#stringing cobwebs | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

drewsephrry · 4 months ago

Text

Love Island - Episode 3: Dear Stranger

series masterlist

pairings: rafe cameron x fem!reader

words: 4k

warnings: cuss words

The next day, after the recoupling, the lights flicker on, making the islanders groan.

“Good morning!” Kiara exclaims cheerfully, stretching.

“Oh, girl, shut up!” Cleo replies, burying her head back in her pillow, making everyone laugh. Y/N adjusts her hoodie and looks around tiredly, her eyes landing on Rafe chatting with Topper and Alyssa staring down at her phone.

“Hey, you okay?” Maddy asks, crawling under the covers of Y/N's bed and snuggling up to her. Y/N nods.

“It’s okay not to be.” Maddy adds, gently rubbing her back.

“I’m okay, Mads. Truly. I don’t wanna hold any grudges against her and I don’t care if they’re sleeping in the same bed. I’m not worried.” Y/N responds.

“I wish I was as fuckless as you.” Maddy murmurs, adjusting her glasses.

“Fuckless?” Y/N chuckles, raising her eyebrows.

“Yeah. ‘Cause you don’t give a fuck, girl. You know what you want and you’re gonna get it. You don’t let anything get in the way. Or anyone.” Maddy explains, making Y/N laugh again.

“Believe me, I am far from being ‘fuckless’.” She says, shaking her head.

“Good for you, girl!” Sarah smiles, sitting on the other side of the bed. “I haven’t had sex in…months. I probably got cobwebs and shit down there by now.” She says, leaning her head on Y/N's shoulder as she and Maddy burst into laughter.

“That was definitely not what we were talking about, Sar!” Maddy exclaims.

“Oh!” Sarah giggles. “Okay, fill me in.”

“Maddy thinks I don’t give a damn about what happened. Which isn’t true. And before you ask too, I’m okay. Truly.” Y/N explains and Sarah nods.

“That's good. So, what's your plan for today?” She asks, twiddling with the string of her sleep shorts.

“I think I'm gonna talk to her.” She murmurs and Sarah raises her head from her shoulder as Maddy widens her eyes.

“Talk to her? After what she did?” Maddy asks, raising a brow.

“I told you, I'm not holding any grudges against her.” Y/N repeats herself making Sarah scoff and lean back on the headboard.

“I wish I was like that.” Sarah mutters and Y/N gives her a reassuring pat on the head. The girls rise from their seats and head to the makeup room, chatting as they start getting ready. They slip into their swimsuits, fix their hair and apply makeup before heading downstairs to the kitchen.

It's noon before anyone realizes it. Cleo and Pope are splashing around in the pool, laughing over some science fact Pope just dropped. Sarah, Kiara and Maddie are snacking in the kitchen, while JJ, John B and Rafe lounge by the firepit, deep in conversation. Y/N, still groggy from a much needed nap, steps outside, scanning the villa. Her eyes land on Alyssa sitting at the daybed, chatting with Topper. She hesitates for a moment before approaching with a small smile.

“Hey, guys.” She greets warmly.

“Y/N/N, what's up?” Topper grins, immediately making space for her. Alyssa, on the other hand, barely acknowledges her, twirling a piece of hair around her finger.

“Actually.” Y/N starts, shifting her gaze to Alyssa. “I wanted to talk to you.” Alyssa raises an eyebrow, caught off guard. Topper glances between them before nodding.

“I'll give you guys a minute.” As he passes Y/N, he squeezes her shoulder lightly before walking away. Y/N takes a seat beside Alyssa and clears her throat.

“Look, I get it. You might not want to talk to me and that’s fine.” She begins, voice steady. “But I want to be upfront with you. We had a pretty rocky start and I hate that. I never wanted you to feel unwelcome here. And the whole situation with Rafe…it’s complicated.” Alyssa sighs, her fingers still fidgeting with her hair.

“I know you said you weren’t looking to make friends here and that’s your choice. But the thought of us spending the whole summer together with you having no one to confide in? That doesn’t sit right with me.” Alyssa is quiet for a moment before exhaling slowly.

“I shouldn’t have said that.” She admits.

“I guess…I do want to be friends with you. And with the rest of the girls, too. So, I’m sorry for how I acted. It wasn’t your fault or anyone’s. I’ve just always been kind of a loner. It’s easier that way.” She pauses, then adds. “But you’re right. We’re all stuck here together and eventually, I’m going to want someone in my corner.” Y/N nods, understanding and Alyssa shifts uncomfortably.

“About Rafe…”

“Can I just say something?” Y/N interrupts gently. “You did the right thing.”

“What?” Alyssa blinks in surprise.

“You came in here looking for a real connection. You found Rafe attractive, he made you feel comfortable and you went for it. That’s exactly what you were supposed to do.” Y/N explains. “Me and Rafe? We’re having fun, sure. We like each other…yeah. But it’s early. Nothing is set in stone. And I would never want to be the reason he or you held back from exploring something real.” Alyssa stares at her, eyes narrowing slightly.

“Why aren’t you mad?” She asks making Y/N laugh under her breath.

“What do you mean?”

“I basically stole your guy.” Alyssa says bluntly. “And I was kind of a bitch about it. If I were you, I’d be avoiding me, not trying to make peace.”

“Everyone deserves a second chance.” She shrugs. “Besides, I suck at holding grudges.” Alyssa studies her for a second before breaking into a smile. She opens her arms slowly.

“Come on, then…friend.”

Y/N chuckles before leaning in to hug her.

Confessional - Y/N “She’s not wrong for following her heart." She shrugs softly, trying to keep her voice steady. "I can’t be mad at someone for that...even if it hurts.”

John B chuckles at something JJ says, shaking his head before his gaze shifts toward the daybed. His laughter falters as he catches an unexpected sight.

“Dude…” He smacks Rafe’s arm, eyes widening. “Are Alyssa and Y/N hugging?” JJ lifts his sunglasses on his head and squints.

“Oh my god!” He rubs his eyes dramatically. “Either that or Alyssa is strangling her.” Rafe, who had been half-listening, immediately sits up straighter, his brows furrowing. His gaze locks onto the two girls, watching as Y/N pulls away from the hug with a small smile while Alyssa seems genuine.

“What the hell did I miss?” Rafe mutters, still processing and JJ shakes his head in disbelief.

“Man, this villa moves too fast. One minute it’s war, the next, it’s…this.”

“So, should we be worried?” John B smirks, nudging him.

Rafe doesn’t answer immediately, his jaw tightening slightly as he watches Y/N interact with Alyssa. Just yesterday, Alyssa had thrown herself at him and now she was cozying up to Y/N. His gut twists, but he forces a nonchalant shrug.

“I don’t know.” He replies. “But I feel like that hug just made things a whole lot more complicated.”

“Oh, yeah. Definitely.” JJ snorts.

The villa buzzes with energy as everyone settles into their glammed up looks for the night. Laughter and music fills the air, but Rafe isn’t paying attention to any of it. His gaze has been following Y/N for a while now, his thoughts circling back to what he saw earlier. Her and Alyssa, laughing and hugging. Like they hadn’t just been caught in a messy triangle hours before.

He needs to know what is going on.

So when he finally finds an opening, he reaches for her hand, his fingers brushing against hers as he leads her away. The warmth of the firepit flickers against their skin as they settle onto the bench, away from the noise of the villa.

“Hey.” Rafe starts, his voice lower now that it was just the two of them. “You good?” Y/N nods, crossing her legs, the slit of her dress shifting just enough to reveal more of her thigh. Rafe's gaze flickers downward before he catches himself, clearing his throat as he looks away.

“Are you?” She asks in return, tilting her head slightly. Rafe hesitates before exhaling.

“Yeah. I mean…yeah. Just-” He runs a hand through his hair. “What happened with Alyssa?”

“What do you mean?” Y/N raises a brow, questionably.

“I saw you two earlier.” His tone is casual, but there is something underneath it. Something tense. “The whole hug thing.”

“I wasn’t expecting that.” He adds, shaking his head slightly. Y/N lets out a soft chuckle, twisting her ring absently.

“We talked.” She reveals.

“About?” Rafe presses, leaning forward slightly. “Me?” She rolls her eyes, but the small smile tugging at her lips doesn’t go unnoticed.

“A little. Mostly about the whole situation. I told her how it's still early, how we’re both keeping our options open.” She starts.

“Right.” Rafe clenches his jaw, but Y/N doesn't realize it.

“And how I want to be her friend.” She adds, making his head snap toward her.

“Be her friend?” He repeats, incredulous. “After what she pulled?”

“It wasn’t that bad.” Y/N shrugs.

“You're joking.” Rafe exclaims, letting out a dry laugh, before shaking his head.

“She liked how you acted toward her, Rafe.” Y/N’s voice was patient, but firm. “She felt attracted to you. Can you really blame her? If we were in her shoes, we’d probably do the same thing.” Rafe scoffs, shifting in his seat.

“I wouldn’t have gone after someone else’s person two days in.” He says nonchalantly.

“Maybe not, but she didn’t do anything wrong. She saw an opportunity and took it.” Y/N meets his stare evenly, while Rafe exhales sharply, dragging a hand down his face.

“Why are you defending her?” He asks, clearly confused.

“I’m not.” Y/N replied simply. “I’m just not blaming her, either.”

“Nah. You’re way too forgiving.” He comments and she smirks.

“And you’re way too not.”

Silence settles between them for a beat, the firelight flickering in their eyes.

“You don’t get why I’m upset?” Rafe finally asks, his voice quieter now. Y/N tilts her head, studying him.

“No, I don’t.” She admitted. “You told me you weren’t interested in her, right? You told her that too. So, what does it matter if I want to be friends with her?” Rafe opens his mouth, then closes it, his frustration evident.

“It’s not about that.” He mutters, shifting in his seat. “I just…I don’t trust her.” His voice is low now, serious. Y/N meets his gaze, her expression steady.

“But you trust me, right?” She asks, her tone quiet but direct. Rafe hesitates, searching her face for a moment before responding.

“Yeah…I trust you. But I don’t know about her. She’s smart, Y/N. If she wants something, she’ll do whatever it takes to get it.”

“You think I’m that easy to manipulate?” She asks, smiling softly to ease the tension and Rafe quickly shakes his head.

“No. But you’re too nice.” He admits. Y/N exhales, leaning back slightly, her voice calming but firm.

“Look, I get that you want to protect me and I appreciate it. But Alyssa’s not the enemy here.” She pauses, making sure he’s listening. “She didn’t mean for any of this to happen. She just followed what felt right to her. I’m not gonna blame her for that or hold a grudge against her.” Rafe frowns, clearly still not convinced.

“As for her manipulating me, I would never let anyone do that. I may seem too nice or maybe even a little naive, but I know the difference between someone trying to use me and someone just figuring things out. Alyssa's not trying to hurt anyone she's just...lost.” Rafe watches her for a moment, absorbing her words. His gaze shifts toward the firepit, a flicker of understanding crossing his face as the tension starts to fade.

For a moment, neither of them speak. The fire crackles, the distant sound of the villa buzzing behind them. But right here, in their own little bubble, the tension has shifted into something lighter.

“Are we good?” She finally asks. Rafe studies her, then nods.

“Yeah. We’re good.” He admits, making Y/N smile softly and shift closer to him, the space between them shrinking with each move.

“Good.” She says, her voice gentle but firm. “Because I don't want to spend the time we have, arguing over stupid villa drama.” Rafe smirks, his eyes gleaming with amusement.

Confessional - Rafe “I just don’t trust Alyssa. Not after what she pulled.” He shakes his head. “She’s not fooling me.”

He pulls her even closer, his hand snaking around her waist, causing her to let out a surprised squeal. He chuckles, clearly enjoying her reaction, as he tightens his hold, looking at her with an intense focus. His eyes trace her features. Her lips, the way her hair falls around her face, the light in her eyes.

“I don’t like not sharing a bed with you.” He admits, his voice low, almost vulnerable, though his smirk never fully fades. Y/N laughs lightly, rolling her eyes.

“We shared a bed for two nights, Rafe.” She teases, nudging him with her shoulder. Rafe nods, his expression playful but sincere.

“Two nights where I slept like a baby.” He says, his other hand lifting to gently rest on her cheek, his thumb brushing along the soft skin. Y/N's cheeks flush slightly, her heart beating a little faster at the intimacy of the moment. She instinctively turns her head away, her smile shy.

“Rafe…” She murmurs, almost as if trying to hide the warmth in her face. He’s quick to turn her head back toward him, his fingers grazing her jaw gently. He leans in close, his lips nearly brushing hers. His voice drops to a whisper.

“Can I?” He asks, his eyes darting to her glossy lips, a question hanging between them. Y/N can feel the tension in the air. She closes her eyes briefly, trying to steady her breath before speaking softly.

“Don’t even ask.”

Without another word, she closes the space between them, pressing her lips against his with a force that surprises both of them. It’s messy, wild and different from their usual gentle kisses. Rafe groans against her lips, his hands tightening around her.

“Fuck, I like that.” He says, his voice thick with desire, before pulling her back in, his lips crashing against hers once again.

The kiss lingers, unrestrained and full of unspoken feelings, until they finally pull apart, both of them breathless. Y/N giggles, wiping his lips gently.

“I probably should stop wearing lip gloss around you.” She admits, shaking her head with a playful smile. Rafe grins, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Yeah, I’ll mess it up every time.” He replies, his lips curling into a smirk. “And I am not sorry for that.” Y/N smacks him playfully, making them both chuckle.

Two days later, another beautiful day begins. The sun rises over the villa, casting a golden hue on the sparkling water below. Upstairs, the girls are already busy, each doing their own thing. Maddy is curling her hair, Kiara is applying her makeup and Sarah is pacing back and forth, trying to decide what to wear for the day. Meanwhile, the boys are scattered around the villa. Some working out, others chatting casually over breakfast and JJ is still struggling to get out of bed, his messy hair poking out from under the covers.

As the girls chat and laugh while getting ready, talking about their plans for the day, a sudden ping cuts through the noise. Everyone pauses, glancing at each other in surprise as Maddy grabs her phone.

“Oh my God!” Maddy mutters, her voice filled with disbelief.

“What? What is it?” Sarah asks, walking over, her curiosity piqued.

“Tell us!” Kiara insists, practically jumping up and down, eager to know. Cleo tries to grab the phone out of Maddy’s hand, but Y/N playfully holds Cleo back, shaking her head.

“Let her read it!” Y/N laughs.Maddy takes a deep breath and reads aloud, her voice trembling with excitement.

“Girls, today a hot new bombshell is entering the villa.” She starts, causing the others to widen their eyes, their attention fully on her. “Kelce was given the choice to go on dates with two very lucky girls.” She continues, and the room grows tense as they hang on her every word. Another ping sounds from Maddy’s phone and her eyes widen once more.

“Maddy and Cleo, get ready for your dates. Bring your A-game and make Kelce feel welcome. #newbabeintown #brunchdatebuddies.”

The moment the message is read, the room erupts in excitement. Cleo and Maddy jump up and down, squealing with joy, as the other girls clap and cheer for them.

“Oh my god, this is huge!” Kiara exclaims, grinning widely.

“Fuck, I can’t wear this!” Cleo suddenly exclaims, looking down at her plain black one-piece swimsuit. The girls all nod, immediately gathering around her.

“We’ve got you.” Y/N assures her, already heading toward the closet to pick out a few outfits.

“You know, I had an ex named Kelce.” Y/N says casually as she pulls out a bikini for Cleo. The girls pause, intrigued.

“When was this?” Sarah asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Like…a year ago? Maybe a little more.” Y/N says, tossing the first bikini aside. She pulls out another, but Cleo shakes her head at the choice.

“Really?” Y/N scoffs, her tone playful, as she digs through the swimsuits again.

“What happened? Why did you two break up?” Alyssa asks, brushing out Maddy’s hair as the conversation flows naturally. Y/N sighs, pulling out a red bikini that Cleo can’t help but admire.

“It wasn’t a bad breakup or anything. We just wanted different things. I loved him, though. I still have a lot of love for him.”

“Ooooh, that sounds like unfinished business.” Kiara says, sipping the smoothie Pope brought her earlier, as she watches the interaction. Y/N shrugs, glancing up at the bikini she’s holding.

“Maybe. I don’t know. If the timing was right…maybe we could try again.” She hands Cleo the red bikini with a soft smile and Cleo holds it up with a grin.

“Finally!” Cleo whispers, grinning wide as she heads off to change.

“My ex used to hook up with Kendall Jenner.” Sarah suddenly reveals, causing the room to go silent for a beat. The girls stare at her in shock.

“What?!” Maddy gasps.

“Tell us everything!” Kiara says, her eyes wide with curiosity. Sarah just shrugs, a small smile playing at her lips.

“It’s not a big deal, really.” She says, though her tone suggests otherwise. The room erupts in questions as the girls demand more details, laughing and gossiping.

Confessional - Sarah “I should’ve told them about the time I shared an Uber with Shawn Mendes.” She grins.

As they finish up their preparations, Y/N realizes she left her water bottle downstairs. She heads down to grab it from her bedside table and as she enters the room, she sees JJ sitting up in bed, rubbing his eyes, clearly contemplating whether he’s ready to start his day.

“Oh! Hi, J!” Y/N says brightly, walking over to her bedside table and grabbing the bottle. As she leans over, her hoodie rides up slightly, revealing a sliver of her waist. JJ clears his throat and looks up, his eyes lingering on the small reveal.

“H-hi.” He stammers and then glances at her outfit. “Wait, why aren’t you dressed yet?” Y/N chuckles, looking down at herself.

“We were too busy getting Maddy and Cleo ready for their dates and-” She cuts herself off, her eyes widening in realization. “Oh crap, I probably shouldn’t have said that.”

“Wait, Cleo and Maddy have dates?” JJ asks, widening his eyes. Y/N rushes to him, a pleading look in her eyes.

“Please don’t tell the guys. I wasn’t supposed to say anything.” She tugs at his sleeve, giving him her best puppy-dog eyes. JJ grins mischievously, moving towards the door.

“Nope. I’m telling everyone.” He murmurs.

“No! JJ!” Y/N yells, racing after him. Her short legs try to catch up, but JJ is too quick. Just as he’s about to make it out the door, Y/N launches herself at him, throwing her arms around his shoulders and trying to cover his mouth with her hand. The boys, hearing the commotion, rush over to see what’s going on.

JJ stumbles slightly as Y/N clings to him, nearly losing his balance. Before he can topple over, Rafe appears out of nowhere and grabs Y/N, pulling her off of JJ and setting her down gently.

“What’s going on here?” Rafe asks, his voice calm but curious, his skin glistening with the glow of a recent workout. JJ rubs his arm where Y/N’s nails left red marks.

“Did you scratch me?” He asks, looking at his bicep with a furrowed brow.

“Sorry.” Y/N mutters, slightly embarrassed.

“Okay, what happened?” John B asks as he adjusts his hat.

“Maddy and Cleo have dates!” JJ says triumphantly, turning to Y/N with a mockingly smug look. Y/N narrows her eyes at him.

“I’m going to kill you.” She murmurs, making JJ laugh loudly.

“I’d love to see you try.” He challenges as Y/N struggles to break free of Rafe’s arms to get to him. Rafe sighs, tightening his grip to keep her calm.

“What dates? What are you talking about?” Rafe asks, rubbing Y/N’s arm comfortingly as she tries to escape his hold. Y/N sighs, realizing she can’t avoid it.

“We got a text.” She says quietly, her eyes flicking to the guys. “It said a new guy is entering today, and he chose Maddy and Cleo to go on a brunch date.” The boys exchange glances, nodding, but Rafe’s grip on Y/N loosens as the information settles in.

“I probably shouldn’t say this either.” Y/N continues in a hushed voice. “But the girls and I are gonna spy on them from the balcony. If you guys…wanna join.” She looks around at the group, her gaze lingering on Rafe.

“Now, can I go back upstairs?” She asks, her tone soft.

“Ye-yeah.” Rafe murmurs, a faint smile tugging at his lips. He releases her from his arms and Y/N grins, pecking him quickly on the cheek before heading back upstairs.

Some time has passed now, Maddy and Cleo are making their way to the backyard, which has been transformed. Two tables are set up in the center, surrounded by an array of flowers and a delicious-looking brunch spread. The girls squeal in excitement as they take their seats, occasionally glancing up at the terrace where the rest of the group is gathered.

“Can’t believe you told them.” Sarah murmurs to Y/N, nodding toward the boys sitting behind them on the couch.

“I’m sorry, Sarah. It just slipped out.” Y/N apologizes again, her gaze drifting through the railing toward the girls.

“Hey, Cleo! Push up the girls!” Kiara calls out and Cleo responds with a nod, adjusting her swim top as everyone laughs.

A moment later, Maddy's eyes widen and she looks up toward the terrace, silently mouthing something.

“He’s here!” She whispers. Cleo turns to shush her and the girls exchange thumbs-up for good luck. They watch as JJ and John B walk toward them. Y/N moves aside to make room for them, settling next to Rafe and Topper on the couch. Rafe instinctively wraps an arm around her waist as he talks with Topper.

“Woah!” Kiara exclaims as JJ tries to peer over her shoulder.

“Not another black guy!” Pope groans.

“John B, my toes!” Alyssa shrieks and John B apologizes as he ducks down to avoid stepping on her.

“Y/N! You need to see him!” Sarah whispers urgently, gesturing for her to come over. Y/N rolls her eyes but stands up and walks toward the railing, crouching down to avoid being seen by Kelce below.

“Shit!” She exclaims, causing Kiara to quickly shush her.

“Girl!” Kiara scolds quietly. Y/N pulls back from the railing, her face pale as though she’s seen a ghost.

“Whoa, you okay?” Rafe asks, noticing her blank stare. He rises from the couch and moves toward her, the others gathering around to check on her. Sarah rubs her back, concerned.

“Did you get dizzy again? I’ve told you, you can’t skip breakfast.” She begins.

“Is that Kelce?” Y/N asks and the group nods. Rafe and Topper head off toward him. Rafe shrugs.

“He’s not…bad-looking.” He admits. “But he’s not all that either.”

“That’s Kelce.” Y/N repeats, her voice shaking. Sarah looks at her, nodding.

“Yeah, we know.”

“No, no, no, Sarah.” Y/N starts, her voice trembling. “That’s Kelce…my ex.” Sarah's eyes widen in shock.

“What the fuck?” Rafe's voice cuts through the tension as he looks up at Y/N, equally stunned.

to be continued...

taglist: @cherrygirlfriend @judesgfirl @slickdickwitchbitchh @leather-n-velvet @alinavalentine @littlelamy @nami11 @madiisynnxx @ts1mp0ne @starkeyslibrary @venusluves @rafecameronsfavourite @lolharrystylesissexy @nofacenocase00 @k4yr14 @drewslefttoe @tinie03 @angielvsnick @dellevans @malibuhearts @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @harryweeniee @imawhoreforu @fastlovela @jjmaybankmylovee @miserablebl00d @angeliki-spiteri9711 @drewsnr1slut @laniirackssss @emotionsmgcbabe @oconnrs @missabsey @amterasuu @cornliastreett @pvyden @italk2god @swagmoneydrew @lerclec @emmaaas-posts @dorcas4meadowes @isabellaxlilah @xoxosblogsblog @bxbychxrry @julesbog @annaaaamichelle @st8rkey @lewispool @my-name-is-baby @silkylovey @soincredible

A/N: sorry for the long wait, but i really struggled with this one. i wrote half of it when i had time after work when i was very tired and finished it really late last night, it's proofread but i cannot promise it's good so very sorry for that!!

2K notes · View notes

screampied · 1 year ago

Note

Fighting for dominance w yuki 🙏🏽

❤︎ ໋𓈒 trying to top yuki (you fail)

warnings. fem! reader, praise, doggy, dirty talk, she has a strap, petnames. mdni.

“oh. what’s this, baby?” yuki whispers, her eyes flicker towards your hovering body. her stare made you swallow. her legs remained spread, and she had a cunning grin tugging against his lips. she eyed your figure up and down before raising a eyebrow once you lightly shove her back. “you’re getting ahead of yourself. you’re gonna try to ride me?”

“yeah,” you utter, glancing down at her clear lengthy strap—you were already prepped, just barely getting over your last release from her eating you out.

as she tilted her head towards the side with a cheeky smile, you could still see some of your own slick running down her chin. “you don’t think i can?”

she giggles. “sweetheart, i never said that,” and she runs a hand across her thigh, watching you prepare to align yourself against the plump tip. “. . . although,” she breaks, teasingly staring off in the other direction, still manspread with her arms now stretched across the sides of the mattress. “i dunno, you couldn’t really take me if you tried. besides, you always end up tapping out.”

your eyes widen as you grew flustered before grumbling, “s-shut up.”

“aw. how ‘bout ya make me? otherwise i’ll just keep talking, princess.” she snickers, softly tracing her fingers down your waist just to get a reaction out of you.

she had the smuggest grin smeared on her face, watching you start to sink down on the strap-on.

“don’t hurt yourself now,” she giggles, eyeing you the entire time—you bit down on your lip, trying to suppress as much mind as you could, and she only simpers wider. “want me to hold your hand?”

“y-yuki,” you whined, putting a hand over her mouth. she playfully licks against your fingers, feeling you hover against the tip—you moan, your pussy gripping around the faux material before you jerked into her inwards. “stop talking.”

“not unless you make m—”

she gets cut off from the softness of your lips. you feel the smile still on his lips. she tastes sweet, candied even. yuki runs a hand down your hips as you gradually started to rut against her.

you ran your tongue against hers, tasting a tang of alcohol on her before you let off a whimper once she grips onto your ass.

she’s panting the more you deepened the kiss, she found it cute and you trying to show a bit more dominance—yet you were already failing. strands of her hair tickled against your skin the more your warm body heat made direct contact with hers.

the taste of her lip gloss had you hooked for more, the pure strawberry that resided against her lips. you moaned in your mouth before your hips started to pick up.

she briefly pulls away, a lustrous cobweb string of spit departing from your mouth and she stares at you.

“why can’t you look at me, princess?” she hums, grabbing ahold of your chin—you leer into her eyes before feeling butterflies swell in inside your tummy. she sneaks a wet kiss against your mouth as your hips rolled back and forth against her. “do i make you nervous?”

“no.” you immensely replied, feeling the continuously expand through your walls. it felt so good, you couldn’t help but moan all against her ear.

“no . . ?” she repeats, her tone was purely playful. yuki chuckles beside you before allowing her hands to roam all over your body—you shudder from the warmth of her touch before she whispers against your ear. “i’m a lot of things, sweetheart but i’m not an idiot,” and then she brings you close towards her chest.

you lean into her touch, thighs of yours rubbing against hers solely from your jagged body movements and she kisses near the inner part of your neck.

“you’re cute when you try to be all . . ” and she pauses for a moment, thinking of the word before tittering. “dominate.”

she studies your face, and you’re pouting. “pretty girl. don’t be so disappointed,” and she kisses you again — a quick kiss that never fails to leave you speechless everytime. “you want me to finish for you, hm?”

you sheepishly nod, stopping yourself from moving against the toy buried inside of you before she smiles, stroking your left cheek.

“at least you’re finally honest, baby,” she whispers, matching your pout before a small chortle leaves her lips. “c’mon, let’s do this the right way, yeah?”

she was so gentle—yet you found yourself pressed against the cushioned pillows, maintaining a swift arch and she towers over you even while being on her knees. yuki rubs a hand against your ass, caressing it as your cheek squished against the couch. “how do you want it, princess? tell me.”

“h-hard, yuki. jus’ make me cum.” you whined, not even caring anymore by this point.

“ooh,” she purrs, watching your back just go forward—your ass remained up and you were craving for her to inside again. you swallowed the nonexistent lump in your throat before feeling her gently prod the fat tip of the toy against your frontage. “say pretty please.”

you whine, wriggling your ass against the head part just for her to hurry up, “p-pretty please.”

“good girl,” she hums, her words went straight towards your cunt. you throbbed vigorously, aching for more of her touch. it wasn’t a want, it was a need. she’s slow as she starts to make her way inside again.

yuki lets off a soft groan, feeling you clamp down with such ease. once your thighs tapped against hers, she kissed her teeth before starting up a pace. “thaaaat’s it, baby. let me—let me take care of you.”

you moaned at the sweetness of her words, she was so deep—your eyes rolled back within seconds of her only delivering a few thrusts. she was tame yet grabbed both of your hips, slowly making sure you felt every inch.

“fuck,” she utters, hearing the sloppy squelches of your pussy voice all against her. yuki’s breathing started to become a bit raspy, quiet but very much raspy.

she always kept her eyes on your ass, she could never look away. the mere shape of it . . .

she ran her fingers across it while she’s fucking you dumb. such deep yet slow thorough strokes had you whining out her name loudly. she pulses from your words of pleasure everytime, but of course she never shows it.

this was all about you.

“you’re so pretty like this,” she hisses, bringing a few spanks to your ass to watch it jiggle—you whined, back arching a bit more for her and she playfully skims her hands down your spine to watch you jolt in pleasure. “how’s it feel, princess? lemme guess should i go harder?”

“p-please,” you squeak out, your head just mashed against the pillows.

she giggles, softly reaching down against your clit to create even more stimulation, earning out a surprised whimper from you.

“i know my girl well,” and then you feel her start to quicken up her hips. she’s reaching all the right spots, the angle was perfect. you felt the length of the toy continue to stretch out your pussy, leaving such a good taste in your mouth. “and to think you could have been topping me, hehe. we all start from somewhere, i guess.”

after a while you lost track of time, like most would.

you started to shake against her and she takes notice. yuki raises a brow before pressing all up against your ass, she’s fully inside and you moan at the warmth of her going against you. “is someone gonna cum? that why ya keep tryin’ to grab onto my leg, sweetheart—?”

the toy was so thick, your pussy made just as much noise as you did. cacophonies of mixed squelches that reverberated throughout the room. it felt so good . . . you clenched your jaw as you felt a hidden bundle of nerves make their way to stir you from the inside.

it’s a long pause as she’s still fucking you—you were a mess, strands of spit running down your mouth before she sings in a seductive tone, “well . . ?” she rubs a thumb against your bare ass whilst watching it jerk and move against her before she mutters. “if you want somethin’ from me, you gotta use your words. go on.”

“—wan’ cum, yuki,” you sniffled, your core was being filled with such inches. your ears rang and you could taste the sweetened orgasm on your tongue practically. “wanna cum, please. please let me c-cum . . ”

“good,” she hums cooingly. each praise she gifted you made you throb ten times more. you feel her grab your ass, scooting it directly towards her before she huffs out a single breath. “good girl. now give it to me, c’mon. don’t be shy. let go just for me, yeah.”

you moaned, feeling her pin your arms behind your back as she’s thrusting in and out of you.

instantly, you felt your legs intensely shake from the incoming rapture—you were simply dumb and close-mouthed. tongue tied even, your orgasm came crashing down on you and she watched as you’re just a mess, cute whines eliciting from your mouth.

your slick covered her faux base entirely, and she licks her lips while watching you ride it out—you panted, feeling her hips come to a stop before seconds later, she slowly pulls out. “aw. you’re so loud, baby. i told you.”

words of silence departed from your lips before she flips you over, pulling you into a deep, loving kiss. yuki’s rough hands gently danced against your skin as she pulled you close, only before you moan into her mouth once you feel her squeeze against your soaked pussy.

“all mine,” she whispers, breaking away to speak before she kisses against the side of your lip to stare you right in the eyes with such a dominant look. “who’s pretty pussy does this belong to, sweetheart?”

“yours, yuki.” you moaned, feeling her chest prick against yours—you felt so hot, in a good way. a smile goes on her lips before she nips at your neck in a playful manner.

“good girl, and it’ll stay that way,” she teases, soft eyes lingering at you for a few good seconds before she brushes a thumb over your wet lips. she leans in as if she’s about to kiss you again before she whispers against your lips. “unless you can ever prove me wrong, sweetheart.”

#★vegasbaby.#yuki tsukumo #yuki jjk #jujutsu kaisen yuki #yuki smut #tsukumo yuki #wlw smut #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujustsu kaisen x reader #female reader #anime smut

3K notes · View notes

spiderseyes · 2 days ago

Text

You feel like taking company?

Gunna have a pack of Bud. Cigar and a lawn chair somewhere. Sounds good.

#stringing cobwebs #behind jaws serrated with metal teeth

5 notes · View notes

spiderseyes · 10 days ago

Note

I'm stealing first ask, fuck everybody. (⁠✯⁠ᴗ⁠✯⁠)

Spider.

Should I be concerned?

Don't worry about it.

#stringing cobwebs #down the sight of a rifle

2 notes · View notes

hatsukeii · 9 months ago

Text

think fast / childhood bsf!tsukshima kei x reader

genre(s): childhood best friends x soulmates???? past lives and normal people by sally rooney coded im a sally rooney MEATRIDER!! angsty, gut-wrenching longing, bittersweet / hopeful ending so it's not all bad!! nostalgia is going to carry this fic so hard it's going to be a fun, fun time...

warning(s): eventual smut!! all characters are aged up to 21!!MDNI (at least up until the observatory)!! unprotected sex here remember to wrap it before you tap it!! (sorry kids), female leaning anatomy because smut but pronouns are gn all throughout and honestly you could read it as gn anyways:)) dead dad warning (my dad is NOT dead this was just convenient to kick off the thing), i fw the timeline of the world??? pretend flip phones were still in use in like 2012 or something idk

wc: ~6.3k

tldr; time has a way of reminding Kei of its presence, and its escape. you are the reminder it has been sending to him for six years.

Fate: A power believed to cause and control all events, so that one cannot change or determine the way things will happen.

It is a sunny afternoon when you step foot into Sendai, Miyagi. A beautiful day of golden warmth beaming onto petals of pink, red, and white, wrapped in coffee-stained newspapers and tied together with a spool of twine. The bouquet lies on browning grass, a contemptible reminder of the time that has passed since your last appearance here, six years ago, and you crouch down to the ground. Now face to face with the engraving of a full name on a slab of polished granite, you hesitate. Your father lived in a language that you can no longer speak, died in a country you no longer call your home. When you whisper blessings and apologies at the gravestone in broken Japanese and slurred syllables, you sound like a stranger. A stranger who sits in a graveyard at noon, with nothing but a bouquet from the nearby florist in hand, and a promise, stuttered out in half-decent Japanese, to return again the next year.

When a second bouquet falls to the ground behind you, and you turn around, Tsukishima Kei thinks this is what English speakers like you would call fate. He’s a little taller now, and bulkier too, and you have to crane your head higher than you remember just to meet his eyes. You don’t recognise the glasses he dons anymore, the black rectangles from his teenage years swapped out for rounded squares and silver frames. But he has a towel in his hand, a towel that has his initials poorly stitched into the corner with red string. You wonder if the matching one he made you, eleven years ago, is collecting dust somewhere in your dormitory, halfway across the world.

“You’re back.”

“It’s been a while, Kei.”

You can no longer differentiate Japanese syllables clearly, and your statement jumbles into nonsense in your head. Kei hears the English woven into your accent in the way you roll your tongue like foreigners do, and in the odd intonations that don’t exist in your mother tongue. You don’t even remember your father’s dislike for white flowers. London has truly done a number on you.

“Why? Why now?”

You bite your nail, a persistent habit that Kei frowns at. He picks up his flowers, and steps towards the gravestone, just close enough for your knee to brush against him for a moment. The bouquet in his hand is wrapped in plastic and filled with red and pink, the white from your own sticking out like a sore thumb when he places his flowers gently on the grass beside yours. He tosses the towel in his hand, opening it up against his palm, and you take it from him. If you cannot get the language right, or the flowers, this is the least you can do. Cobwebs stick to the fabric as you sweep at the granite slab, watching soot and dust fall to the grass. The curves and dips of the gravestone are familiar once again, and you dig the towel into every nook and cranny. You feel Kei’s body shift, before his knee is touching yours and his face is finally level with your peripheral vision. He glances at you, waiting. His knees bounce in anticipation.

“Never had the chance, college has been a lot.”

Your phone rings as you finish cleaning. The ringtone is familiar, unchanged from when you used to have a flip phone, in fact. Kei hums along to the jingle for the four seconds that the call is left unanswered, before it cuts off into a flurry of English. He catches something about research, and a thesis, his shabby English unable to fill in any more than that. He’s never known you were interested in research, let alone what it is that you’re researching. All he’s known is your aspiration of becoming a librarian when you were six, and his promise to borrow books from you for the museum that he swore he would one day work at. Now, he works at the museum, sorts antique scripts and yellowed books into cabinets and display shelves. He does not borrow books from you. Now, you talk, but nothing makes sense to him.

You end the call, mumbling foreign curses as you shove your phone back into your pocket. Clicking your tongue, you turn to Kei, who stares at the flowers on the ground. He pushes his glasses up when they slide down his nose, and you resist the familiar urge to nag him about buying the right frames for his face.

“Yeah, college has been mostly phone calls like that.”

He nods, a half-hearted chuckle huffing from his nose. He’s forgotten what it’s like to sit at a graveyard with somebody else, the annual reminder of a lonely death replaced by another this year as you dust off his towel, and drop it onto his thigh. He swipes it from his leg, folding it into quarters and sliding it into his pocket.

“So you choose to come now, without a word? Not even a heads up? Six years after leaving?” Kei’s voice rises at each question, the same way it did six years ago when you broke the news of leaving Japan to him. This hurts him to ask, that much you can still recognise.

“I would have come sooner if I had the chance. I’ve missed everyone so much.”

You pluck a petal from a white flower in your bouquet, then another, until all that remains is the naked bulb, and scatter them onto the ground beside you. Perhaps the next person that’s been buried under six feet of dirt used to have a liking for them. Kei remains unmoving, throat bobbing as he swallows thickly. His knee stops bouncing.

“How long will you stay for?”

“Today, then Friday and Saturday too. Flight back is Sunday night.”

Six years of waiting, and this is what it amounts to. A weekend and a bit. Despite that, Kei still thinks this must be fate, in all the languages that it exists in. Six years of life, and love, and hurt, all to be condensed into four measly days. Yet as Kei pushes himself off the ground, dusting his trousers off, he still thinks that this unlikely, yet conveniently timed visit must be the answer to his pleas for your return. That this must be some heavenly reward, good karma for visiting your father’s grave annually on your behalf. You watch him turn to leave, and he calls out to you as he walks away from your father’s grave.

“Everyone’s at Hinata’s old place tomorrow. You should come by if you can.”

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Change: to replace (something) with something else, especially something of the same kind that is newer or better; substitute one thing for (another).

All it takes is one coincidental exchange of panicked glances at the first throw up of the night for you and Kei to leave together. Hinata slurs a drunken farewell, tries to embrace you as you slip your sneakers on at the door, and you make a note to yourself that you really do not miss most of the people here, spare for the volleyball team. Kei waits at the door, holding it open for when you finally shake Hinata off of your back, and step through. The night is chilly, the warmth in your skin from the indoor heating system emanating into the midnight air. You kick rocks along the pavement as you walk, scattering pigeons that remain awake and active at this time, and Kei smiles at your antics. You still hate birds, and you still remember the trick he taught you when you were nine for chasing away pigeons that flocked around you for food.

“Who are you staying with?”

“My mom’s.”

The road leads the two of you to a high school. Kei has not come back to Karasuno since graduation. You squint in the dark, scanning the school, and you don’t recognise the new building that stands in place of the old auditorium. He watches you crouch at the plaque next to the front gate, tracing the letters engraved on it with the pad of your thumb. Some part of him blames Karasuno for being a bad place to you, the other parts blame himself for not being good enough to outweigh it.

“It’s changed.”

“Everything has.”

You rattle the locked entrance, the chain and padlock hitting against cold metal. It won’t open, so you look up through the gap of the gate. Six years ago, on that rooftop, was where you stood over a cold lunch box and emptied convenience store drinks, back against the wire fence, saying to Kei, I’m leaving tomorrow. On that day, you had packed yakisoba for his lunch, and nothing for yourself. He could barely respond to your announcement, only dropping his chopsticks and asking you, why? You told him something along the lines of being an expat, and a better school for what you wanted, all in the fluent Japanese you once spoke. Nothing made sense to him anyways.

When you turn back to him, his hands are in the pockets of his jacket, and his nose is red from the cold air. You stand beside him, staring aimlessly at Karasuno from outside its barriers.

“Do you still play volleyball?”

“Yeah, Sendai Frogs.”

You hum, and then wonder why you only asked tonight, and why you’re surprised. He shrugs, clouds of white puffing from his mouth when he breathes out. He tries to blow a wisp of hair away from his face, and you suddenly realise that his hair has grown too, along with his height. It fails, and he tries again. You reach up to swipe at his bangs, before running your fingers backwards through his hair. It parts itself as you lift your hands from his head, and falls into place neatly. A cold breeze whizzes by, and undoes your work, sending strands of gold into his face once again. You snicker a little.

“You know, you could ask my mom to trim it for you like she used to.”

“Nah, I prefer this.”

It isn’t until you turn to look at him properly that you see how much time has passed. He likes his hair longer these days, the choppy hairdo of his teenage years now nothing but an old preference, and you wonder if he is still a loyal customer of your mother’s salon. When he pulls his hands from his pockets and blows hot air into them, calluses line the bases of his fingers, the blisters of his high school years hardened by trials of time and effort. There are bags under his eyes, eyes that are now a little rounder, and softer too. When he speaks, monotone and tired, you realise his snarkiness has dissipated into general frustration. You stare until his eyes dart to you, and turn away quickly, ashamed. Leaving Karasuno has taken your hand and led you to a purpose that you never knew you were capable of. You wonder what the hell it has done to Tsukishima Kei.

“It looks good.”

He breathes in sharply, then exhales with a huff, shoulders relaxing as he stuffs his hands back into his pockets. You suddenly realise that your fingers have gone numb from the cold of the night, fingertips tingling like a million frost-bitten needles poking into your skin. You also stuff your hands into your pockets, rubbing your fingers against each other to generate some heat. Then, Kei’s looping his arm around yours, and pulling you away from Karasuno High School. He keeps on his straight path, and you stumble along behind his leaping steps. When you round a corner, the night breeze grows into something less imperturbable, and more vicious, pushing the two of you forward from behind in slashes of cold. The sea is near.

“Is this the beach we used to go to?”

“You still remember it.”

He drags you down a flight of stairs to Fukanuma Beach, and the misty sea air rushes to your head. When he leads you to the shoreline, you hesitate. The sea has been off limits since the two of you were five, a regulation put in place in remembrance of the Great Sendai Earthquake. An earthquake that saw Kei and yourself hunched beneath the same table in the middle of class, huddled next to each other as you cried for your parents. Now, in your final years of college, as the water slips beneath the soles of his shoes, pushing and receding in layers of aqua and bubbles of white, it seems that time has slipped by just as easily too. Time, that saw the fading of the earthquake’s devastation, despite the loss of thousands, including your father. Time, that frayed the string connecting yourself to Kei as you moved through life halfway across the world from Japan. Time, that passes through you like sand spilling between your fingers on a beach you once thought you knew, but has changed like the unprohibited water that seems to push further up into the shore at each tidal wave.

“They lifted the ban?”

“A few months ago, yeah.”

You step into the next wave that fizzles into foam, and the water crashes into the toe of your shoes. Crouching, you push mounds of wet sand into a cylinder, flattening the top and pushing divots in equal intervals. Kei joins, moulding shorter ones beside your own and drawing windows into the side. You finish, and he stands, smiling at the creation. You cover the top, afraid he will stomp on it, a trademark of Kei’s whenever you built sandcastles with him in childhood. Instead, he laughs, and walks further into the water. When you get up to join him, the hems of his trousers are soaked, shoes also covered in a sheen of wetness. You hop over the castle, and the next wave that comes sends its foundations crumbling back into the sea.

“We used to do that. You’d destroy it every time.”

Kei chuckles, and looks back to see the half destroyed castle. Clicking his tongue, he returns to the rubble, and you watch his hands push mounds of sand towards what is left standing.

“I’d always build a better one for you afterwards though.”

He dusts his hands off when he finishes, and the waves fizzle out just before they hit the two-tiered sandcastle. You sniff, holding your arms close to your chest. When Kei looks up, he feels like the summer of being seven years old again, smiling at you with his missing front tooth when you sniffle and laugh at the improved castle he’s put together for you. Now, it is winter. He only grins with the corners of his lips. You only sniff because it’s cold.

“Kei.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s really been a while. How have you been?”

He steps over the castle towards you, careful not to break it. Your hair blows in your face from the beach breeze and your eyes squint from the sand that flies into the air, and Kei takes it all in when you’re face to face with him. When he opens his mouth, some selfish part of him thinks about casting his words into shackles of regret, so heavy that they weigh you down and keep you in Japan, in Sendai, on this beach, somewhere close to him.

“Do you want to stay the night? Like you used to?”

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Nostalgia: A sentimental longing, or wistful yearning for a return to or of some past period or irrecoverable condition.

Kei does not take you to his family house. He leads you up stairs that make no sense, and hallways that stretch on forever, until you finally reach his flat. He wipes his shoes on the doormat, throws his keys into a glass bowl upon entry, and hangs his jacket on a hook mounted to his front door instead of the coathanger that used to stand beside it. You look around, searching for the shells you once collected in a jar for his tenth birthday. When your eyes land on a jar filled with conches and cowries, you let go of a breath you were unaware of holding. They sit on the top of his bookshelf, above textbooks and file organisers. A knot forms in your throat at the realisation that the jar sits alone in its compartment, with nothing beside it. You’ve done the same to the jazz vinyl Kei gifted you at the airport before your departure. You don’t realise that he’s disappeared somewhere as you stare at the shells, until a shirt and a pair of shorts are thrown into your chest. He stands at the entrance to a hallway, donning sweatpants and an old hoodie, one that’s clearly a size too small. The pocket is lousily sewn on, a result of a mishap that occurred when you had borrowed it once. He doesn’t know that you spent the night learning to sew fabric just to fix it.

“Change. It’ll be more comfortable.”

You scurry through the hallway to his bathroom, pulling the shirt and shorts on hastily, before balling up your clothes and returning to the living room. Kei sits at his couch, now bound in leather instead of fabric, and clicks at the television. You join beside him, legs splaying across his own subconsciously. He doesn’t move. He stops at a movie, one you’ve seen hundreds of times before at his old house. It drones on in the background as he watches in silence, his arms now draped over your knees. The first time he watched this movie, it was in his old home, cross-legged on the carpeted ground with you on the couch behind him. Your hands used to press into his shoulders from above, shake them whenever your favourite scenes came on, squeeze them when you laughed until tears rolled from your eyes. Now that his new flat lacks a rug, he’s willing to settle with your legs on his own. Flashing lights illuminate the dark room in sequences that you can still recall perfectly from memory. He watches the movie. You watch him.

“Have you been doing good, Kei?”

Turning to you, he pushes his glasses up into his hair, leaning further back. You shuffle closer, legs bending as your shoulder digs into the leather couch. A strand of blond falls into his face, and you lift his glasses to tuck it back, before smoothing your hands over his mess of hair, combing and pushing with your fingertips.The words from the television melt into gibberish when he hums in satisfaction, what is unspoken between you two is more glaring than ever.

“I’ve been okay.” He cuts off, then finds himself thinking of what to tell you first, amongst the recollections of life that rush through his head. “Started working at the museum a couple years ago.” He wishes that you still remember the building, where the marble floors squeaked beneath your slippers, and glass panels lined the walls, hiding away treasures and artefacts that have withstood centuries, maybe even eons of erosion and weathering.

You nod, mind filling with the many museum visits you had with him there. He’s always liked the dinosaurs more than the shells. When you breathe out a chuckle, he knows you’re recalling the time he almost pissed himself at a life-sized, moving tyrannosaurus rex model.

“What about you?”

“Research. I’ve been doing research about…” you sign in the air, searching for the Japanese words that have slipped from your mind. Surrendering, you whip your phone out, searching for a translation.

“Archaeology?”

“Yeah, that. No more librarian dreams for me. More dinosaurs, though.”

A smile finds its way onto Kei’s face, one that softens his cheeks and flattens his eyes into crescents. He wonders if amongst the silver plaques and digital displays, your work is engraved in there somewhere. If each time he explains something to some bright-eyed child, who scuttles around the museum as you and him once did, he is unknowingly speaking in your language, translated until he can decipher the thoughts that run through your mind in your research, your memories, your dreams too.

“Maybe it’s in the museum somewhere. I’m willing to bet.”

“I hope it is.”

Your conversation fizzles back into silence, and the characters on the television do too. The two on the screen sit in a field, mere inches apart. The two of you look at each other, your knees now leaned into Kei’s chest and one of his arms draped along the back of the couch. When he pulls his glasses back to his eyes, and studies you all over again, it hits him that you really haven’t changed all that much, even after your six year separation. Six years older, with the exhaustion of a functioning adult, but you still gnaw on your cheeks, and tilt your head as you ask questions. Six years apart, and you are still you, who taught him to build sandcastles, and introduced him to his favourite movie, and fixed his hair whenever it stuck up in stubborn peaks of gold. When you let your eyes close, and drop your head onto his shoulder, you wait for lost time to tick backwards, until you’re on the rooftop with him once again. In this version of time, you blush when you tell him that you’ve chosen to stay in Japan instead. Pushing your head further into the crook of his neck, Kei’s chin reaches over to rest on the top of your crown. The credits of the movie roll in the background, and you mumble into the skin of his pulse.

“Can you take me there? I’ve missed it.” Your words send vibrations down his spine, sending his head into a frenzy as he pushes his hands against the couch harder.

“The museum?” It will be closed for the weekend, but Kei nods anyway. He’s sure he can find his way in through the back. Maybe he’ll take you to the fossils again, let you run your fingers along smooth amber and stone engravings. Perhaps he could show you the new exhibitions, ones that you won’t miss this time, as you have for the past six years. For now, he thinks he will let you sleep on his shoulder, listen to your soft snores, tremble at every hot breath that fans onto his neck.

The credits roll to the end, and come to a stop. Kei removes his arm from the couch to grab the remote from his coffee table. He rewinds the movie to the start.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

思慕 [しぼ, shibo]: yearning; deep longing, especially when accompanied by tenderness or sadness.

On the final night of your stay, you learn that Kei still giggles when he breaks rules, as he drags you through the back entrance of the closed museum. He maneuvers through hallways of antique paintings and repurposed junk, slips into dark stairwells illuminated by the flashlight of his phone, traps your wrist between his fingers and chuckles to himself, shaking his head as he takes you higher, and higher, and higher. You’ve lost count of how many flights of stairs have gone by when he taps his keycard against a sensor by a backdoor, and pushes it open. The museum observatory, once a mess of bamboo scaffolding and green covers, now allows silver moonlight through its glass dome, boasting billions of iridescent stars nestled in a blanket of hazy midnight. A decade of your anticipation has resulted in a circular space, hundreds of plush recliners lining the circumference of the room, and you wonder how many eyes have watched the stars from those seats before you ever had the chance to. When Kei leads you further into the observatory, you step foot onto the north star plastered on the ground in the centre of the room, where nothing but a telescope remains in a ten-foot radius. He takes a spot on the ground, back pressed against the cushioned edge of a seat.

“I figured this is the best spot. Better than any of the seats, actually.” He plants his feet on the ground, bending his knees and spreading them just wide enough for you to sit in between. You cross your legs, wagging them up and down as your hands hold your shins, and he lowers his legs, stretching them out in front of him. Leaning back, your spine hits a spot between his ribs, the same way it did when you were thirteen, and fourteen, and fifteen, staring at stars from the grass of his backyard. You pity the visitors that have yet to discover the simplicity of stargazing from the ground, hands pushed into the ground for stability, dirt and moisture seeping into the fabric of clothing. Pushing further into him, his breathing is heavy against your back, chest rising in rhythmic ups and downs. For what feels like hours, you sit in silence, eyes trained on your fingers that pick and fiddle. At the realisation that you haven’t looked at the stars in years, something bubbles in your stomach, pervasive, relentless. When you finally loll your head backwards to fall on his shoulder, and the tip of Kei’s nose grazes your cheekbone, you wonder how long he has not looked at the stars for as well.

“Why’d you stop calling?” His sudden question sends a haze rushing into your head.

You swallow thickly. If the passage of time were a sin, you’d burden it with all your explanations. Telling him that now would seem like some lousy excuse.

“It stopped going to your line a year after I left.” You pause, searching for the right words to use amidst the sea of Japanese and English that you must now sort out. “I only stopped trying after another month, the voicemail just said your number was no longer in use.”

Kei wishes he could dig his fingers into his chest and rip his heart out. If only he hadn’t stupidly broken his phone that night, five years ago during volleyball practice. If only he had checked his pockets before entering the court, just as he has done hundreds of times before. If only he had this, if only he had that, he might just torment himself for the rest of his life. His breath hitches, shoulder freezing rigid. Time does not differentiate between the knowing and oblivious. It slips and leaks beneath the noses of all that it encompasses, and it is but the cautious few that know to grab it, and join in on its journey. He knows now that he is not one of them, not after he’s cursed at the passage of time over and over and over for his own blunder.

“I broke my phone in a game. Got a new one so the number changed as well, fuck me.”

You laugh dryly into the empty observatory. The occasional twinkling of the stars above do nothing to make his explanation any easier. You think you’ll blame it all on doomed fate that you’ve spent five years trying to find somebody that felt the same as Kei did, to no avail. Blame it on cursed luck that you’ve clawed and grabbed at anything familiar enough, archaeology, jazz vinyls, old DVDs of the movie shared between two, all to remind yourself that he too, was once within grasp. You say nothing, because you don’t see a reason to. Instead, you push your head into his neck, drown in the scent of his cologne, ease yourself into his now grown body. You don’t see him wipe a hand across his mouth, then rub his eyes with pinched fingers.

When Kei decides to speak again, it is what feels like another hour later. He’s readjusted his posture about fifty times by now, arms removed from the ground and draped over your shoulders. The sensation of your hair against his skin is suddenly more prominent than ever when your hands find his own, holding them closer to yourself.

“If I didn’t find you at the grave, would you have looked for me?” His question is heavy, weighing his chest down as the words leave his throat in a hesitant cluster. You turn to look at him, and your eyes linger on his own when you squeeze his hands once, twice, then a third time.

“I’ve been looking for five years. Nobody else could take me home.” Your heart rushes to your mouth at your confession, and the bob of Kei’s throat does not go unnoticed. One of his hands comes up to hold your shoulder, pushing it towards himself until your body twists, rubbing against his. You let go of him, pressing your fingers into the ground between his legs instead, and he breathes out shakily, his windpipe suddenly cleared of its uncertainty.

“You’re leaving tomorrow.”

“Yes, I am.”

His fingers slide down to grab your wrist, before going numb completely. His unoccupied hand peels itself from the floor and settles on the side of your waist. Your mouth goes dry when Kei breathes, hot and heavy, his eyes travelling to every inch of you. A bout of heat rushes from his chest to his head, and his legs, and his arms too. The air between the two of you is thick, and it sends your head into a feverish blur. The ground collapses beneath your knees as they shift to press into the floor, and you come face to face with Tsukishima Kei, who prefers his hair parted in bangs on the sides of his face, and wears silver frames instead of black ones. Tsukishima Kei, who has been visiting your father’s grave on your behalf for six years, and still plays volleyball even in his adulthood. Tsukishima Kei, whose eyes are finally finished with their ventures across your figure, that is pushed up against him on the ground of an observatory, and is learning whatever he can about you when his fingers tighten around your wrists and he kisses you without a warning.

Once, at the young, innocent age of seven, Tsukishima Kei kissed you in this museum. You had run a little too fast, stepped on your loose laces and fallen onto the ground face first. You sulked at a bench facing some random painting of melting clocks, red dots scattered across a purple patch right beneath your eye. When he kneeled in front of you to grab your face, and pressed his lips onto the bruise for a fraction of a second, he must have kissed the pain away, mending the leaking capillaries beneath your skin as he separated from your cheeks with a pop. Now, he pulls against your wrists to push himself closer, traps you in the embrace of his legs around the back of your thighs, wheezes and stutters against your lips at the lack of oxygen in his lungs. His head is running in circles instead of straight paths, and everything is spinning. When your hands reach to grab at his shirt, and palm at his chest, he pulls away only to rip his glasses off and toss them to the ground. Beneath the glow of the moon from above, everything but your flushed cheeks and swollen lips is a blur. You take half a breath in, before it is interrupted by Kei’s palms pulling you in by the sides of your neck, and his mouth on yours again. At seven years old, he ripped bruising pain away from your face with a kiss. At twenty-one, he forces his pain, and grief, and regret rushing into your heart by pushing himself against you, fingers tangling themselves into your hair as he kisses you, desperate, almost distressed. Every tug at your lips is a confession left unspoken, every time Kei opens his mouth apologies spill out into you in choked groans and sighs. At the sensation of his hand leaving your neck, your arm searches for him aimlessly, before he’s palming at you through your pants. He swallows your sudden gasp, and your fingers grip his wrist until your knuckles go white.

“Did you ever like me?” You can do nothing but choke out a question against his lips, one you’ve pondered about, day in and day out, since your departure from Japan.

By the way that Kei nods frantically, you’re certain that this is what six years of separation has amounted to.

Sparing no time, your fingers tug at the hem of his boxers, pulling them down just enough to release himself from the fabric constraints. He does the same, hands roaming until they find the waistband of your pants to push them down, fingers tugging your underwear to the side with a flick. He grabs you by the waist beneath your shirt, yanks your body towards him until something feels right and he can’t help but let out a trembling sigh into your shoulder. And when you finally begin to sink yourself onto him, agonisingly slow, you wish that you had never left Japan in the first place. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, and you wish that you could spend the rest of your life in this observatory with Kei, your hands wrapped around the back of his sweat-slicked neck.

When he pulls you down to push further, more pervasively, you fall into him, head hanging over his shoulder and arms squeezing around his neck. His inexperienced hands rock you back and forth against his hips, pulling a flurry of gasps and moans from your throat. He lets himself learn how you taste when his teeth tug at the hem of your shirt, pulling it down to expose your bare shoulder. His lips latch onto your collarbone, biting and sucking a trail of red marks up to the side of your neck. You shudder at his advances, and he studies the way your walls flutter around him, the erratic pulses that draw stars around his head, how your nails dig into his shoulders, and send his mind into a senseless orbit.

When he pushes and pulls at you a little harder, you whimper his name into his ear, reduced to nothing but a babbling mess that nibbles at his neck and kisses up his jaw feverishly. First friend, first kiss, first love. The notion that this is another first that Tsukishima Kei has brought upon you sends your mind spiralling. He should have been your first prom date, first roommate, first dance too. If only you hadn’t left him first. You push your head off his shoulder, hands moving to hold his face instead. A wave of pleasure washes over you when his palm presses against your stomach, and you hang your head low again, a shaky sigh released from your chest.

When you look up, there are tears in Kei’s eyes. He rolls his head back onto the plush seat behind him, hands lifting you off himself fully, just to push you back onto him again. You collapse into his body, palms pressing against his heaving chest.

“I- fuck! I fucking loved you! I still do!” He speaks it into the glass ceiling as one hand reaches for his face. He wipes his palm across his eyes, only for more tears to form. They are uncontrollable, relentless as he turns his head away from you. He isn’t sure how he will live again tomorrow, not when he’s finally come to a reckoning with the pang in his chest at every thought of you. He thinks he could die the second you step onto that flight back to London, ripped away from him once again. The reality that he cannot stay buried inside you for any longer than the next couple of minutes haunts him to no end, the idea of being separated from you a second time unbearable to even imagine. When he turns back to see you, head on his chest and fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt, he decides that reality can wait until he’s finished with you.

“I love you too- shit, Kei! I never stopped!”

You rut against his hips senselessly now, chasing some unfamiliar high as your vision fades to black and you scream his name until your throat goes hoarse. Kei barely gives you time to breathe, before he’s coming undone from right beneath you, shuddering and groaning as you relax against his body and go limp. He holds you against him, one hand pushing your head against his chest and the other wrapped around your back. He tucks your damp hair behind your ears, places kisses along your temple so he can hear the hums of satisfaction that sound from your curled lips.

“Can you stay forever?” He mumbles into your hair, and you turn to press your ear against his chest. His heart pounds as he pushes his cheek into the crown of your head, and your hands crawl up his chest to wrap around his neck. When he looks up through the glass ceiling, the stars have not moved one bit.

“I’ll find you again, wherever you are.”

Time may slip away from Tsukishima Kei like petals that fall off the buds of flowers, water that seeps beneath the soles of his sneakers, stardust that hovers above the atmosphere. Yet he has learned that it has a way of always coming back to remind him of its presence, and its escape. You are the reminder that it has been sending to him for six years.

author's note:

ERM! never writing nsfw again that's for sure but this piece defs had some stuff that i was very, VERY proud of coming up with!! sorry to my minor moots who probably won't read this in its entirety bc of the big MDNI warning... but I honestly don't know how to feel about this piece as a whole... i was super excited to write it but i think i got a little impatient towards the end esp since im always writing at like 3am LOL but i hope you guys liked it anyways!!! i tried really hard to make the dynamic work and i hope it did!!!!!

also ps they exchange numbers again js a little extra bonus that i didn’t get to put into the actual thing

anyways tags!!

@staraxiaa @chuuya-brainrot @akaakeis @laughingfcx @writingsofanomnivore @t0rchknight @bailey-reeds @wyrcan @hiraethwa @fiannee @catsoupki @anonymity-222 @wishi-selfships @kuroppiii

ok love u guys thank u for being patient

607 notes · View notes

garbinge · 2 months ago

Text

EVERYTHING I NEVER DEAL WITH

Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch & F!Attending!Reader | Dr. Jack Abbot x F!Attending!Reader // Word Count: 3k

Summary: When a rough day allows old emotions to catch up to you, you find yourself very openly breaking down on hospital steps. After a little comforting talk from your mentor, you run into your fiancé as your shift ends.

Warnings/Tags: All my fics are 18+ regardless of content. Angst. Crying. Mentions + descriptions of compartmentalizing and not really addressing emotions/dealing with trauma. Mental health struggles. Reader is engaged. Hurt/Comfort. A/N: First The Pitt Fic! I've been dying to write for The Pitt but there's so many good fics out there I felt a bit intimidated!! The way I relate to Robby so much it's actually unwell but that's okay because we can just project in fic baby!!!! I also have uncontrollable Jack Abbot brain rot so I needed to find a way to include him in this and if it makes it cringe, well then so be it!!!! I hope I captured both of these characters voices, I haven't written in a while so I had to dust off the cobwebs in my brain haha.

You didn’t care about the people staring at you as they were walking up and down the stairs. It was a mix of healthcare workers, patients, and families of patients but none of that mattered. You could’ve tried to hide it. Maybe sit on the bench that was tucked around the corner, almost under the stairway. Or at least maybe try and muffle your sobs but you had reached a point where that wasn’t possible.

Every suppressed emotion from the last 10 years was bubbling at your throat, filling your brain with thoughts in a way that you wished numbed your mind but just paralyzed it so it felt like you were drowning. It was like the static from a radio station except instead of that fuzzy noise it was feelings from years ago clashing with feelings from now. One thought connected to another, which jumped to four more and suddenly there were 30 thoughts all strung together with sobs and a weight in your chest convincing you this was all too much to handle.

That’s how these things went right? You’d bottle it up for months, letting everything that ever made you feel uncomfortable, angry or upset fall to the back of your mind. You’d call it compartmentalizing because that sounded good. It sounded professional, like you had control over it. But really it was just disassociating. It was just putting it in a box inside a box and pushing it to the back of the closet hoping nothing would be added on top of it. But eventually after a few months of pushing it all back there, it’d be overflowed. You’d cry. You’d snap. Sometimes it’d be alone in bed after you watched something online that had you go, ‘hey, that’s how I feel’. Sometimes it’d be in the car, in the form of crying over a song where the lyrics felt a little too personal even though the song had nothing to do with what was on your mind, or maybe just a frustrated string of words at the guy who cut you off. It would happen in the shower on a good day, where it felt like the water took your struggles down the drain with it. And then, the bathroom at work on a bad day because you hated showing anyone how you really felt. Maybe you’d snap at the guy you were deeply in love with, roll your eyes at your best friend, give an attitude to the man who you looked at like an older brother.

Sure, you could joke about it, a little self-deprecating joke about your mental health, your anxiety and depression all won chuckles all around the ER because each and everyone of them went through it in their own way. And yet, you still couldn’t bring yourself to be real in front of them. You always put up a face. Even when you were dealing with it. In bed, in the car, in the shower, in the bathroom at work. There’d be a moment, where instead of dealing with it, figuring out a way to work through it, you flipped the switch. Pushed all the boxes back up in the closet and shut the door like nothing happened then go months without thinking about it again.

That’s what lead you to sobbing uncontrollably on the steps just outside the emergency department. Everything was catching up to you again. This one felt worse than the other times. It felt more exhausting, maybe because you knew you couldn’t keep going on like this again and again. That you didn’t even have the energy to stack those boxes up again. Nor did you really want to. But there was that panic in seeing them all over the floor and then panic in not wanting to touch them or clean them up. Every thought, every feeling, every emotion you couldn’t be bothered to label just staring at you at your worst.

It was then that’s when you felt someone’s body heat next to you. There were no words for a while. Just company. An arm around you in a sideways hug. A literal shoulder to cry on.

After a while, you heard his voice muffled and against your head before he removed his arm from over your shoulders.

“It’s gonna be okay.”

“How can you say that when you don’t even know what it is?” You sniffled and realized the only way you were going to get a breath in was through your mouth.

“Because whatever it is, it’s always okay.”

“I don’t think I believe you,” now you looked up, taking in Dr. Robby’s face, his eyes were locked on you and his mouth twisted in a smile at your words.

“You’re like an angsty teenager,” his eyebrows were raised, a smile still on his face as he shook his head and rolled his eyes a little bit. He was resting his arms on his knees now, leaning forward just slightly.

“Sounds about right, think this,” you waved your hands around your face, “is a bunch of repressed shit since then.”

“You can’t compartmentalize everything. Hell, you probably shouldn’t compartmentalize any of it, but with what we do, it’s inevitable,” he shrugged before leaning back into you, rocking you back and forth a bit.

You rested your head on his shoulder again. Dr. Robby was like a brother to you. You were a first year attending now, but he was your mentor through each year of your residency. Even when you made a rash decision to move to family medicine for 6 months before realizing you craved the chaos of the ED. Looking back it was probably because it kept you on your toes, kept your mind busy, kept all of this at bay more than any other department.

You looked at him when he spoke, not needing any words or even facial expressions for him to understand what you were thinking.

He shook his head with a chuckle, looking up at the bright white lights above the stairs before turning back to look at you. “Do as I say, not as I do,” he frowned like it was obvious.

“They do say those who can’t do, teach,” you smiled, finding your words incredibly quick and witty.

“I’ve been bottling this shit up for a lot longer than you have and pushing it all back in doesn’t get easier. It feels like it’s the easier route but it only seems that way because every time there's a little bit more shit to sift through than the last and then before you know it, it's too much,” his hand squeezed your knee.

“I feel like it’s too much now,” you let out a little air through your nose as it finally started to clear.

“Imagine in 10 more years how you’ll feel,” Robby shook his head thinking about his own issue with compartmentalizing everything.

“15,” you corrected him, “at least.” That quick wit again. “Let’s not age me on top of everything,” you smiled, the first genuine one since you found yourself at these steps.

“Angsty. Teenager.” He bumped his shoulder into yours.

“I’ve been seeing Abbot’s guy. The therapist. Well, not his guy. But someone at the same office,” you trailed off before finding your way back to the point. “It’s nice but I don’t feel like it’s working.” After a quick inhale you shut your eyes tight and brought your hand over them to rub them quickly. “Told Jack that and he told me it only works if you work it, or like you get what you give or some shit.”

“For someone going through an ongoing existential crisis, he’s probably the best one to trust with this kind of thing,” Robby’s head tilted as his eyebrows lifted, his mouth turning to a smirking frown.

“How many people told you I was breaking down out here,” it had already started, where you shoved everything back in the closet. Maybe this time would be different. Maybe you’d do what Jack said, put the work in in therapy. But right now in this moment, you needed to do whatever would get you through the shift.

“A few, in their own way,” he shrugged like it was no big deal. “Whitiker kept it to himself, but his eyes gave away a clue that he saw something that freaked him out.” That made you laugh. “Samira said you were taking a break and not to go looking for you, that you’d come back when you were ready.” That sounded like her, knowing just what everyone needed and respecting your space. “Santos and Javadi are with Dr. McKay working through chairs so think you’re in the clear there. Mel is with our pedes case otherwise I have a feeling it would have been her sitting here not me, then Collins left early and Langdon has been staring at the board waiting for something that sparks joy.”

“Very Marie Kondo of him,” you rolled your eyes. “So how’d you know I was here, then?”

“Jack.” His answer came fast. “Saw you when he was meeting with a family in the quiet room,” Robby’s hand lifted to point to the room just inside the ED sliding doors, a clear view to where you were on the stairs.

“Surprised he didn’t come sit with me himself.”

“He said, and I quote. Those who can’t do, teach. Think maybe coming from you it might hold a little more weight.” Robby couldn’t help but grin at that and you matched him with your own.

“My teenage angst is rubbing off on him,” you brought your fingertips back to your face, letting them dig into your closed eyes again and letting your palms massage your cheeks as you did. “Drink?” You brought your hands down to slap your knees as a way to snap you right out of this breakdown.

“We got 15 left in shift.” Robby was holding his watch up for you to see.

“Wrong.” You shook your head and tapped the watch face. “We’re 15 over.”

That got him to look at the watch in confusion, worried that his mind tricked him. “No, it's quarter of.”

“I got here 30 minutes early. And if I recall you gave a speech last week about overtime and needing it to be approved or signed off on due to a critical case or something of that nature. I see neither.” You were standing up now, jumping down one step before turning to look back at your senior attending.

“I have half a mind to approve overtime for you right now and bear the wrath of the suits for it later,” He was trying to hold a serious face as he spoke to you, but you saw right through it.

You lifted your hands like a scale. “Letting me head to the park early, having any conversation with Gloria.” You lifted them back and forth until one was above your head. “Clearly there’s a right answer here.”

“Go, I’ll meet you there in 15,” he waved his hand and with that you smiled and started walking away before taking a beat and turning back to face him.

“Thanks. For the whole,” you pointed to the stairs, “you know, pep talk.”

“I don’t think there was any pep in that talk,” Robby let out a laugh.

“I don’t know,” you tapped your foot on the tile. “I feel a little pep in my step.” You were teasing and then nodded earnestly. “I mean it, thank you. You’re the big brother I never wanted,” another tease from you through a smile. “I don’t know where I’d be without you, Robby. Seriously. Thank you.”

He just nodded and brought his hand up to his heart and tapped it. Nodding back, you turned and walked over to your locker to grab your things. You tossed the sweatshirt that wasn’t yours but you wore to and from work everyday anyways on, zipping it up halfway. You grabbed your rings from your little jewelry plate and tucked them onto your left ring finger, followed by a quick makeup wipe to your face and checking your phone to send one important request out. Once you tossed your backpack over one shoulder, you closed your locker and made your way outside.

You let your head fall back as the cool fresh air hit your face. Your eyes were swollen, your cheeks still warm from crying, the weight still heavy on your chest but less on your mind at the moment.

“Feeling better?” a raspy voice filled your ear and you couldn’t help but smile when you heard it.

“No.” There was sarcasm in your tone, because you knew it’d earn a smile from the man approaching on your left.

“S’just a boost to my ego that I’m the only one who can make you feel better,” Jack was next to you now, his hand resting on the strap of his army backpack as you both looked out at the road.

“Well, in that case, I’m fantastic,” you turned to look at him just to see his smirk grow. He turned to look at you and frowned his mouth in a knowing way.

“Trick question, babe. I win regardless of the answer,” his hand dropped from his bag to grab yours. He was quick to bring it up to his mouth and plant a quick kiss there before looking both ways to cross the road, bringing you along with him.

“They teach you that in therapy?” you called out over the noise of the late night street traffic.

“Yeah, they uh call it perspective,’ he tossed the words over his shoulder before both of you landed at the park’s entrance.

“Perspective huh?” your voice was lower now.

“You headed home or want to have a drink?” his question was asked still a good few feet away from everyone, you were tucked behind a tall tree so if you wanted to make your escape, no one would see, not that they’d hold it against you.

“Everyone saw me crying,” your eyes were peering around the shrubs to see Donnie next to the cooler, Mateo next to him handing a drink to Princess who had just dropped her bag next to the bench.

“Everyone saw you have a rough day,” Jack corrected you, his eyes steady on yours even though you were looking everywhere but.

“You and that damn perspective,” another teasing remark left your lips and you closed your eyes. “I wasn’t crying over the rough day,” now it was your turn to correct him. “I was crying from stress which turned into crying over family, over shit from my past, over things I can’t fix–things I should’ve fixed,” you took a breath, “I was crying over everything I never deal with.”

There was silence for a beat longer than you expected so you opened your eyes to see Jack looking at you. His eyes meeting yours felt like a hand reaching into the whirlpool to pull you out.

“Sounds to me like you’re dealing with it now, and that’s all you can do.”

“I don’t want to,” you shook your head, it was a bratty response, but it was how you felt.

“Then you can cry on the steps in the hospital all you want,” Jack wasn’t joking, he was being serious, you knew he probably had an opinion but you also knew he would never push anything on you. If you wanted to cry in the staircase, he’d let you, he’d join you, he’d tell anyone he heard talk about it to mind their fucking business, too.

“I told Robby I’d have a drink,” you pointed to the crowd of your coworkers that had gotten bigger since you two had started standing there. “Plus, I put in a request to see my therapist tomorrow morning so maybe I can show up still a little drunk.”

“So the talk did work.” Jack grinned as he grabbed your hand again and started walking towards the benches.

“I’m open to other options next time,” you let go of his hand and nuzzled into his side. He quickly tossed a hand around your shoulders, holding his backpack strap with the other again. Jack let out a hum in a way like he was questioning what other options you had in mind. “Quickie in the on-call room, quickie in the break room…”

His face got close to your ear and he whispered so none of the group you were approaching could hear him. “Seems like there’s a pattern you’re getting at.”

“Mhm.” You turned your head and looked up at him.

He stopped walking for a minute and stared back down at you, turning so his arm that was wrapped around you, now was settling against your cheek. “I’ll keep that in mind next time,” his eyes were locked on yours which is how you knew while he was always down for fooling around with you, he didn’t really mean it this time. He wanted you to be okay for real. He wanted you to get through this weight that’s lived like a cloud over you for years. So you just smiled. “Maybe we can start scheduling our therapy appointments at the same time and have quickies in a supply closet there.”

That got him to laugh and you caught his gaze moving between your eyes and lips. “My therapist did say I find comfort in the darkness.”

“No place darker than a supply closet,” your grin was interrupted by a deep kiss to your lips. You melted into it, similar to the way when you come home after a long day and you change into your comfiest clothes and sink into your favorite spot on the couch. It was safe. It was comfort. It was relief. Jack pulled away and then placed another peck to your forehead before he resumed walking you towards the bench with the crew you just finished your shift with.

“Beer?” Donnie called out to both of you.

You nodded and held your hands up to catch the cold drink before finding a spot on the bench across from them. “And keep ‘em comin’.”

Dividers by @cafekitsune ੈ✩‧₊˚ 🥼 The Pitt Taglist: @drabbles-mc @justreblogginfics @kmc1989 (just lmk if you'd like to be added!)

Feel free to send me requests for Jack Abbot & Dr Robby ♡ As always it just might take me some time to jump into them!

#The pitt #the pitt fanfiction #dr robby #dr michael robinavitch #michael robinavitch #dr jack abbot #jack abbot #jack abbott #dr jack abbot x reader #dr jack abbot x you #dr jack abbot fanfic #dr robby fanfiction

170 notes · View notes

thehatboxwitch · 1 year ago

Text

them as japanese p rn tropes

fem!reader / pt. 2 (jing yuan and aventurine)

childe

he's the sleazy coworker, the one who ogles your boobs whenever you bend over and thinks pencil skirts are a gift to humanity (his dick).

of course, accepting his invitation to hang out and drink at his place is a sure sign that you're not as innocent as you look.

and when he has you on the carpet, legs folded up to your chest, looking so sweet and breedable just for him, he realises you're not wearing underwear. just stockings. and a gasket blows in his mind.

there's an adult movie playing on the tv, but he's muted it. he wants to hear your voice and your voice only, after all.

he fucks you slowly at first, relishing the way your boobs ripple with the movement in your tight office blouse. you might be wearing a smaller one today, because the buttons are straining and he can see a peek of your lacey bra underneath.

your walls squeeze and flutter around him, betraying your need, but childe ignores it for now.

"so pretty, so, so pretty, all for me..." he mutters, still rocking his hips, grinding gently into you. the buttons come open with ease, revealing a scrap of red lace, transparent so he can see your hardened nipples.

he pauses. you seem to know what's coming next and squeeze around his dick in anticipation.

"you little slut," he growls in delight, slamming into your g-spot with such accuracy that you cry his name.

he sets a frightening pace, his dick scraping against every inch of your ribbed walls you've never been able to reach on your own, and you wonder, did he just get bigger?

"gonna cum inside, fill you up, inside inside inside," he chants, lost in his pleasure and tugging down your bra. your boobs spring free, now rippling freely like a wave. he ducks his head, suckling on one nipple, a hand coming up to tease the other one.

"ajax! oh, please, please, i'm so close," you moan, the pressure in your lower tummy building.

"with me," he mumbles, switching to your other nipple. "cum with me, baby, together..."

your rapidly contracting walls betray how close you are, and his dick twitches and twitches inside of you. childe grabs your leg, slinging it over his shoulder so his dick reaches even deeper into you, and the new position is just what you need for the dam to break.

you scream his name. you clamp down on him, hard, your back arching taut, pushing your breast further into his mouth. he cums at the same time, ropes of thick, hot cum filling you up in a place you hadn't even known was empty.

he's still pistoning into you at a violent pace, fucking you both through your first orgasm of the night.

blade

funny guy has funny tastes. if you'd known that one of his favourite things to do was to have you tied up and restrained, you would have... well, nothing, seeing as you enjoyed it just as much as he.

you were under the dining table, draped over the support crossbars and trying to clear out a particularly stubborn cobweb. blade eyes you hungrily, feeling his cock just begin to strain at his pants. he can see the outline of your panties through your clothes, the lucious curve of your ass tempting him to do something only in his fantasies.

then you pull back and stop.

"um, blade? a little help?"

his patience snaps. striding up to you, he lands a glancing blow on your behind. you yelp, your back arching. "hey, what was that for?"

he doesn't care. blade gives himself a moment to fix the image of your ass in his mind, then pulls down your clothes and underwear in one smooth movement.

"you little bitch," he snarls. a string of your arousal stretches from your pussy to your underwear. "fucking slut."

he slides his dick back and forth in your inner lips, coating it in slick and the tip rubbing aginst your clit. you moan, your back arching, grinding against him to try and get more friction.

blade reaches under the table and tugs you free, hoisting you up into his arms and carrying you to the couch.

another slap. you whimper, trying to turn back to get a look at him, but he grabs your head and forces it down.

"a slut like you shouldn't even be looking at me," he growls.

he spreads your asscheeks with his thumbs. the movement has your pussy weeping a few drops of cum onto his slick, wet dick.

"slut," he mutters again, half to himself, and slams himself into you.

you gasp, back arching, the fabric of the couch crinkling under your grip. "bla~ade," you moan angelically.

"shut up," he commands, pulling you roughly into him again. your shut up obediently. the flesh of your ass ripples up your body, and he can just see your boobs swaying to his rhythm.

he leans over you to whisper into your ear. "does my naughty little slut wanna cum?" he whispers, his gravelly voice sending sparks into your lower tummy.

you can feel his dick, thick and rock-hard, weighing down inside of you, and you can almost imagine the outline of it showing through your tummy. you nod.

he pistons his hips into yours, humping like an animal in heat, aiming right for the most sensitive gummy spot within you. you whimper and moan, your back arching in pleasure, and then you feel his hand clasp your boob to stimulate your nipple roughly.

"no-!" you squirm against his hold, but blade has you completely pinned. his other hand snakes down to where the two of you are connected, flesh smacking together and ringing through the room.

"if you want to cum, then cum." you can hear the smile in his voice as his hand finds your sensitive little nub and rubs it fiercely.

the pressure in your lower tummy spikes, and you claw at the couch as you cum, looking for something to hold onto. "bladebladeblade, ah, harder, please~"

#hsr x reader smut #blade smut #hsr x reader #x reader smut #hsr blade #childe smut #childe #tartaglia #childe tartaglia ajax #childe tartagalia #childe genshin impact #tartagila #tartaglia smut

1K notes · View notes

eunseoksimp · 3 months ago

Text

marionette — p.wb

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 sub park wonbin, dom reader, toxic relationship, manipulation, smut

synopsis: park wonbin was never meant to be yours, but you took him anyway. sweet, obedient, so achingly desperate for love—he was the perfect marionette, his heart strung up in the cruel architecture of your design. you pull, he bends. you sever, he bleeds. and no matter how deep the wounds, how sharp the cruelty, he still crawls back to you, clinging to the illusion that one day, you might love him too.

WARNINGS: reader is lowkey evil, extreme manipulation, toxic relationship, smut, degradation kink, oral (fem receiving), riding, unprotected sex

a/n: i originally planned on making this a full story but i gave up on it lol. enjoy me basically working on my smut writing and further pushing the sub wonbin agenda.

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

“go on, spit it out,” you purr, your voice low and languid as if each word were a strand of smoke drifting upward in the amber glow of a dying streetlamp.

the cigarette dangles effortlessly between your manicured fingers, its ember a fleeting, molten beacon of your authority. every exhale sends tendrils of smoke twisting into the night—a silent, seductive display of control over the fragile soul before you.

there he is, park wonbin, crumpled on trembling knees like a discarded puppet, his fingers fidgeting nervously with the coarse fabric of his joggers as if trying to stitch together a semblance of dignity. his head hangs low, the weight of your disdain bending him into an image of utter vulnerability. his eyes, framed by those delicate, almost angelic lashes, flicker upward, pleading for a mercy he knows will never come.

a soft, broken whine escapes him—a sound so feeble it almost blends into the silent atmosphere.

“please…” he begs, voice cracking like fragile glass under the relentless pressure of your gaze.

and oh, how your eyes sparkle with a predatory thrill at the sight. in that moment, you are both the storm and the calm, the predator and the seductress, relishing the exquisite power you wield over him.

you savor the delicious irony: his desperation is as intoxicating as it is pitiful, a testament to his own self-loathing and dependence. in your mind, he is nothing more than a marionette, his strings tangled in the web of his low self-esteem—a marionette that you alone command.

your lips twist into a cruel, knowing smile as you recall every moment he has allowed himself to be diminished at your feet.

“i thought i told you i didn’t need you anymore. we’re not together,” you declare, your tone as cold and unyielding as shattered ice.

each syllable is a calculated blow, designed to shatter the remnants of hope clinging to him like cobwebs in a forgotten corner.

his response is almost immediate—a desperate, halting plea: “please, please don’t leave me.”

a single tear carves a slow, tragic path down his flushed cheek—a glistening, sorrowful trail that promises more misery with every future encounter. that tear is a silent dirge, a poignant whisper of the pain he is doomed to endure as he falls ever deeper under your thrall.

you let out a soft, mirthless laugh—a sound that mingles amusement with the bitter tang of sadism—as if his despair were the sweetest of delicacies.

“look at you,” you sneer, the words dripping with disdain and a venomous delight, “so pathetic, baby. you’re nothing but a fucking loser.”

the harshness of your tone slices through the air, each word a dagger that etches itself into the fabric of his already fragile existence. your eyes, alight with malicious satisfaction, drink in his humiliation—the trembling of his hands, the pitiful arch of his neck, the way his gaze flickers in hopeless yearning.

wonbin shakes his head, his silent defiance drowned by torrents of tears that trace glistening paths down his cheeks. in those tear-filled eyes—eyes that still shimmer with unblemished worship and raw, desperate love—there lingers a fragile plea, even as you strip him of every ounce of dignity until he is nothing more than a trembling husk at your mercy.

you marvel at your own twisted fortune, a dark, delicious irony that you have managed to ensnare the sweetest boy imaginable.

once, he had been an unassuming beacon of purity—a soul untouched by the lurking malevolence of the world. his innocence, so palpable and inviting, made him the perfect canvas upon which you could paint your cruelty.

with a single, calculated touch, you reduced him to a shell, hollowed out by the weight of your disdain.

every moment, every whispered command that made him beg for even the smallest shard of your care, your fleeting attention, your warped semblance of love, filled you with an intoxicating sense of power.

it was an art—a perverse ballet of manipulation and need—rendered all the more exquisite by the ease with which you could coax his submission. in the raw vulnerability of his pleas, you found a delicious thrill: to watch him crumble, to revel in the simplicity of his dependency.

it was, quite simply, too fucking easy.

“yes, you are. look at yourself, binnie—you’re nothing but a pathetic little mess,” you intone, your voice a silken dagger that cuts through the heavy silence.

in this macabre dance of power and submission, you are both the maestro and the executioner, orchestrating his suffering with meticulous precision. his vulnerability is a canvas upon which you paint with strokes of cruelty and contempt, each taunt and dismissive glance reaffirming your control.

despite his soft, pleading nature and the desperate glimmer in his eyes, he remains ensnared in the cruel allure of your toxicity—a moth drawn to the flame of your sadistic charm.

“my pathetic little mess. isn’t that right baby?”

a testament to the dark magic you wield, a spell that transmutes his pain into a feverish adoration. you watch as the very sound of you seizing him, of taking possession of his being, sends a shiver of twisted warmth through his fragile heart.

how the raw, obsessive need that festers within him awakens at your words, stoking a flame of devotion that borders on madness.

with a desperate urgency, he bridges the gap between you, collapsing at your feet like a supplicant before an unyielding deity. his trembling fingers, delicate as autumn leaves caught in a winter wind, wrap themselves around you—a desperate grasp that speaks of a soul laid bare and irrevocably broken.

“yours,” he begs in a husky whisper, “please, let me be yours.”

his plea tumbles out in a babble of unguarded vulnerability, each word stripping away layers of his self-respect until nothing remains but a raw, exposed yearning. even as you try to pull away, his grip only tightens, anchoring you to his orbit with an inescapable gravity born of sheer desperation.

“i love you—fuck— i love you so, so much. i love you so much, i can’t live without you, please,” he rasps, his head nuzzling against your thigh like a forlorn kitten, his every touch a plea for acknowledgement.

in that trembling, pitiful moment, his submission is complete—a living, breathing monument to the ruin of his own self-worth, molded by your relentless, toxic affection.

“you love me?” you echo, your tone a silken rasp that drips with condescension as you gaze down at him.

the thrill that courses through you—an illicit, heady rush born from looking upon his crumpled, desperate form—spurs a wicked smile to curl your lips.

wonbin’s response is immediate—a frantic, almost imperceptible nod, his head bobbing in a frantic, subservient rhythm as if each movement were a heartbeat of his existence.

you can’t help but revel in it.

of course he does. how could he not, when you have meticulously unraveled his naive understanding of love and refashioned it into something dark, something twisted to serve your insatiable desires?

to wonbin, love has always been the epitome of blind devotion—a soul-wrenching, all-consuming inferno of emotions aimed solely at you. even as your words cut and your dismissals wound, his adoration grows ever more fervent, binding him to you with chains of longing. his worship is palpable, the kind that defies reason and embraces humiliation.

with a languid flick of your wrist, you discard the spent cigarette onto the carpet, watching with detached amusement as its ember sputters against the fibers, igniting a small, rebellious blaze. the burning carpet mirrors the slow, deliberate combustion of his dignity, yet he remains oblivious, his eyes locked on you with an almost feral intensity, breath shallow in anticipation of your next command.

lowering yourself until you are eye level with him, you savor the sight of his dilated pupils—each one a mirror reflecting his total, unyielding fixation. in that charged moment, you feel the delicious surge of power, the intoxicating awareness that he exists solely to serve you.

“you want me to stay with you, don’t you?” you murmur, your voice a mere whisper pressed against the shell of his ear. the warmth of your breath sends shivers cascading down his spine, a visceral reminder of your proximity and the inescapable pull you exert over him.

“please,” he begs again, his words dissolving into the charged silence, his entire being laid bare in that single, desperate plea.

“but that’s just selfish. what do i get out of it?” you muse, leaning in closer.

you lean in closer, your eyes glinting with cold amusement as you trace the contours of his tear-streaked face.

“show me then. beg me like the good little puppy you are,” you command, your voice a low, dangerous purr that ripples through the charged air.

a twisted warmth surges in your lower stomach, a delicious thrill at the sight of him scrambling into action at your behest, his every movement a testament to your absolute control.

his words come out in a fractured rush, laden with desperate adoration. “i-i love you so much. i n-need you,” he stammers, his tone quivering like a fragile reed in a storm, each syllable drenched in the bitter sweetness of his need.

then, his plea deepens into a raw, choked whisper, as if the very thought of your absence were a knife twisting in his heart.

“please, please, please—i need you. please…” the sound is a shattered cry, an anguished murmur that exposes the very marrow of his vulnerability, as if every drop of his soul were laid bare before you.

“my sweet boy, you really don’t want me to leave, do you?” you coo, your words soft yet laced with an undeniable, sinister authority. your thumb drifts forward to gently, almost mockingly, swipe away the tears that pool at the corners of his eyes, each caress a reminder of your power to both comfort and destroy.

you draw him closer, cradling his tear-streaked face in your hands as though it were a precious, delicate artifact. in that moment, he melts under your touch—his fragile resistance dissolving into a sea of desperate devotion

he remains exactly where you intended him to be: a crumpled figure at your feet, reduced to a pitiful relic of the man he once hoped to become.

it is the culmination of every subtle slight, every meticulously orchestrated moment of degradation. in this snapshot, the evolution of your relationship is laid bare—a toxic symphony of control and surrender, where your cold, remorseless dominance has overpowered his desperate need for affection.

the truth is undeniable: his journey to this lowly position was crafted piece by piece by your very hands. the innocent promises you once murmured have long since decayed into bitter commands and ruthless dismissals, each one a step further into the abyss that now holds him captive. in the harsh, unyielding light of this moment, the dark, twisted origins of his submission are fully revealed—a portrait of a broken soul, meticulously shaped into the perfect puppet for your relentless, toxic play.

“show me that i’m not making a mistake. that staying with you would be useful to me,” you command, your voice laced with a dark promise—a calculated malice that seeps into the very air, a slow, corrosive poison that has long eroded the fragile vestiges of his self-worth until even the faintest spark of dignity has withered away.

at those words, wonbin’s eyes widen with a desperate understanding, and he scrambles to his feet like a wounded animal yearning for reprieve. he perches on the edge of the bed, his body taut with a mix of fear and fervent anticipation, every fiber of his being poised to please you.

his gaze, trembling yet ardent, silently pleads for the validation of your power.

with languid, deliberate grace, you rise from your crouched position. each step you take is measured and potent—a display of dominance that sends ripples through the charged atmosphere.

you brush off the stray particles of dirt from the carpet as if dismissing the remnants of a past life, moving ever closer to him with an assured, predatory elegance.

the scene unfolds like that of a hunter stalking its prey in the dim, seductive glow of twilight. wonbin’s eyes, wide and glistening with both vulnerability and obsession, follow your every move. In the silence between you, the weight of your authority is palpable—a dangerous dance of obsession and control that leaves him suspended between longing and dread.

his eyes locked onto yours, gaze burning with a desperate intensity. he knew what you wanted, and he was determined to give it to you, no matter the cost.

you sat down on the bed, positioning yourself so that your legs spread wide. wonbin’s eyes were two glittering orbs of desperation, his pupils dilated with a hunger that bordered on madness.

as he crawled between your legs, his movements were jerky and uncoordinated, his limbs twitching with a frantic energy that seemed to emanate from the very marrow of his bones. his breath came in ragged gasps, his chest heaving like a bellows, his lungs burning with a desperate need for oxygen that seemed to fuel his every movement.

you could smell the stench of his arousal, a pungent mix of musk and sweat that hung in the air like a challenge, a primal scent that seemed to dare you to take him, to use him, to exploit his every weakness.

"sit on my face," wonbin whispered, his voice husky, his words dripping with an unrelenting need, like a supplicant pleading for a glimpse of paradise

"i want to taste you, i want you to use me.”

your smile was a slow, smoldering flame, licking at the edges of his resolve, setting fire to something he wasn't sure he wanted to name. it burned in the depths of your eyes—cruel, knowing, the kind of smile that promised ruin wrapped in silk.

"yeah?" you murmured, voice molten, thick like honey pooling at the tip of a silver spoon, slow and deliberate. "want me to put it on your face? make your face my throne?"

wonbin nodded, his gaze heavy, dark—glazed with something feverish, something almost delirious. the thought alone seemed to unravel him, winding through his veins like a slow-working poison, spurring a hunger that teetered on the edge of something sick, something desperate.

you said nothing, only lifted your hips—slow, deliberate—watching as wonbin’s eyes darkened, hunger flashing through them like lightning splitting a storm-black sky.

he looked like a man on the brink of madness, a starving wretch before a banquet, torn between reverence and ruin. his face was a study in torment, pleasure and agony tangled in the fine lines of his longing, a masterpiece of erotic suffering. his lips, parted and trembling, were soft as crushed rose petals, an unspoken plea, an invitation for you to descend—so he could worship, so you could reign.

and then, you sank down, slow and merciless, claiming him as your own. wonbin’s lashes fluttered, a shudder running through him as he surrendered beneath you, his breath hitching, uneven. he inhaled—deep, reverent—drinking in the scent of your skin, your arousal, the very essence of you. it was intoxicating, drowning him in something primal, something he would chase even as it consumed him whole.

as you sat on his face, your weight crushing him, your flesh suffocating him, wonbin’s eyes went wide with a desperate, pleading intensity, his pupils flashing with a hunger that seemed to consume him whole. his tongue darted out, licking your folds with a desperate, sloppy eagerness, his mouth sucking you in with a vacuum-like intensity that seemed to draw the very air out of the room.

“you like that, don't you?" you purred, your voice a low, husky growl. "you like being used, being treated like a dirty little slut."

he nodded, his head bobbing up and down in a frantic, eager motion as you rocked your hips in a steady rhythm, grinding your pussy against his face.

his face was buried deep between your thighs, his mouth working tirelessly to bring you to the brink of ecstasy. his panting was a hot, wet whisper against your skin, his breath sending shivers down your spine.

wonbin’s sucking was a gentle, insistent pressure, his lips and tongue working in perfect harmony to drive you wild.

you thighs were trembling around his face, your muscles quivering with the effort of holding back. but you couldn't hold back, not anymore.

“mmm, right there,” you moan, only spurring him to keep going.

his hair was a tangled, sweaty mess in your hands, his scalp straining against your grip as you pulled him closer and closer. his eyes were closed, face a picture of concentration and desire as his mouth worked tirelessly to bring you to the edge.

you feel the sensation building within yourself, coiling tighter and tighter. as the moments ticked by, you began to feel a creeping sense of sensitivity, a growing awareness that you were on the verge of your orgasm.

the pleasure was becoming too much, too intense, and you felt yourself being swept away on a tide of sensation.

“fuck,” a small whimper escaped your lips as wonbin’s grip on your hips tightened, his fingers moulding the flesh underneath his fingertips like a sculptor shaping clay.

his hips seemed to have a mind of his own, his cock throbbing achingly in his trousers as he bucked them unconsciously, moving them in time with the rhythm of his mouth.

the air was thick with the scent of sex and sweat, a heady, intoxicating aroma that seemed to fill your lungs and fuel the fire that was burning within you.

your vision began to blur, your senses narrowing to a single, shining point of pleasure, as wonbin’s mouth and fingers worked their magic, drawing you closer and closer to the edge of your orgasm as he ate you out, his hunger insatiable, his desire for you a raging, all-consuming fire that threatened to incinerate everything in its path.

his own whimpers and moans were a constant, keening background noise, a pathetic soundtrack of need and desperation that seemed to underscore every movement, every gesture, every breath.

he was even more of a mess, a pathetic, sniveling mess, his body wracked with shudders and tremors that seemed to shake him to his very core.

as the pleasure coiled tighter, winding through your veins your body began to betray you. control slipped through your fingers, lost to the slow, aching build of ecstasy, your movements growing frantic, desperate—a raw, unrestrained hunger overtaking the careful composure you had wielded so cruelly before.

you were bucking wildly on wonbin’s face, your hips thrashing back and forth with a mindless, animalistic intensity. your hands were tangled in his hair, pulling him closer and closer, as if you could somehow merge your bodies into one.

wonbin’s hair was a wild, tangled mess between your fingers, damp with sweat, strands clinging to his skin as you fisted them tighter, guiding him deeper into your ruin. his scalp burned beneath your grip, each tug drawing a low, shattered sound from him—eager, obedient. his eyes remained shut, lashes trembling, his face carved with devotion, concentration, a hunger so profound it bordered on worship.

“so close, so so– fuck.”

your back arched, hips thrusting forward as you came. the sound that tore from your lips was raw, unhinged—a wail ripped from the depths of you, primal and unrestrained. it keened through the air like a blade, sharp enough to cut.

your body convulsed and shuddered as you squirted all over wonbin’s face and chest, the sensation a release, a shuddering, violent thing that seemed to shake your very foundations.

he was drunk on you, drowning in the symphony of your pleasure, every sound, every tremor unraveling him thread by thread. his mind was empty, wiped clean of thought, stripped of anything that wasn’t you—your taste, your scent, the way you moved above him, ruthless in your domination.

his mouth was relentless, sucking greedily as he drew out every last drop of pleasure from you. his tongue lapped at you with a gentle, soothing rhythm, like a thirsty man drinking from a cool spring on a hot summer's day.

the sensation was almost too much to bear, but he didn't let up, even as you shifted and squirmed beneath him, your body sensitive and tender from the aftershocks of your orgasm.

instead, he only seemed to grow more ravenous, his arms wrapping tightly around your waist as he buried his face deeper into your pussy.

the heat of his breath and the gentle scratch of his stubble against your skin sent shivers down your spine, and you could feel his nose and lips moving against you, his mouth still working its magic as he devoured you with an insatiable hunger.

you tugged at his hair, the strands slipping through your fingers as you pulled him back, his head jerking up with a suddenness that made his eyes flash with surprise.

but even as he was pulled away, his face still strained towards you, his mouth open in a desperate bid to recapture the taste of you. his eyes were wild, his pupils dilated with desire, as he tried to chase the sensation, his lips brushing against your skin in a soft, pleading caress.

your sensitivity was at an all time high, every touch, every brush of his skin against yours sending sparks of sensation through your body.

you felt like you were going to shatter, like you were going to come apart at the seams if he didn't stop and so you cried out, your voice a ragged, desperate thing, "fuck, bin, stop, it's too much."

the words tumbled out of you, a frantic, pleading bid to make him stop, to give you a moment to catch your breath, to still the storm that was raging through your body.

wonbin's gaze finally rose to meet yours, his eyes all dreamy and unfocused, his face a picture of bliss. his skin was slick with your release, glistening in the light as he stared up at you, his mouth still open, still hungry. your hands were still wrapped in his hair, and when you pulled hard, he closed his eyes for a second, his hips bucking at the touch.

for a moment, you just stared at each other, the only sound the heavy breathing, the only movement the slight tremors that still ran through your body. it was like time had stopped, and all that existed was the two of you, suspended in this moment of raw, intense connection.

"i love you," he whispered, his voice a low, husky moan. he repeated the words, a gentle, insistent whisper that seemed to wash over you like a wave.

as you gazed at wonbin, you couldn't help but be drawn in by the desire that seemed to emanate from him. his eyes were burning with a fierce hunger, and his body was tense, coiled with anticipation.

you could see the strain in his muscles, the way his skin seemed to vibrate with need. it was like he was a live wire, humming with energy, and you couldn't help but be pulled towards him, like a magnet to steel.

“sit back,” you murmured, voice thick with command, a velvet-wrapped demand that left no room for disobedience. “sit back against the headboard for me, binnie.”

his breath hitched, but his eyes never wavered, locked onto yours with a hunger so raw it felt like worship.

slow, deliberate, he obeyed—easing back against the headboard, his body sinking into the pillows, muscles taut with anticipation. but his gaze remained the same—dark, desperate, pleading—as if waiting for you to grant him mercy or ruin.

he watched with an intent gaze as you undid the strings of his joggers, your hands moving deftly to grab the front of the material and tug it down. he lifted his hips to help you, and as the fabric slid away, his dick sprang out, flushed and throbbing with a fierce, pulsing need.

the sight of it made your heart skip a beat, and you couldn't help but reach out, your hand closing around his cock like a vice. the heat emanating from it was almost palpable, and you could feel the stiffness and ache of it, the way it seemed to throb with a life of its own.

a gentle squeeze to the tip was all it took to send wonbin into a frenzy, his body arching and twisting as he let out a silent, agonized cry. his eyes squeezed shut, his face contorted in a mixture of pleasure and pain, and his voice was a low, husky moan as he whispered, "please, i need you. i need to feel you."

you smiled, a slow, cruel smile, as you began to sink onto him, using his shoulders to help you as you settled down on his length.

wonbin's eyes flew open, his gaze locking onto yours as you took him in, inch by slow, torturous inch. his moans and whimpers filled the air, a constant, keening background noise that seemed to underscore every movement, every breath.

"f-fuck," he breathed, his head thrown back, his eyes squeezed shut, his face contorted in a mixture of pleasure and pain.

you let out a shaky exhale, your fingers digging deep into wonbin’s shoulders as you finally started to move, your hips rolling in a slow, sensual rhythm.

the friction was almost unbearable, and you could feel the tension building inside you as you found a pace that had wonbin moaning beneath you, his voice a low, husky whisper that sent shivers down your spine.

his hands gripped your waist, his fingers digging in so tightly it was almost painful, but you didn't care - you were too lost in the feeling of him beneath you, his body arching up to meet yours with every thrust.

as you rode him, you could feel his body trembling beneath you, his muscles straining and flexing as he struggled to contain the pleasure that threatened to overwhelm him. his cock was a burning, throbbing presence inside you, a fierce, pulsing heat that seemed to fill you to the very brim.

as he felt himself being enveloped by your warmth, he was caught off guard by the intensity of his own reaction. he had expected to be able to last for a while, to savor the feeling of being inside you, but instead he found himself on the brink of collapse from the very start.

the way your walls hugged him tightly, like a gentle vice, was almost too much to bear. he felt his head spinning, his vision blurring at the edges, as he struggled to maintain some semblance of control.

his thighs tensed beneath you, his muscles straining with the effort of holding back, but it was no use.

he was lost, completely and utterly lost, in the sensation of being inside you.

"ah, god," he whispered, his voice a low, husky moan. "feel so good. so tight. so-fuck..."

his words trailed off into incoherence as he felt himself being pulled under, sucked down into the vortex of pleasure and desire.

he was helpless, unable to resist the pull of your body, and he knew it.

“you like it?” you breathe, voice a slow, silken taunt as you dip closer, letting your lips graze the shell of his ear. he shudders beneath you, a tremor rolling through his body like a fault line splitting open, raw and helpless.

“love the way i’m making you fall apart inside me?” you murmur, savoring the way his breath stutters.

you were in control, guiding him, directing him, and he was happy to let you. he was happy to surrender, to give himself over to the sensation of being inside you.

he's desperate, his body straining to meet yours as he chases every roll of your hips, his breath catching in sharp, stuttered gasps with each thrust. his eyes flutter shut, his eyelids trembling as he loses himself in the sensation, his face twisted in a mixture of pleasure and desperation.

every movement is intense, every thrust a desperate bid for more, his body arching up into yours with a hunger that's almost palpable.

you leaned in, slow, deliberate, until your lips hovered just above his—so close he could taste your breath, could feel the heat radiating from your skin.

then, without hesitation, you let it fall—a thick, glistening thread of spit landing directly onto his parted lips, pooling there, warm and wet.

wonbin didn’t flinch. didn’t waver. his eyes, dark and unblinking, stayed locked onto yours, an intensity in them that sent a slow shiver down your spine. the string of spit still connected you, a bridge of something filthy, something unspeakably intimate.

he swallowed, his tongue darting out to gather the remnants, and fuck—he never looked away.

“good boy, my good fucking boy.”

“yours,” he gasps, the words tumbling from his lips like a prayer, wrecked and breathless. “your good boy.”

his voice trembles, thick with need, his mind lost somewhere between reverence and delirium. he basks in the praise, in the weight of your control, eyes fluttering shut for a moment as if savoring the way it feels to belong—to be claimed.

a broken sob spills from his lips as you pick up the pace, his body trembling, unraveling beneath your touch. he’s crumbling, piece by piece, falling apart in your hands—and yet, you’re the one holding him together, the only thing anchoring him to the moment.

your thumb ghosts over his cheek, collecting the tear that had slipped free, as if it were a reward—a mark of your power, your control. he knows it too, knows he’s yours, helpless beneath the weight of your dominance.

overtaken, drowning in pleasure, he buries his head in the crook of your neck, breath warm, uneven, as if trying to disappear into you completely.

"please," he whispers, the word barely a breath against your skin, fragile, unraveling. he doesn’t even know what he’s begging for—only that he needs, that he’s desperate, that he’ll take whatever you give him.

his body trembles beneath yours, taut and fevered, every muscle strung tight, on the edge of something he can’t control. you can feel it—the helpless surrender, the way he’s coming undone, piece by piece, his hips bucking up in a desperate attempt to get closer, to get more of you.

“don’t– fuck, please don’t stop. please please please.”

wonbin’s tears, which had slowed to a trickle, began to flow once more, streaming down his face like a river of sorrow. but even in his distress, he was breathtakingly beautiful, his features etched with a deep, abiding sadness that seemed to draw you in, like a moth to a flame.

you couldn't help but feel a twisted sense of desire, a need to push him further, to break him down until all he could do was beg for mercy. the thought of it only made you grind down on him harder, pulling his head back to expose his neck as you held the skin between your teeth, leaving behind red marks of dominance.

wonbin is lost—adrift in the depths of subspace, where nothing exists but you. your presence engulfs him, consumes him, until the world outside of this moment fades into nothingness.

his eyes are glazed, unfocused, glassy with the weight of surrender. tears slip down his flushed cheeks, unchecked, unnoticed, as he bites down on his lip, struggling, failing to hold himself together.

but he doesn’t fight it—he gives in, lets the pleasure pull him under, lets you guide him deeper into the abyss of his own undoing.

“close… so, so close,” he whimpers, the words barely a breath, barely coherent. his voice is thin, trembling, strung tight with desperation.

his body shudders beneath you, overwhelmed, lost, his fingers twitching as if grasping for something—anything—to keep himself grounded. his head tilts back, eyes rolling, lids fluttering shut.

you let out a breathy chuckle, low and indulgent, a feigned cruelty meant to mask your own unraveling. even as your own ruin claws at the edges of your composure, you refuse to let it show—you won’t give him that satisfaction.

your hands find their way to his neck, fingers splaying over his flushed skin before wrapping around him, firm, possessive. you feel the rapid stutter of his pulse beneath your palm, the way his breath hitches, the way his body surrenders without hesitation.

“you want to cum, pretty boy?” you sneer, the words dripping with condescension, a cruel tease wrapped in silk.

wonbin nods frantically, desperation etched into every trembling inch of him. his whimpers spill from his lips, growing louder, more frantic, his body shaking, strung so tight he looks like he might break apart at the seams.

“use your words for me, binnie,” you murmur, fingers tightening ever so slightly around his throat, just enough to make him gasp. “like a good boy. tell me what you need.”

his breath stutters, his lips parting, but the words catch in his throat—wrecked, ruined, pleading with nothing but the raw, unfiltered need in his eyes.

“need to—please, let me cum. please,” he chokes out, his voice barely holding together, thick with desperation.

normally, you’d drag this out—make him suffer, make him beg until his voice was nothing but a ruined whisper, until the words crumbled on his tongue, incoherent and broken. you’d savor every second, watching him fall apart bit by bit, until there was nothing left but his need for you.

but god, he looks so pretty like this. wrecked. trembling. coming undone beneath you, because of you. his lips are swollen, his lashes wet with unshed tears, his entire body a plea without words. and maybe, just this once, you’ll indulge him.

“cum for me wonbin, like the good toy you are.”

wonbin obeys without hesitation, his body going taut, every muscle locking as the sensation crashes over him like a tidal wave. his breath stutters, his chest rising in sharp, uneven gasps, and then—his eyes squeeze shut, his face twisting in something almost too raw to name.

a strangled cry rips from his throat, torn from the deepest part of him, shaking with the force of his release. he shudders beneath you, utterly spent, utterly wrecked as his cum floods your pussy, body quaking as he spills himself inside you, his breath hitching, uneven and wrecked.

his forehead drops against your collarbone, a soft, shuddering exhale spilling from his lips. blindly, desperately, he nuzzles into the crook of your neck, seeking warmth, seeking you. his skin is damp, flushed, his body still trembling in the aftermath.

a quiet shiver rolls through him when your fingers slip into his hair, slow and soothing, nails grazing his scalp.

he only took a second before his hips slammed up into yours, taking even you by surprise. his eyes find yours, wide and glassy, dark with something desperate—pleading without words, begging for something he doesn’t have the strength to voice. his face is twisted in a beautiful grimace, brows pinched.

his teeth sink into his swollen lip, hard enough to leave marks, hard enough to keep himself from falling apart again, tense with overstimulation.

you could feel his cum still dripping out of your cunt, the squelching noise overpowering the room as his cock throbs, pulsing with the aftershocks of his own orgasm.

“fuck, right there wonbin.”

despite the pain, despite the overstimulation, wonbin for you to cum, to feel your pleasure, to know that you were satisfied.

“please,” he held back a sob, his body shaking with the effort. “please, cum for me. i need to feel you cum.”

his finger trailed up your thighs, the gentle touch sending shivers through your body, until he found your clit. he rubs slow circles, the pressure building in your lower stomach making you moan out.

your hips began to move, grinding down on wonbin as he thrusts into you, his hips slamming into yours as he continues to rub your clit.

“cum for me, mommy. let me feel you."

now it’s your turn—your body betraying you, unraveling as pleasure coils deep in your core, burning low and slow until it’s nearly unbearable. every nerve is alight, every sensation sharp and all-consuming, pulling you under, drowning you in the relentless tide of it.

wonbin’s eyes stay locked onto yours, heavy-lidded, hazy with overstimulation, yet beneath the exhaustion, there’s something else—something raw, something unshaken.

determination.

even wrecked, trembling, barely holding himself together, he refuses to stop, refuses to let go until you’re falling with him, until he’s pulled you over the edge too, willing you to cum.

“fuck,i’m—” the word barely escapes, a high, broken whimper, strangled by the sheer force of it all.

your body betrays you, collapsing forward against him, limbs trembling, fingers grasping at nothing as your orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave—overwhelming, all-consuming, dragging you under until you can’t think, can’t speak, can’t do anything but feel.

wonbin catches you, his hands shaking as they grip your hips, holding you through it, helping your ride it out as he continues the slow circles around your clit.

you pull back, peeling yourself away from him, your body still humming, still thrumming with the aftershocks. wonbin doesn’t move—can’t move—his head lolling back against the headboard, spent and ruined. damp strands of hair cling to his forehead, falling into his eyes, but he doesn’t seem to notice, too lost in the violent rise and fall of his chest, in the tremors still wracking his body.

and it’s in this moment—watching him like this, raw and wrecked, trembling beneath the weight of what you’ve done to him—that you remember.

this is why you keep him close. why you let him beg, let him plead, let him stumble his way back into your life time and time again. because no matter how many times you push him away, no matter how many times you make him suffer, he always comes back.

and god, isn’t it beautiful?

#riize #riize imagines #riize x reader #riize imagine #riize scenarios #riize x imagine #riize smut #park wonbin #riize angst #riize wonbin #wonbin angst #wonbin smut #wonbin scenarios #sub wonbin #wonbin #park wonbin scenarios #park wonbin smut #park wonbin x reader #park wonbin imagines

158 notes · View notes