when you spread your legs as far apart as you can, fingers holding open your lingerie so he gets a clear view of your needy and wet cunt. When you shift, the ring on your ring finger catches the light and makes him smile.

“Come here and give it to me.”

There’s no way he’s saying no to that.