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eggynsfw · 3 months ago

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rot bonus

warnings: 18+ only, minors dni, chapter four of rot reposted but with the smut written in the first scene, gagging, sub/dom power dynamic, slight degradation if u squint, kind of out of character for rot if u even care

an: this may be hard to believe but this is actually my first time writing smut ever actually so please please please be gentle with my pour soul i also wrote this drunk so that probably speaks to the quality of it. if this is bad dont tell me or ill kms. actually now that i think abt it no one fucking read this.

She’s become an on-call nurse.

It’s never anything worse than the stabbing (which she’s grateful for, because she’s started having reoccurring nightmares where every towel she owns becomes oversaturated with blood, but the flow never slows).

If there’s any sort of silver lining, it’s that her skills have improved. No longer are the wounds she stitches up angry, crooked red lines of over-agitation slathered in too much Neosporin to compensate for it. Her precision and steadiness have both improved; she figures she’s just gotten used to threading through skin.

She would go to nursing school, if she had any semblance of drive or determination. But she doesn’t, so she doesn’t. She just sits on her couch and waits for the call to come so she can go complete some of her back-alley medical procedures.

Iwaizumi’s her favorite patient. Kunimi complains the least and Kyotani has the best pain tolerance. But Iwaizumi’s still her favorite.

He’s sitting on one of the kitchen stools in his apartment, one of his hands lazily grazing against the back of her thigh as she stands in between his legs, focused intensely on the gash that decorates his cheek. He’s had plenty of these, she can see the faint markings of them underneath her fingers as she works. Most of them were never deep enough to become anything other than a faint mark you can only see if you squint. Some of them are pale and in stark contrast to his tanned skin.

You see him and you see them.

There’s no sound but the overworked rotating fan that spits and gurgles and begs to be put out of its misery. Iwaizumi watches her as she works to close his wound. “You know you always do that when you concentrate,” he says, tired voice rough and low. He draws circles just above the back of her knee with his thumb.

“Do what?” she asks, reaching for a pair of old kitchen scissors on the counter. She resolves to disinfect them later. But it’s not like Iwaizumi has actually ever cooked anything in his life. At least nothing edible. She snips the end of the suture.

“You stick out the end of your tongue,” he tells her, grinning. And she abandons her task of tearing into her alcohol wipes in favor of narrowing her eyes at him. “Like this,” he says, and pokes the very tip of his tongue out between his two lips, brow furrowed in a bit of mock concentration. “It’s cute.”

He winces slightly as she cleans off his wound with the alcohol wipe. He tries to play it off like he doesn’t, but she notices, and smiles, just a bit. “You think everything I do is cute,” she tells him, as if he needs reminding.

And it’s true. Iwaizumi’s liberal with the word. Everything about her gets the label. When she wakes up in the morning and her hair is a mess and there’s still sleep in her eyes. When he drives her home from work and she tugs at the collar of her uniform, complaining loudly about how much she hates it. The way she eats. How she texts. Everything.

“Cause you’re cute,” he asserts. And she deposits the now rusty alcohol wipe onto the counter with the remainder of the discarded medical equipment she’s used on him.

He doesn’t say anything else as she places a bandage over the stitched-up slice on his cheek and she doesn’t go anywhere when it’s done. Even though there’s nothing left for her to do. Even those there’s no reason for her to be standing in between his legs still, she doesn’t want to leave.

Iwaizumi doesn’t ask her to, so she doesn’t. She stays, and his hand slowly creeps up the back of her thigh. “Thanks,” he tells her, grinning. “I’ll pay you.”

“Fuck off,” she rolls her eyes. “You and me both know you don’t have money to pay me with.”

His hand squeezes slightly. “I’ll get some.”

“Don’t do anything that’ll get you hurt again,” she chastises lightly, and raises a hand to cup his cheek, and she brushes her thumb just under the bandage, careful to dodge any bruises that have blossomed. “Swear to fucking god, you’re gonna give me a heart attack.”

“Aww,” he coos, and uses the grip he has on her thigh to pull her forward. She stumbles, just a bit, and a hand automatically goes to his shoulder to steady herself. “You’re worried about me.”

There’s no part of her that is inclined to take her hand off of him. She slips it behind his neck and lifts her other hand to meet it, fingers twining together. “Course I’m worried about you,” she tells him, unashamed. “You dickhead. How could I not be?”

Iwaizumi studies her. His eyes are bright and green and as they scan over the details of her face they’re all she can focus on. He has pretty eyes. They might be one of the prettiest things about him. Iwaizumi blinks at her, and then swallows. “Can I tell you something?”

She nods, still thinking of his eyes. “Yeah.”

“I think I might be in love with you.”

“I know.”

He uses his free hand grip the tip of her chin, softly, but in a way that gives him control. She can’t look away from his eyes, and she doesn’t have to say it.

When Iwaizumi kisses her, it doesn’t feel like it’s the first time. It feels familiar, like she’s returning to something she didn’t know she had. It’s chaste for only a second. Like Iwaizumi got a taste of her and then could not hold back for even a second longer. The hand on her chin tangles in the roots of her hair, the one on her thigh shoots up to her back, inching up under her shirt.

Iwaizumi’s something special to her, she thinks, as he nibbles on her bottom lip. Something she doesn’t quiet understand. All of her life has been rot and decay. It has been death and violence and blood and those are all things that are tacked right alongside Iwaizumi’s name. They come with him just as they come with her.

With his hand knotted in the roots of her hair, and pulls her head back, exposing the bare skin of her neck to him. He takes the tip of his tongue and drags it along the length of her neck, up to the corner of her jaw, and it’s all she can do to breathe deeply, her chest heaving with inhalation. Iwaizumi nibbles at the bottom of her ear once he reaches it, and whispers, “Tell me you love me, too,” he pleads. “Say it.”

She swallows, her throat feeling thick. “Earn it.”

Iwaizumi takes the challenge that presented to him. He grabs at the bottom of each one of her thighs, fingers pressing neatly into the soft skin, and lifts, hauling her up and pressing her close to him, all the while his lips firmly attached to her neck. He doesn’t look up as he approaches his bedroom door, and instead uses the heel of boot to kick the door open.

He then, unceremoniously, tosses her onto the bed. She recoils, bouncing off of the plush surface and settling back down again. Iwaizumi watches her with a smug sort of satisfaction, gripping at the bottom of his shirt and pulling it over his head in one swift motion. “Take your clothes off,” he commands of her, no room for argument.

And, like the obedient girl she is, she does as she’s told, hands reaching for the buttons on her jean shorts. She feels stupid as she squirms to pull them down over her hips, but Iwaizumi stands at the edge of the bed, watching her with this glint in his eyes that makes her feel like prey. Once she kicks them off and onto the floor, she pulls the t-shirt that hung loosely on her body over her head, leaving it discarded to the side, and her completely exposed. Iwaizumi doesn’t break eye contact as he tugs off his own belt, tossing it to the floor and letting his jeans fall straight past his hips and straight to the ground, leaving him in boxers that hang low on his hips.

He pounces, then.

Iwaizumi hovers, elbows on either side of her, drinking in the sight of her, almost completely naked and vulnerable beneath him. She thinks he’s going to kiss her again, but instead he reaches down, looping a finger around the cotton panties that sit on her hips. Without being prompted, she lifts her hips, like she knows she’s meant to, and he pulls them straight past her thighs.

She’s again proven wrong when Iwaizumi doesn’t toss them off to join the pile of the rest of her discarded, suddenly useless clothes, but instead, balls them up in his hand, and stuffs them into her mouth. He presses his clothed, hard cock to her core. “I don’t wanna hear a fucking sound from you, unless its you telling me how much you love me, understand?”

She already wants to cry. She already feels dizzy with desire. She tries to squirm against the slight pressure he’s applied, but the slight movement from her has Iwaizumi jerking his hips away. He holds his weight in his knees on either side of her hips, and uses his hands to pin both of her hands above her head. “Understand?” he asks again, more impatient this time.

The underwear stuffed into her mouth blocks any words from her mouth, and the only thing that comes out is this strangled sort of noise. Iwaizumi, seemingly satisfied with this, lets out a hushed, “Good girl,” before he dives back down to resume his assault on her neck.

When his teeth drag along the soft flesh of her neck, goosebumps erupt on her skin. When his tongue trails down between the valley of her breasts, she gets impatient, her hips rising for some sort of friction. And Iwaizumi raises his head to look at her as he uses his free hand to press down on her belly. “Be patient,” he chides, the pressure on her lower stomach doing nothing but making the aching between her thighs worse.

Iwaizumi lowers his head once more, teeth leaving marks all over her neck, her chest. He takes his time in tasting her, in unraveling her. Iwaizumi works his tongue over her like he’s been waiting for the opportunity to, like he’s been plotting his path and biding his time until he had the perfect moment to execute it. All the while she squirms and moans and tries to plead underneath him, trying to release her hands from his grip, trying to find any sort of release. She tries to squeeze her thighs together, and Iwaizumi responds to this by placing each one of his knees on the inside of her thighs, parting her legs and allowing her no reprieve.

He takes a nipple between his teeth and pulls. Her back arches, and a guttural moan comes from deep in her chest. And she can feel Iwaizumi chuckle, rolling it between his teeth before releasing.

With her wrists still collected in his hands, he rises up to look her in the eye. Her vision is blurry, stars in the corner of her eyes, but she can see how his nose sits crookedly, can see the deep gash in his cheek that she had just stitched up moments before, can see the old, paled scars that decorate his features. He places a soft, gentle kiss to the center of her forehead. “You want me, baby?”

She nods, as enthusiastically as she can manage. Iwaizumi takes a thumb and drags it along the skin of her cheek. “C’mon, that’s not good enough. Use your words. Or did you forget how?”

And, despite the panties still shoved into her mouth, she tries to form the words. It comes out muffled, unintelligible, and she feels stupid. She’s pretty sure a bit of drool is starting to leak out of the corner of her mouth. Iwa chuckles, and presses his hips against her once more. A shudder runs up her spine. “Try again, baby. Tell me how bad you want me, and then I’ll fuck you.”

And she tries. I want you, I want you, I want you. She says it over and over, desperately and wriggling, trying to feel as much of him as he can. Iwaziumi laughs again. “Alright, since you said it so nicely.”

Iwaizumi releases her wrists to tug his boxers down past his hips, and when he does, she leaves her hands in the place that he left him, like she knows she’s supposed to. She’s rewarded with another, “Good girl,” as he aligns himself with her entrance, using one hand to hold her hips down as he does so, the other reaching back to hold her wrists in place. “Ready?”

She nods, and that’s all he needs. Iwaizumi thrusts, and the string of words that leave her tongue might in a language she doesn’t know, incomprehensible even without the gag.

Iwaizumi doesn’t fuck her like he loves her. He fucks her like she is flesh, molded and designed for this exact purpose, a sheath for his cock, and object for his pleasure. And her eyes roll back, definitely drooling now. She tries to say it then, as Iwaizumi circles an arm around her hips and lifts them slightly off the bed. She tries to say it, over and over.

His eyes shoot up to her face. Iwaizumi releases her wrists to reach down and pull the gag out of her mouth. “Say it again,” he tells her, his hips snapping into her. “Now that I’ve earned it.”

“I love you!” she cries out, thinking that maybe the neighbors might hear, but not really caring either way. “I love you, I love you, I love you!”

Iwaizumi’s something special to her, she thinks. Something she doesn’t quiet understand. All of her life has been rot and decay. It has been death and violence and blood and those are all things that are tacked right alongside Iwaizumi’s name. They come with him just as they come with her.

But he doesn’t make her feel like the wooden boards that hold her home up are soft and wet and termite ridden. He doesn’t make her feel like the flesh of every fruit she touches is squishy and leaking and smelling of something foul. For the first time in her life, she feels like she’s tasting something fresh.

The persistent summer heat melts them both, sweat sticking to their skin. The fan still sputters. A small cut on Iwaizumi’s lip makes him taste of rust and iron. The integrity of the walls around them are soiled, and one day, maybe someday soon, they will fall in on themselves.

But still, in his sheets, she feels fresh.

★⋆. ࿐࿔

#what the fuck u guys #u guys what the fuck #no one read this im so serious #iwaizumi x reader smut #iwaizumi smut #iwaizumi x yn smut

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