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manmuncher777 · 22 days ago

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HANDY MAN

Neighbour!nanami x reader

18+ SMUT - name calling, degradation, thirst, p in v, unprotected sex, fingering, spanking.

- You offer nanami dinner as a thank you for all his help, but when the tension builds, dinner takes an unexpected turn..

A/n - my babies, I couldn’t be more thankful for all the love on my recent posts!!! Ive just hit 500 followers, I love that 500 of you lovely people took the time to follow me. So please take this offering as a thank you!! I hope you love it as much as I do, and please remember JJK/AOT REQS ARE OPEN!! Like seriously give me stuff to write before I tweak out

Nanami Kento was the perfect neighbor. The kind of man who never forgot to return a borrowed tool, who held the elevator door even if he was in a hurry, and who always offered a polite nod and quiet “good evening” when you crossed paths in the hallway. Reliable, considerate, and so steady it was almost maddening.

You’d noticed him the day you moved in—how could you not? Tall, broad-shouldered, with an air of quiet authority that made your stomach do somersaults every time he so much as glanced your way. But he was polite to a fault, never lingering too long in conversation, never crossing the line between friendly and personal.

Until the day your radiator broke.

You’d knocked on his door hesitantly, clutching a screwdriver you had no idea how to use and praying he wouldn’t think you were an absolute idiot. He’d answered almost immediately, sleeves rolled up, revealing forearms that looked like they could fix a lot more than just a radiator. You’d stumbled through your explanation, cheeks heating as you fumbled for the right words, but he’d only nodded, grabbed his toolbox, and followed you into your apartment without a second thought.

That was months ago. Since then, Nanami had become a quiet but consistent fixture in your life. A leaking faucet, a flickering lightbulb, a misaligned cabinet door—he handled them all with a calm efficiency that made you feel both grateful and hopelessly incompetent.

You’d offered to pay him, of course, but he’d waved it off with a dismissive hand. "It’s nothing," he’d said, his tone as smooth as his tie. "Just let me know if you need anything else."

And you had. Often.

You’d started baking for him as a way to say thank you. Cookies, muffins, the occasional pie—anything to feel like you were contributing something to the arrangement. He never complained, though you’d caught the ghost of a smile on his lips when you handed over a batch of freshly made banana bread last week.

Now, as you stood in your kitchen staring at the cursed garbage disposal that had decided to stop working, you couldn’t help but sigh. Your first instinct was to call the building maintenance, but the thought of a stranger rooting around in your sink made your skin crawl. You didn’t trust anyone else with your space—or, let’s face it, your dignity.

Your feet carried you to his front door almost automatically, and before you could overthink it, you knocked.

The door opened after a brief pause, and there he was, Nanami Kento in all his quiet, unflappable glory. He was dressed casually for once, a simple sweater that somehow still clung to his broad chest in a way that made your throat go dry. His hair was slightly tousled, as if he’d been running his hand through it, and he had the faintest shadow of stubble along his jawline.

"Good evening," he greeted, his voice deep and even, like the kind of bass that you felt in your chest more than you heard with your ears. "Do you need help with something?"

You offered him a sheepish smile, rubbing the back of your neck. "Uh, yeah. It’s the garbage disposal this time. I think I might have broken it."

He gave a slight chuckle—so slight you almost missed it—but there was no judgment in his gaze, only patience. "Let me grab my toolbox."

As he disappeared back into his apartment, you leaned against the doorframe and took a steadying breath. You’d grown used to his presence over the past few months, but that didn’t mean he didn’t still have the ability to set your pulse racing with a single look.

When he returned, toolbox in hand, he nodded toward your apartment. "Shall we?"

You stepped aside to let him in, watching as he made his way to your kitchen with the ease of someone who’d been there a hundred times before. You couldn’t help but notice the way his sweater stretched across his back as he bent over the sink, the muscles in his shoulders shifting under the fabric.

"You really don’t have to keep doing this," you said, leaning against the counter as he assessed the situation. "I feel bad always bothering you."

He glanced over his shoulder, his brow furrowing slightly. "It’s no bother," he said simply, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Besides, I’d rather help than have you try to fix it yourself and make it worse."

You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest. "I’m not that bad."

He turned back to the sink, but you caught the faintest twitch of his lips. "Of course not," he said dryly, reaching into the disposal with a confidence that made you feel completely out of your league.

As he worked, you found yourself watching him—really watching him. The way his hands moved with precision, the way his brow furrowed in concentration, the way his sleeves slid up just enough to reveal the corded strength of his forearms.

"Everything okay?" he asked, not looking up, but his voice carried a note of amusement that made your cheeks heat.

"Yeah, fine," you said quickly, tearing your eyes away and busying yourself with tidying the counter. But your mind was already racing, the domestic ease of the moment mixing with the low, steady tension that seemed to hum in the air whenever he was around

Cooking dinner has always been your escape, a way to unwind and lose yourself in the simple rhythm of chopping, stirring, and seasoning. Tonight’s meal smells divine—garlic, ginger, and soy sauce melding together in a sizzling pan of vegetables and noodles. You hum along to the low music playing from your speaker, entirely at ease as you finish plating the food.

But as you start washing up, the peaceful evening takes a turn.

The faucet groans, sputters, and then sprays a rogue jet of water that soaks your shirt. You jump back with a startled yelp, frantically twisting the knobs to no avail. Water drips steadily, mockingly, pooling around the base of the sink.

You let out a defeated sigh, leaning against the counter and glaring at the offending fixture. There’s only one solution—and only one person who comes to mind.

Pulling out your phone, you scroll to his name. Nanami Kento. The calm, reliable neighbor who’s been your go-to for everything from fixing a squeaky door to assembling your bookshelf. He’s the epitome of a gentleman, always courteous and collected, but beneath his polite demeanor is a man who’s effortlessly, almost devastatingly attractive.

Your thumb hovers over the call button for a moment. It’s late, and you hate to bother him again, but you know he won’t mind. Nanami never minds.

The phone barely rings twice before his deep, steady voice answers. “Hello?”

“Hi, Nanami,” you say, trying not to sound too frazzled. “I, uh… I hate to bother you, but my sink is leaking. It’s kind of a mess, and I have no idea what to do.”

There’s a soft sigh on the other end, one you can almost picture paired with the slight shake of his head. “I’ll be there in five minutes.”

“Thank you,” you breathe, relief washing over you.

True to his word, there’s a knock at your door less than five minutes later. When you open it, you’re greeted by the sight of him: sleeves rolled up to his elbows, toolbox in hand, and an expression of calm determination on his face.

“Good evening,” he says simply, stepping inside with an easy confidence that immediately puts you at ease.

You lead him to the kitchen, gesturing sheepishly at the sink. “It’s, uh, doing that thing again. I tried turning the knobs, but…”

“I see.” Nanami sets his toolbox down, crouching beside the sink to inspect the damage. His large frame fills the small kitchen, and you can’t help but notice the way his broad shoulders flex beneath the fabric of his shirt as he moves.

You try not to stare, busying yourself with wiping down the already-clean counter. But your gaze keeps wandering—trailing over the defined line of his jaw, the way his golden hair falls slightly out of place as he leans closer to the pipes. His hands, large and strong, move with precise efficiency, wielding tools like an extension of himself.

“You weren’t kidding,” he says after a moment, his voice breaking through your thoughts. “It’s worse than last time. Did you notice the dripping earlier, or did it start all at once?”

“Oh, um…” You blink, trying to focus. “I think it started all at once. I mean, it wasn’t doing this earlier, and then suddenly—” You gesture vaguely at the mess. “It just happened.”

Nanami hums thoughtfully, his brow furrowed in concentration as he works. The room is quiet except for the occasional clink of tools and the steady cadence of his voice as he explains what he’s doing.

“You’ve got a loose valve here,” he says, glancing up at you. “It’s a simple fix, but if it happens again, you might want to consider replacing the whole faucet.”

You nod, biting your lip as your eyes linger on the way his forearms flex with every turn of the wrench. He looks so composed, so effortlessly capable, that you can’t help but feel a little flustered.

“Thanks for coming over so quickly,” you say, hoping to fill the silence. “I feel like I’m always calling you for something.”

Nanami glances up again, his gaze steady and warm. “It’s no trouble. I’m happy to help.”

Your cheeks heat under his attention, and you quickly turn away, pretending to fuss with a towel. “Still, I really appreciate it. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He doesn’t reply immediately, but you catch the faintest flicker of a smile as he turns back to the sink. “You’d manage,” he says after a moment. “But I’m glad I can make things easier for you.”

The casual intimacy of his words sends a flutter through your chest, and you busily tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, pretending you didn’t notice. But you did notice. You always notice

The minutes stretch on as he continues working, and the longer he’s there, the harder it becomes to ignore the tension humming beneath the surface. You’re hyperaware of his every movement, every quiet exhale, and the way his presence seems to fill the entire room.

By the time he finishes, your nerves are wound tight, and you’re clutching the towel in your hands like a lifeline. Nanami straightens up, rolling his sleeves back down with a practiced motion before turning to face you.

“All done,” he announces, his voice calm and steady as always.

“Thank you,” you say quickly, stepping closer. “You’re a lifesaver. Really.”

“It’s nothing,” he replies, brushing his hands off on a rag. “Just a simple fix.”

“Still,” you insist, unable to stop the words from spilling out. “I feel bad that you’re always helping me out. You should let me thank you properly sometime.”

Nanami raises an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. “There’s no need for that.”

“I mean it,” you say, a little more boldly this time. “Next time, at least stay for dinner or something. It’s the least I can do.”

For a moment, he’s silent, his gaze fixed on yours in a way that makes your heart race. Then, finally, he nods. “All right. I’ll hold you to that.”

His words hang in the air, heavier than they should be, and you can’t help but wonder if there’s something more lurking beneath his calm exterior. But before you can dwell on it, he picks up his toolbox and heads for the door, leaving you alone with your thoughts—and the faint scent of cedarwood lingering in the air.

As Nanami finishes cleaning up, wiping his hands on a towel with practiced efficiency, you catch yourself hesitating. The kitchen feels too quiet now, the weight of his presence filling the space even though he’s barely said a word. He’s so composed, so calm, and it’s that very quiet confidence that makes your heart race.

Before you can second-guess yourself, the words spill out. “You know… I made way too much dinner tonight. Would you like to stay and have some? As a thank you?”

Nanami pauses, his towel frozen mid-air. He looks at you, his honeyed gaze unreadable for a moment before it softens. “You’re sure?” he asks, his tone polite but warm, as if he’s already guessed your answer.

“Absolutely,” you insist, gesturing toward the plates on the counter. “It’s the least I can do. And besides…” You offer a sheepish smile. “It’d be nice to have some company.”

He doesn’t make you wait long for a reply. With a small nod, he sets the towel aside. “All right. I’d be happy to join you.”

You busy yourself plating the food, trying not to overthink the fact that Nanami Kento is about to sit down at your dining table. By the time you’ve poured two glasses of wine and taken a seat, the nerves in your chest have settled into a low, thrumming buzz.

He’s sitting across from you, shoulders broad and straight even as he relaxes slightly into the chair. The glow of the overhead light catches on his features, highlighting the strong line of his jaw and the subtle curve of his lips. You take a sip of wine, more to distract yourself than anything else.

“This smells wonderful,” he says, breaking the silence. His voice is smooth, steady, with a quiet sincerity that makes you feel like the effort you put into cooking was worth it.

“Thanks,” you reply, fidgeting slightly with your fork. “It’s just a stir-fry, nothing fancy.”

He raises an eyebrow, his gaze flicking up to meet yours. “Don’t undersell yourself. It looks like you put a lot of care into it.”

You can feel the blush creeping up your neck, and you quickly look down at your plate. “I just like to cook,” you mumble, hoping he doesn’t notice how flustered you’ve become.

But, of course, he notices.

“You’re sweet,” he says after a moment, his tone light but deliberate. “Always going out of your way to take care of people. I’ve noticed that about you.”

Your hand freezes mid-cut, and you glance up at him, unsure how to respond. The way he’s looking at you—steady, direct, but not overwhelming—makes your heart skip a beat.

“Well,” you say, attempting to deflect, “it’s the least I can do for someone who’s always fixing things around here. You’re like my personal handyman.”

Nanami chuckles softly, the sound low and warm, and you’re struck by how rare it is to hear him laugh. “I don’t mind,” he says simply. “It’s… nice, actually. Knowing I can be useful.”

“Useful?” You tilt your head, genuinely surprised. “You’re not just useful, Nanami. You’re—” You pause, searching for the right words. “You’re dependable. It’s a rare quality these days.”

There’s a flicker of something in his eyes, a quiet pride that he doesn’t vocalize but doesn’t hide either. He takes a sip of wine, and for a moment, the two of you fall into a comfortable silence, the tension simmering just below the surface.

“Do you always blush this easily?” he asks suddenly, his tone teasing but not unkind.

Your fork clatters against your plate, and you quickly press a hand to your cheek, which, of course, only makes the blush worse. “I—I’m not blushing,” you stammer, even though it’s a blatant lie.

Nanami leans back slightly in his chair, his gaze unwavering as he studies you. “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” he says, his voice low and steady. “It’s charming.”

The word charming rolls off his tongue with such ease that you’re left momentarily speechless. You take another sip of wine, hoping the alcohol will calm your nerves, but it only seems to amplify the way your heart pounds in your chest.

“You’re doing that on purpose,” you accuse softly, the words slipping out before you can stop them

He raises an eyebrow, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Doing what?”

“Making me flustered,” you reply, refusing to meet his gaze. “You’re teasing me.”

His smile deepens, though his tone remains as gentlemanly as ever. “Am I? I didn’t realize I had that effect on you.”

You let out a huff, half-exasperated and half-embarrassed, but you can’t deny the way your pulse quickens under his attention. He’s so steady, so sure of himself, and it only makes your own nerves feel all the more pronounced.

“You’re not used to being teased, are you?” he asks, his voice softening slightly, though the teasing glint in his eyes remains.

“Not like this,” you admit quietly, fidgeting with the stem of your wine glass.

Nanami doesn’t reply immediately, but the way he looks at you—calm, steady, and undeniably masculine—speaks volumes. There’s something in his gaze that makes you feel seen, like he’s not just looking at you but through you, peeling back the layers of your carefully constructed composure.

And the worst part? You don’t mind it.

The conversation drifts into safer territory after that, but the tension lingers, crackling quietly beneath the surface. By the time you both finish eating, you’re acutely aware of how close he’s sitting, of the faint warmth radiating from his presence, and of the way your heart hasn’t stopped racing since he walked through the door.

As you stand to clear the plates, Nanami reaches out, his hand brushing against yours for just a moment. It’s such a small gesture, but the electricity it sends shooting through your veins is anything but small.

“Let me help,” he says, his voice quiet but firm.

You glance up at him, and for a moment, the world seems to shrink to just the two of you. His expression is calm, his gaze unwavering, but there’s a quiet intensity in his eyes that makes it impossible to look away.

“T-Thanks,” you manage to stammer, your cheeks flushing all over again as you hand him a plate.

And just like that, you realize that dinner was only the beginning.

The rhythmic sound of water running and dishes clinking fills the air, a domestic symphony that feels oddly intimate. Nanami stands close behind you, drying the plates and bowls you pass his way, his movements steady and methodical, just like everything else about him. He’s not in a hurry; he never is, and that unshakable calm only makes your pulse race more.

You try to focus on the task at hand—the dishes, the soap, the warm water—but it’s impossible with him standing so close. His presence is magnetic, his broad shoulders and quiet strength commanding every ounce of your attention. The occasional brush of his hand against yours when he takes a dish from you feels deliberate, calculated, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

The plate in your hands is spotless by now, but you keep scrubbing, needing something to keep your hands busy. You tell yourself it’s just habit, that you’re not doing this to avoid turning around and meeting those piercing eyes of his. But then, his voice cuts through the quiet.

“You know,” he says, his tone low and tinged with amusement, “if you scrub that plate any harder, you might actually wear it down to nothing.”

You freeze, heat rushing to your face as you realize how long you’ve been working on the same plate. “I was just… making sure it’s clean,” you mumble, quickly rinsing it and passing it to him without looking up.

Nanami takes it from you, his large hand brushing against yours for just a second longer than necessary. He doesn’t say anything at first, but when you finally glance over your shoulder, you catch the faint smirk tugging at his lips.

“It’s clean enough,” he says gently, his tone teasing but not unkind. “Unless you’re trying to impress someone with your dishwashing skills.”

Your breath hitches, and you quickly turn back to the sink, grabbing another dish. “I’m not trying to impress anyone,” you reply, your voice higher than you’d like.

His chuckle is soft but rich, a sound that settles in your chest and makes your heart skip. “You’re a terrible liar,” he says simply, and you can hear the smile in his voice.

You grip the next dish a little too tightly, the soap making it slick in your hands. It slips, clattering against the sink with a loud clang, and you wince. Before you can recover, Nanami leans in, his chest brushing against your back as he reaches past you to steady it.

“You’re tense,” he murmurs, his voice impossibly close now, warm and steady in your ear. “Relax. It’s just dishes.”

It’s just dishes. But nothing about this moment feels casual or ordinary. His breath fans across your skin, his presence wrapping around you like a blanket, and you’re suddenly hyper-aware of how close he’s standing, how solid and warm he feels behind you.

“I’m fine,” you manage to say, though the words come out weaker than you intended.

“Are you?” he asks, his tone dipping lower, and there’s a quiet challenge in his voice that makes your knees feel unsteady.

You turn your head slightly, just enough to catch the edge of his gaze, and instantly regret it. His eyes are locked on you, sharp and focused, but there’s something else there too—something molten and heavy that makes your pulse flutter.

“You seem a little… distracted,” he continues, his lips curling into a faint smile. “Did I do something to make you nervous?”

Your grip on the next plate tightens, and you curse yourself silently. He’s teasing you, but not in a way that feels cruel. No, it’s worse—because it feels intentional, like he’s testing you, waiting to see how far he can push before you break.

“I’m not nervous,” you lie, rinsing the plate with more force than necessary.

His chuckle is quieter this time, but no less devastating. “Of course not,” he says, his voice a velvet hum that sends shivers down your spine. “You’re perfectly calm. That’s why you’ve been scrubbing the same spot for the last minute.”

Your cheeks burn, and you drop the plate into the drying rack with a little more force than necessary. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” you mutter, finally turning to face him.

Nanami doesn’t even try to hide the smirk tugging at his lips. He leans back slightly, crossing his arms over his broad chest as he regards you with that maddeningly calm expression. “Maybe a little,” he admits, his voice light but laced with something heavier. “It’s… endearing.”

“Endearing?” you echo, your voice higher than you’d like.

He tilts his head slightly, his gaze steady as it sweeps over you. “The way you get flustered so easily,” he explains, his tone softer now, but no less intense. “It’s… refreshing.”

You swallow hard, your pulse pounding in your ears. There’s no hiding it now—he knows exactly what he’s doing to you, and the worst part is, you don’t want him to stop.

Before you can respond, he steps closer, closing the small distance between you in a way that feels both casual and deliberate. You have to tilt your head up to meet his gaze, and the sheer size of him—the breadth of his shoulders, the quiet power in the way he moves—leaves you breathless.

“You’re not used to being teased, are you?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper now, his eyes locked on yours.

“I—” Your voice catches, and you realize too late that you’ve stepped back, your hips pressing against the edge of the counter. There’s nowhere else to go, and Nanami is still so close, his presence consuming every bit of space around you.

He leans in, just enough for you to feel the faintest brush of his breath against your skin. “Don’t worry,” he murmurs, his tone dipping lower, “I’ll go easy on you.”

Your heart feels like it’s about to burst out of your chest, and you can’t tell if you’re more terrified or exhilarated. All you know is that you’re standing on the edge of something, and there’s no turning back now.

The air between you is thick and suffocating, charged with something neither of you have spoken aloud but both of you feel. You’re pinned by his gaze, unable to move, unable to breathe, as if the weight of his presence alone is enough to keep you still.

Then, without warning, Nanami moves.

It happens so fast you barely register it. His large hands grip your waist, firm and unyielding, and you let out a small gasp as he lifts you as though you weigh nothing at all. In a matter of seconds, you’re perched on the counter, your legs dangling, your pulse roaring in your ears.

“Nanami—” you start, but the words are cut off the moment he steps between your legs, his hands still holding you steady, his grip both commanding and careful.

He leans in close, his face inches from yours, and for a moment, you think he’s going to say something. But then his lips are on yours, and the world tilts on its axis.

“Kento. Call me Kento, please”

The kiss is nothing like you’d imagined—though you’d imagined it more times than you care to admit. It’s not rushed or frantic; it’s slow and deliberate, the kind of kiss that pulls every ounce of air from your lungs and leaves you clinging to him for stability. His lips are soft but firm, moving against yours with a precision that makes your head spin.

His hands shift, one sliding to the small of your back, pulling you closer, while the other cradles the side of your face, his thumb brushing gently against your cheek. The contrast between the strength of his grip and the tenderness of his touch is intoxicating, and you find yourself melting into him, your hands instinctively gripping the fabric of his shirt.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, his breath warm and uneven against your lips. His eyes meet yours, and the intensity in his gaze sends a shiver down your spine.

“You’re going to drive me insane,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough, but there’s a softness there too, a quiet restraint that makes your chest ache.

You swallow hard, your fingers still fisting his shirt as if letting go would send you tumbling into the abyss. “Kento, I—”

He doesn’t let you finish. His lips are on yours again, hungrier this time, and the sheer force of it leaves you breathless. His hands explore your waist, your hips, the heat of his touch searing through the fabric of your clothes.

But even in his passion, there’s a control to him, a carefulness that speaks to his nature. He doesn’t rush or take more than you’re willing to give; he waits, letting you set the pace, letting you guide him.

Your hands slide up his chest, over the broad expanse of muscle that feels impossibly solid beneath your fingertips. You can feel the way his heart pounds beneath your palm, and the knowledge that you’re the cause of it sends a thrill through you.

When you finally break apart, both of you panting, your eyes meet again, and the corner of his mouth lifts in a small, almost bashful smile.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper.

You let out a breathless laugh, your fingers still tangled in his shirt. “Me too,” you confess, your cheeks flushing with warmth.

His smile grows, and for a moment, you see a glimpse of something softer, something vulnerable in his expression. “Then let me do it again,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against yours once more.

And this time, when he kisses you, it feels like the start of something neither of you can stop

The dishes now forgotten about as Nanami presses himself between your legs, hands gripping your hips with a need. Your hands now making their way through his neat hair, pulling on the strands of gold, a few of them falling into his face. His lips pressed against yours so feverishly, this kiss was faster now, more passionate now as his hands travelled up your side, his touch burning through you skin.

Your deft fingers are toying with the hem of his shirt now, giving it a gentle tug, begging silently for him to remove it.

He breaks the kiss, and you worry you’ve taken it to far. But when you see that look on his face, his glistening lips and heaving chest you know you’re both thinking the same thing

“Do you want this?” he questions, his voice low and rough.

You couldn’t get your brain to function, too full of sinful thoughts to even produce a sentence. All you can do is nod as you stare hungrily at him, his slightly more disheveled look making him even more attractive.

“Use your words darling, I need to hear you say it.” He’s holding himself back, waiting for his chance. Trying to keep to his gentlemanly mentality, but as his eyes graze over you figure sat so prettily on that counter, he can feel it slipping.

“I want this, ken.” Your voice is hoarse from the intense kiss you just shared.

Ken.

Fuck.

God that sounded so good coming from you. He needed more

Next thing you know you feel the sharp bite of the cool wood of your kitchen table, Nanami had grabbed you, sitting you on the table as his mouth met yours again. He takes his shirt off throwing it somewhere in the room and fuck

Holy fucking fuck

You knew he was built, but oh my god.

He looked like something out of a romance novel, his tanned skin stretching beautifully over his muscles, tensing as he gripped on your body that was dwarfed by his. His forearms - the veins. His fucking abs and that delicious little trail of golden hair that started at his belly button. God you wanted to see where it went, but his trousers shielded it from view cruelly.

You could orgasm from just looking at him.

“Concentrate darling” he murmured against your lips, you could feel the smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. It wasn’t your fault he was built like some kind of Greek god. You could only muster a moan in response. that gave him a chance to slip his tongue on your mouth.

He couldn’t believe he finally had you like this, all the times he had gone home after repairing something for you, imaging how he could bend you over that counter you were leaning against while you watched him work, imagining how you would look as he eased himself inside you. And now here you where whimpering into his kisses. Fuck he could hardly think straight. He was trying to be respectful, but it was hard when you were biting his lips after his kisses.

Your own shirt was soon to join his in being discarded somewhere in the room. His bare skin against yours felt fucking amazing, he pulled you close around him, one of his muscular arms wrapping around your back. Your tits pressed up sluttily against his chest and he could feel himself hardening at the sensation.

You made a mental note tot thank yourself for wearing a skirt this evening, giving nanami easy access to the skin underneath.

His huge hands trailed down to your thighs, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Your legs spread so sweetly for his as he traced over the sensetive skin of your inner thighs, his hands teasing just like his tone as they refused to go any higher than the hem of your skirt. Just dancing at the end of the fabric.

You couldn’t stop yourself, your hand wrapping around his wrist as you pushed his hand up your skirt. He chuckled into the kiss as your eagerness.

With your legs spread so perfectly for him he was able to get a perfect view of your panties, he broke the kiss for a moment as he watched his hand bunch up the fabric of your skirt as it went further and further up your leg, stopping when he spotted the colour of your panties.

They so happened to be red, matching the beautiful floral lace material of your bra as well

Fucking hell

Of course you were wearing a matching set.

“Jesus christ sweetheart, anyone would think you’ve planned this.” He meant for his tone to be teasing, but with you silence and flushed face he knew there was some truth to this fact. God you were going to be the death of him, you were staring up at him like an angel, like you were the most innocent thing ever, but Nanami knew better.

“Shit- you did, didn’t you?” His hand was braver now, ghosting over your clothed pussy as he spoke, eyes never leaving your face. You gasped at the sensation, his touch was good, but not enough - you needed more

“Bet you’ve been breaking stuff around here huh?” Your hips bucking lightly, trying to meet his hand, to get him to apply a bit more pressure. He was lightly hovering over your clit now, he knew what he was doing to you.

“Ken-“ you went to beg him, but he cut you off. His hand pinning your hips to the table, stopping the pathetic humping.

“You naughty girl, messing around just to get me to come over.”

You were fucking gone at this point, your whole body must’ve been a shade of pink with how flustered he was making you. You never expected these sort of words to come out of his mouth, but you certainly weren’t complaining.

A sharp tug and you panties were gone, he fucking ripped them off you. You gasp as you stare at him pocketing the broken material.

“Such a dirty girl..” He trails off, entranced by the sight of your glistening cunt. His eyes were predatory, and you could see his resolve break.

His thick fingers swipe through the wetness of your folds and a echoing moan is ripped from you. He brings his fingers up, holding them in the dim light of the room as they glisten.

“So wet for your neighbour, sweetheart.” He smirks at you, fingers retreating to your begging cunt. delving through your slick folds as you can do nothing but take it, his hand still pinning any movement you attempt to make. The ease at which he was pinning you was an addition to your already fucked out brain.

His fingers quickly found your clit, drawing quick circles around the bundle or nerves. Your hands gripping at the tables edge, knuckles turning white as his movements never ceased.

His jaw tightening, god you were so fucking wet for him. Those gorgeous little whines that escaped you were noises he has only ever dreamed of. He knew he needed more immediately.

He didnt waste anytime before sinking his thick digits into you, relishing in the way your eyes shut and head dropped back, your teeth biting you lip despite the moan that sounded from you. You were wrapped so snug around him, he couldn’t stop from wondering how delicious it would feel as he slid each inch of his throbbing cock inside you.

His fingers reaching so much deeper than yours ever could, brushing against that spongey spot inside of you with each thrust, his palm pressed against you clit as he moved. You couldn’t help yourself. You reached for his muscular frame, pulling him into you as you clung into him. Your head hiding in his neck, crying out for him. Your nails digging into the muscles on his back

“F-fuck” You groaned out, you could hear the sounds you pussy was making as it greedily accepted Kento’s fingers.

“That’s it sweetheart, take it for me. Good girl” he whispers so reassuring, so sensual.

He’s only been fucking you on his fingers for a few minutes, but you could already feel your orgasm impending.

His fingers were like nothing you had ever felt before, better than any stupid toy you have bought, trying to imagine him while you were fucking yourself, better than any expensive vibrator.

“Ken-Please! Ah-‘ In that moment you didn’t know exactly what it was you were begging for, but you knew you just needed more. Your orgasm have never approached so strong before, your body tingling with excitement for the orgasm that was approaching. A smile on your fucked out face, a dry laugh interrupted by a moan. Fuck this was good.

Your manners never leaving you, even as you came on his fingers as he held you close, intense waves of pleasure wagging over your body as you shook. Even as your small frame trembled he didn’t stop, he wanted you to get the most out of how good you were feeling

“good girl” he kissed you head as your breathing started to slow, your chest heaving as you tried to suck in air. You can’t even remember the last time you had cum that hard - you don’t think you ever had.

Slowly pulling your head out of the crease of his neck, staring up at him with pure adoration in your eyes, it was enough for you to confess your love for him in that very moment. But it would be best to save that for later you thought.

“Im not finished with you yet love. Bend over this table and let me fix this leaking pussy of yours.” His voice was deep, laced with the lust that filled the air.

Without a second thought you comply, jumping down off the table, bending over. Soaked cunt on full display

Kento cursed himself mentally, it was going to be hard from holding himself back from splitting you in half. You were so good, too good. The way you listened so perfectly, and that look in your eyes after you came almost gave him a heart attack.

His warm hands tracing over the skin of your ass, kneading the plump skin between his hands. Relishing in the feeling of your perfectly soft skin. He couldn’t help and admire how perfect you looked for him.

You were practically quivering from excitement. You were so wet you were sure it was going to start leaking down your legs if ken didnt hurry up and fuck you. You let out a pathetic squeal as you heard the clinking of his belt as he finally freed himself

His throbbing cock standing tall as the rosy red tip leaked pre-cum, he didnt think he had ever been so hard before in his life. His cock begging to be shoved so deep inside of you it was making it hard for him to think straight.

You waited patiently as he lined himself up with your entrance, only to be disappointed to find he was just teasing you, he slowly drags himself through your wet fold, the stimulation wasn’t enough, but it still had you mewling for him like a bitch in heat.

Even nanami couldn’t take it much longer, watching your hips try and catch him, shuffling back in a silent beg for him to sheath himself inside you. Slowly, teasingly he slipped inside, only the first few inches. But I was enough to have you moaning out for him

“Fuck, More! Kentoooo.” You begged. It felt fucking amazing to finally have him inside, but you needed more and you weren’t feeling particularly patient about it. That delicious burn of the stretch of his girthy cock was only teasing you more. Your mind whirling with thoughts of him fucking you

Those thoughts soon silenced by a swift slap on your ass, leaving the skin blotting with shades of pink as you jolt forward at the sudden contact

“Oh? Where did your manners go pretty girl?” He smooths over the redden skin, admiring how good his handprint looked on your skin “or are you too full of cock to think?”

You’re whining underneath him now, who knew he could be so mean. You loved it. Your cock drunk brain only thinking about one thing as you tried to shimmy your hips back, forcing him further into you. Your hips stilled instantly when you recieved another slap to you ass.

“Shit! Sorry ken, please fuck me.” Much better kento thought to himself. You really needed it soon, your eyes brimming with tears that threatened to spill

The golden haired man was generous enough to oblige you more polite request, slipping inside you welcoming cunt even further, balls pressing against your hips when hes finally fully inside you.

The moan that he let out was absolutely guttural, lord you felt even better than he could’ve ever imagined. He hadn’t even moved yet and you were squeezing the life out of him. And that little noise you made, he was going to be thinking about that for weeks. The way you moan so sweetly for him when he finally gives you what you want. That was something he wanted to hear every fucking day

“Good girl” praise had never sounded better than when it came from nanami, that one comment had you whole body on fire. Your tits pressed up against the hard wood of the table, hard nipples tingling against your skin.

Finally he started moving, his thrusts slow and gentle at first, before he picked up his pace, brutally thrusting himself inside your welcoming walls. It felt like he was even deeper than before, like you could feel him in your throat, not that you were complaining of course.

“So slutty for me, begging me to come over when we both knew this is what you wanted all along.” He was rambling to himself, but you were hanging on every word “Not that I care, you could break every - fuck- every piece of furniture in this house and I’d come and fix it. Just to see your face.”

God what a man, how could he be so teasing, so dirty one second. To then hit you with a sentence that had your legs and heart melting for him.

His hand gripping at your hip, while the other snuck up your back, grabbing your hair and tugging at it lightly, raising your head from the table.

He pressed himself deep into you, “you like that sweetheart huh? You like it when im sweet to you?” His movement pausing, ordering your to give him an answer

“Y-yes- Oh Fuckkkk- ken I love it” youre quivering against him once more, the sensations of your previous orgasm still lingering, intensifying ever move the man behind you was making. He seemed pleased with you answer as his hips resumed their merciless thrusting. His bulbous tip hitting that spongey part deep inside your cunt. The one that had your eyes rolling into the back of your head, that familiar rising of another orgasm soon approaching

“Fuck you- haha- so perfect for me, so tight.” You were certain you might die if he kept talking to you like this, his rough voice travelling into your ears like honey. You could listen to him for hours.

“Wanted to f-fuck you for hours, but with the way your sweet little cunt is gripping me-“ hes cut off mid sentence to a deep groan. You little minx, you squeezed around him. A broken giggle leaving your lips before he fucked it away, replacing it with those moans he was so enjoying

“Fucking brat, should cum so deep in this pussy- Oh? Does my pretty girl like the sounds of that” that pathetic noise of your whimpers giving you away, shamelessly you nodded your head, you wanted nothing more than to have his cum leaking from your used hole.

You were surely going to be the death of him, so dirty. He knew he wasn’t going to last much longer, good because neither where you.

“Oh my- im gonna-“ You tried to get the words out, but you couldnt help but gasp as the pleasure of his cock stroking against your velvety walls

“Cum for me pretty girl.” He was fucking feral now, the noises coming for you pretty pussy, those squelches. You were fucking soaked, gripping him so tight. ”Fuck- need it, come on pretty”

It didn’t take much more than that, you were gushing all over him, juices overflowing around his cock. His eyes rolling back at the sight “Kento!” Was the only thing you could think to scream as you came.

Hips hips guiding you through the ride of your orgasm, not stopping even when your thighs were shaking. The grip he had on your hair tightening now as he chased his own orgasm. God he was amazing, almost too good. You couldn’t still yourself from the overstimulation. Squirming against him, mewling for mercy.

“I know baby, I know” he tried to soothe you, his balls tightening.

He came with a moan, your name more specifically. You had never heard anything better.

Hot spurts of cum coating your walls as his hips planted himself deep inside of your begging cunt.

You both stayed like that for a moment, his head drooping as he tried to compose himself, you panting against the table as your legs still shook.

When he was ready, he pulled out of you with a light gasp, helping you up as he carried you bridal style to your bedroom. Helping tuck you into bed after cleaning you both up

You both just lay there, basking in each other presence. His gentle kisses to your head and murmurs of sweet nothing lulled you off into one of the best sleeps of your life

You should’ve invited him over for dinner ages ago.

738 notes · View notes

monzabee · 1 month ago

Text

run for the hills – lh44 (+18)

masterlist ||

Summary: The one where fate decides to bring you back into Lewis’ life, making him question his belief in fate.

Pairing: lewis hamilton x rosberg!reader

Word Count: 9.3k

Warnings: cursing, crying, drinking and mentions of alcohol, mentions of brocedes (rip), kissing, unprotected sex (you shouldn’t be surprised at this point), oral (m receiving), hand kink, praise kink, minors dni!!

Request: “hey, Merry Christmas 🫶🏽 I was hoping I could request a Lewis smut fic where the reader is Nico Rosberg's sister (with a age gap of around 6-8 years with him and Lewis) and before 2016 they were just really close friends who just kissed once but chose to pretend it didn't happen. after years, they run into each other at a club or a party and they're pretty snappy at each other but there's a lot of tension too and they end up having sex where Lewis is really cocky and also the reader has a hand kink and praise kink? I'm so sorry if I made it too long, i love your writing <33” + “oooo please could i request something w lewis?! something gut wrenchingly angsty? sorry i don’t really have a plot in mind hhhh thank you heheh”

Author’s Note: hi, hey, hello!! HAPPY NEW YEAR, i started this fic last week and i honestly didn't think I'd finish it this quickly but here we are. don't let my words fool you, i got the request last christmas but if you know me then you know that i am not quick when it comes to working on requests (i'm working on this i promise), not that this fic is even remotely christmassy, but let’s just appreciate that it is supposed to be set during the holiday period lol. this was supposed to be a shorter one but here we are, lol, i'm not even surprised at my inability to keep things short at this point. i posted this fic and realised i forgot to copy and paste a big chunk of it so oh well. as always, feedback is appreciated, and i hope you guys enjoy! good morning, noon or night wherever you are, xoxobee

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms.

Lewis decided he doesn’t like cold a long time ago. That’s why, being the ever-decisive person he is, he chooses to spend his winter vacationing in places like the Maldives or Bali. His decisiveness is an important part of him, given what he does for a living. When he is on the track, in his car, there is no room for hesitation – he needs to be able to make split-second decisions under intense pressure, what’s not to love about that? So, once he decided he’d rather spend his time off basking in the sun rather than freezing to death somewhere else, he never looked back. He enjoys spending his time off in someplace tropical with his family, or without his family; most of the times away from the prying eyes and camera lenses of the media.

But this time, it’s different – he's alone.

Or rather, he thought he would be alone. The villa he rented out for the duration of the month is isolated, just how he likes it. He wakes up to the sound of waves crashing against the shore right outside his windows, and the distant chirping of tropical birds to accompany him as he lounges on the large deck, overlooking the infinite expanse of blue. There are no spectators around to gauge his reaction, try to get him to speak out about his plans for the next year when he moves to Ferrari, or what he’s going to do when he eventually retires one day. He hasn’t seen anyone from the racing world for weeks, and it’s been a much-needed break. He’d usually love to spend Christmas with his family, the only time he would ever tolerate the cold being when he is with his family, but this year he just wanted to get away on his own.

There is no one around that expect anything from him. Just peace.

He’s not a hermit, of course, but he enjoys spending his time by himself mostly isolated from all the other guests of the touristic area he’s staying in. The chef that works at the villa is on call for when Lewis decides that he wants to stay in for the night, the housekeeping staff come every morning to clean up around the house, then promptly leave, providing Lewis with the privacy he so desperately needs. But other than that, and a few nights spent outside in a restaurant or a club? He is all alone, and he is not complaining about it. Another thing about Lewis Hamilton is that he doesn’t believe in fate. He believes in setting and achieving goals; after all, that’s what he’s done all his life. His success isn’t some cosmic coincidence. It’s years of sacrifice by his parents, relentless effort, and unwavering determination. So, when things happen that feel serendipitous, like running into someone from his past, he doesn’t chalk it up to destiny. He chalks it up to the sheer unpredictability of life.

And yet, as he steps out of the villa to head to a nearby beach club after dinner, he doesn’t expect to run into you, especially not after how the things ended last time, but there you are. His eyes find you at the bar with some guy next to you – he has to do a double take. Just to make sure, he tells himself. But no matter how many times his attention reverts to you, he knows it’s you. Of course, it’s you. Though he’s not a believer in fate or destiny, or whatever you might want to call it, there you are – dressed in a flowy linen dress. His first instinct is to ask the server to seat him somewhere else so that he wouldn’t have stare at you and your ‘date’ for the night. His grip on the glass in his hand tightens momentarily, and he exhales slowly, forcing himself to look away. This is not the moment, he tells himself. It’s not his business, not anymore. But still, his gaze drifts back to you. You’re laughing at something the guy says, your head tilted slightly as you sip from your drink. He can’t hear your laughter, no – but what a sound that would be to hear, he thinks for a moment.

He knows he shouldn’t care who you’re with or what you’re doing; it’s been years since the two of you shared anything beyond... well anything, really. But something about seeing you here, in this place he thought was his private retreat from the world, feels like a twist of fate – or the kind of cosmic joke he claims not to believe in. But his eyes watch you as you throw you head back in a laugh and he can practically hear the sound in his head, his mind taking him to years ago when he used to be one of the people who got to hear it first hand; when he joined your family on karting days, or when you celebrated with him when he won a race, or even back to that one time when him and Nico were trying to drive those unicycles and you kept doubling over in laughter when they fell down – something your brother did not appreciate, but Lewis couldn’t help the smile that crept on his face as he watched you from the ground.

Somethings never change, he thinks, as he notices the smallest of smiles that has crept its way onto his face, quickly disappearing the moment he catches himself. He knows it shouldn’t matter to him – let alone bother him. But old habits die hard, and the sight of your smile, that easy laugh, stirs something in him that feels like both longing and a pang of annoyance. You’ve always had a way of getting under his skin. Back then, it was teasing remarks that somehow felt more genuine than any praise he received elsewhere. He catches himself glancing your way again, his jaw tightening when the guy beside you leans in a little too close. It’s irrational, this surge of jealousy that claws at his chest. He knows he has no right to feel this way, but that doesn’t stop it from burning through him. He looks down at his drink, willing himself to focus on anything but you. But memories have a way of sneaking up on him, unbidden. The days spent at karting tracks, the shared dinners with your family, the quiet moments when it was just the two of you, talking about everything and nothing at all. Back then, it was easy. Natural. Like you were two pieces of a puzzle that fit together perfectly, until you didn’t.

Just then, you glance over, your eyes scanning the room before they land on him. For a moment, everything stills. The laughter fades from your face, replaced by something unreadable. Surprise, maybe. Or recognition. His breath catches in his throat, and he curses himself for the way his chest tightens under your gaze. He watches as you excuse yourself, heading towards the restrooms, and he swears he has never gotten up so fast and walked so fast in his life. He doesn’t think, he just moves until he spots you in the hallway, queued behind some people waiting for the bathroom line. What kind of a club only has one bathroom? He thinks, but that’s not the point.

He clears his throat.

You turn, eyes widening in that familiar, guarded way. “Lewis.” Your lips open in shock as you glance behind him and then focus on him again, “Did- did you follow me here?”

“Were you on a date with that guy?” The words come out of his mouth before he can stop himself, his voice colder than he expects.

You blink, taken aback by the question. “Excuse me?”

He stands there, regretting the words as soon as they leave his mouth, but that doesn’t stop the irritation from creeping up his spine. His gaze flickers to the bar behind him, where the guy you were with is still talking to the bartender, oblivious to what’s going on. “I asked if you were on a date,” he repeats, a little sharper this time as he emphasises the last word.

You raise an eyebrow, the surprise on your face melting into something more guarded, a mix of disbelief and annoyance. “What if I was?” You cross your arms, your eyes narrowing. “Maybe I’m just out enjoying my night. Ever think of that?”

He feels a rush of heat in his chest. “It’s not like I care,” he mutters, though it’s clear from the edge in his voice that he does. “Just curious.”

You scoff, your lips curling into a sarcastic smile. “Sure, Lewis.”

“So?” He inquires, “Are you? On a date with that guy, I mean.”

You raise an eyebrow, clearly not amused. “Are you serious right now?” you snap, your arms tightening across your chest. “You’re standing here, in the middle of a hallway, asking me about my love life? What is this, high school?”

Lewis feels the heat rise in his neck, irritation mixing with a sense of frustration he doesn’t quite understand. “I’m not asking for your life story, just... just an answer. Is it that hard?” His voice is tight, but he doesn’t back down.

You scoff again, your lips curling into something between a smirk and a sneer. “You really think you can just waltz back in and start demanding answers like we’re still... You know what? Yes, Lewis, I’m on a date.” You throw a glance over your shoulder at the guy still sitting at the bar. “We met on the beach at the hotel I’m staying at, and I thought I’d let him treat me to a dinner and a couple of drinks before I’d let him fuck me six ways to Sunday.” You roll your eyes at someone on the queue gasping at your choice of words. “Not that it’s any of your business. Are you happy now?”

Lewis’s hand grips your wrist, a little too tight, and without warning, he’s tugging you away from the bar, his jaw clenched. “Come on,” he mutters, his tone low and urgent, as he steers you towards the back exit. You’re caught off guard, stumbling to keep up with his forceful pace, your heart hammering in your chest.

“What the hell, Lewis? Let go of me!” you snap, yanking your arm free once you're outside in the chill night air. The chill hits you like a slap, the heat of the club’s atmosphere fading behind you as the door slams shut.

“Seriously?” he spits, his eyes flashing with a mix of anger and frustration. “You’re gonna play it like that?”

You take a step back, crossing your arms over your chest. “I don’t know what game you're playing at, but I’m not interested. What the hell was that back there? Dragging me out like I’m some kind of... of property?”

He glares at you, his fists clenched at his sides. “You’re unbelievable.” His voice rises, sharp and cutting. “I ask you a simple question, and you throw that crap at me? What the hell did you think I was supposed to do? Just stand there and pretend like I didn’t care?”

You laugh bitterly, shaking your head. “Pretend like you don’t care? That’s rich coming from you. You don’t get to just waltz in, after all this time, and act like you can demand answers, Lewis. Like you have any right to know what’s going on in my life.”

“Your brother would be so disappointed in you right now.” His words hit you like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, the air between you two freezes. The breeze picks up, but the sudden silence makes the world feel too loud.

“You don’t get to talk about my brother,” you seethe, as Lewis's face hardens, his jaw tensing, but it’s the look in his eyes that hits hardest — it’s a mixture of hurt and fury, both so raw, you almost feel sorry for what you’ve just unleashed.

“What did you just say?” His voice is low, almost dangerously so, the words slipping through clenched teeth.

You swallow, but it doesn’t help the sharp edge in your voice. “You heard me. You don’t get to talk about him, you don’t get to fuck up my life and you don’t get to come back here acting like you still have any claim on me or my life.” You’re breathing heavily now, the anger and hurt mixing into a bitter cocktail that you can’t quite swallow – funnily enough, Lewis can smell the cocktail you had earlier. “You left. You made your choice, Lewis. And now you don’t get to barge back in and pretend like I owe you anything.”

Lewis stands in front of you, his chest rising and falling with each breath. His eyes are dark, his jaw tight as he processes your words. He doesn’t know when the two of you got closer together, he can practically feel the anger radiating off you, “You think I don’t know that?” he spits, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “You think I don’t know what I did?” His voice cracks slightly, the vulnerability slipping out before he can stop it. “I fucked up, alright? I fucked up more than you’ll ever understand. We all did – me, Nico, you.”

“You don’t get to make me feel guilty about this, Lewis. You don’t get to act like I’m the one who fucked everything up.” Your voice shakes, but you keep going, the words coming faster, more bitter. “You kissed me and called it an ‘accident’, a fluke. You fought with Nico every chance you got. I had to pick up the pieces on my own.”

Lewis flinches at your words, but his anger doesn’t dissipate—if anything, it only sharpens. His hands remain balled into fists at his sides, but there’s something else behind his eyes now, something raw, something almost desperate. “We wouldn’t have worked out,” he mutters, it’s something that he said to himself time and time again to convince himself of it, “I am– was your brother’s friend, you–”

“You were my friend, too!” You exclaim, your hands swatting at his arms, chest – anywhere you can reach. “You left me, as if I meant nothing to you! You stole my first kiss and shattered my life to pieces on the same day!” You manage to get in some good hits despite Lewis’ attempts to calm you down, and the lump in your throat makes it harder for you to continue talking, “Do you know how many times I wondered if you kissed me just to piss Nico off? Do you know how that feels?”

“What?” He asks, his voice low. Each hit, each accusation, it stings. But nothing hits harder than the raw emotion in your eyes – hurt, betrayal, and the weight of everything he left behind. He opens his mouth to speak, but the words catch in his throat. “You think I kissed you to get at Nico?” he says finally, his voice quieter now but no less intense. There’s an edge of disbelief, of hurt, as if the idea itself cuts deeper than your accusations. “Do you really think so little of me?”

You cross your arms tightly over your chest, holding yourself together in the face of his raw honesty. “I don’t know what to think, Lewis. What was I supposed to think back then? You shut me out. You made me feel like it never happened – like I never happened.”

“You were twenty-three years old,” he points out, “our age difference–”

“Oh please,” you scoff, pushing at his chest one last time, “you’ve fucked girls younger than that.”

Lewis flinches at your words, as if they’ve struck a nerve he didn’t even know was exposed. His jaw tightens, and for a moment, he doesn’t say anything. “You don’t get to throw that in my face,” he finally says, his voice low and clipped, tinged with a kind of frustration that feels different from before.

“Why?” You ask, head cocked to the side. “I can’t comment on you fucking other people, but you can question my actions because I want to fuck–”

“Say ‘fuck’ one more time and I swear I’ll–”

“—what, Lewis?” you snap, cutting him off before he can finish his threat. “You’ll what? Walk away again? Pretend this conversation never happened, just like you did last time?”

His jaw clenches, the muscles in his face tightening as he tries to rein in his emotions. “Don’t push me,” he warns, his voice low and taut, but there’s no real menace in it—only desperation.

“Oh, I’m pushing?” You laugh bitterly, throwing your hands up. “I’m the one pushing? You’re the one who showed up here, dredging up every memory I’ve spent years trying to bury. Don’t you dare put this on me, Lewis.”

“You think this is easy for me?” he shoots back, his voice rising. “You think I don’t hate myself for what I did? For what I didn’t do? I’ve lived with this every single day, and you—”

“Fuck you!” you shout, stepping closer, your finger jabbing into his chest. “Fuck you, fuck you, fuck–”

His hands shoot up, grabbing your wrists – not harshly, but firmly enough to stop your movements. You don’t even fully register how quickly he pushes you against the wall, “You think I ran off and lived some perfect life?” he hisses, his face inches from yours as he inhales deeply. “You think I didn’t miss you every goddamn day? You think I didn’t lie awake at night, wishing I’d had the guts to ask you to stay?”

His words hit you like a tidal wave, the rawness in his voice leaving you momentarily speechless. For a moment, the anger in his eyes softens, replaced by something else – something that feels far too close to the hope you’ve been trying to suppress. “Well... yeah.” You inwardly cringe how your voice sounds so weak, but Lewis tilts your chin back to make you look at him.

“Is that so?” He mumbles, thumb caressing your chin as his eyes hungrily take in how your chest moves with each deep breath your inhale and exhale.

Your breath hitches as his thumb lingers, his gaze dropping to your lips like he’s fighting every instinct to close the distance between you. “Lewis...” you start, but his name comes out softer than you intend, more of a plea than the warning you meant it to be.

“What?” he murmurs, his voice low and dangerous, but there’s a softness to it, an undercurrent of vulnerability that sends your heart racing. “What do you want me to do, huh? Walk away again? Because I can’t. Not this time.”

You shake your head slightly, but his grip on your chin keeps you from fully looking away. “I don’t know what I want,” you admit, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. “I don’t even know how to feel about you anymore.”

His eyes darken, and his jaw tightens, but he doesn’t let go. Instead, he leans in, his forehead almost brushing yours. “Then let me remind you,” he says, his voice a low rasp.

Your pulse quickens, every nerve in your body screaming at you to push him away – or pull him closer and he tension between you is suffocating. “Don’t,” you whisper, but your voice wavers, betraying the battle waging inside you.

“Don’t what?” he asks, his lips hovering dangerously close to yours. “Don’t do this?” You don’t answer, your throat too tight, your mind too clouded with memories, anger, and something else you’re not ready to name. He waits, his breath mingling with yours, his patience stretching thin. “Say the word,” he whispers, his voice rough with restraint. “Tell me to stop, and I will. I will let you go back and take him back to your room and do whatever you want.”

But you don’t say it. You can’t. Because as much as you hate him, as much as you want to scream at him, cry, and push him away... you also want this. Want him.

And Lewis knows it.

His hand releases your wrist, sliding down to your waist as his other hand stays on your chin, tilting your face toward him. The kiss that follows isn’t soft, isn’t sweet – it’s desperate, raw, and filled with years of unspoken words. It’s anger and longing, heartbreak, and desire, all crashing together in a way that steals your breath and sends your heart into overdrive. A softer kiss might have been what you wanted, but Lewis knows this is what you need. His body presses against yours, and your hands instinctively find his shoulders, clinging to him as if letting go would leave you falling apart. His lips are warm and insistent, the taste of him intoxicating. Every move, every touch, feels like he’s trying to make up for everything he never said, everything he left behind.

The kiss deepens, each second unravelling more of the carefully constructed armour you’ve built around your heart. His fingers grip your waist tighter, grounding you even as everything else feels like it’s spinning. You can feel the heat radiating off him with every press of his body against yours. Your mind screams at you to stop, to think, to pull away before you lose yourself completely – but your body betrays you. The years of hurt, anger, and confusion dissolve into the fire burning between you, ignited by a kiss that’s as much a battle as it is a surrender.

Lewis pulls back just enough to let you breathe, his lips still hovering close, his forehead resting against yours. His breath is hot against your skin, his voice low and rough when he finally speaks. “You still want to go back and fuck your little lover boy?”

“Who?” You mumble, breathless as a result of the kiss as your eyes become heavy with something you can’t quite describe.

Lewis smirks, a glint of triumph flashing in his dark eyes. "Exactly," he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your waist in slow, deliberate circles. His confidence is maddening, but the heat between you makes it impossible to summon the indignation you’d usually feel.

You try to muster a response, something sharp and cutting to put him back in his place, but the way his gaze drops to your lips again makes the words dissolve before they even form. “Don’t do that,” you manage, though your voice lacks the conviction you intended.

“Do what?” he asks innocently, though the rasp in his tone betrays his intent.

“Act like this changes everything.”

His smirk falters, replaced by a seriousness that roots you in place. “It doesn’t change everything,” he admits, his voice quieter now, almost tender. “But it changes something. Doesn’t it?”

Your heart pounds against your ribs as his words sink in. You hate how easily he disarms you, how effortlessly he pulls you back into his orbit no matter how much you’ve tried to escape it. But deep down, you know he’s right. “I hate you,” you whisper, though even you can hear the weakness in your words.

“I know,” he replies, his hand moving to cup your cheek, his thumb tracing your skin like he’s memorizing every inch of you. “And I hate myself for making you feel that way.”

The sincerity in his voice cuts through the haze, making your chest tighten. But before you can think about it, you find yourself tugging on the collar of his unbuttoned shirt, pulling him closer to yourself as you mumble, “Kiss me again.”

Your hands, which moments ago were pushing him away, now find their way into his hair, pulling him closer, as if to anchor yourself in the storm he’s unleashed within you. Lewis doesn’t hold back. His grip tightens on your waist, pulling you flush against him, the wall at your back the only thing keeping you steady. The kiss deepens, his lips moving against yours with an intensity that borders on desperation, as though he’s afraid this moment might slip through his fingers if he doesn’t hold on tight enough. When the need for air becomes undeniable, he pulls back just enough to look at you, his forehead resting against yours. Both of you are breathing heavily, the space between you charged with everything unsaid. “Tell me you didn’t feel that,” he says, his voice hoarse, his thumb brushing against your cheek.

You can’t answer right away, your heart hammering so loudly in your chest it drowns out any coherent thought. But eventually, you manage to find your voice. “I hate you,” you whisper, but there’s no conviction behind the words. They sound hollow, even to your own ears.

He lets out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “No, you don’t.”

“Don’t tell me how I feel,” you snap, but the edge in your voice falters.

“I’m not,” he murmurs, his gaze unwavering. “I’m telling you what I see. And I see you... still here. Still looking at me like that.” His hand trails down to your hip, his touch light but grounding. “If you hated me, you would’ve walked away by now.”

You close your eyes, willing yourself to regain some semblance of control, but it’s impossible with him standing this close, his presence overwhelming. “This doesn’t change anything,” you say, though it feels more like you’re trying to convince yourself than him.

“Maybe not,” he concedes, his voice softer now. “But it’s a start.” You don’t say anything to agree or refute his statement, and after a brief pause, he straightens, fixies your dress and tries to fix your hair as well. “Come on,” he says, “I’ll take you back.”

“But, my bag,” you mutter, pushing out your lower lip in a pout when you realise your bag is on the floor. Lewis has to restrain himself when he sees your lips all puffed up because of him. Your voice is whiny, and he realises you’re slurring your words a little bit when you tug on his shirt, “I don’t wanna leave my bag here.”

Lewis looks at you for a moment, his expression softening as he reaches up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers brushing against your skin with the same tenderness he’s shown all night despite all your fighting. With a soft exhale, Lewis bends down to pick up your bag, holding it out to you with the same quiet care. “Don’t make that face,” he murmurs, his voice teasing but laced with something tender. “You really wanna go back to that room, after everything that just happened?”

You look at him, a mix of confusion and desire swirling inside you. “I don’t know what I want,” you admit, the honesty slipping out before you can stop it. The words feel raw, vulnerable, but there’s something about his presence, the way he’s here, still so close, that makes you feel safe enough to say it.

Lewis doesn’t say anything right away. Instead, his eyes soften, his thumb grazing the strap of your bag as he watches you closely, as though he’s searching for something in your expression. Finally, he steps closer again, the space between you narrowing once more. “I get it,” he says quietly. “But I’m not letting you go home alone tonight.”

The words send a shiver down your spine. You want to protest, to push him away, but there’s something in his gaze, the way he’s looking at you now, that makes you second-guess everything you thought you wanted. You hesitate for a moment longer, the weight of your thoughts heavy in the air, but the pull between you is undeniable. It’s the kind of pull that’s magnetic, that doesn’t let you escape even when you try to resist.

Finally, you nod, the decision feeling both like a surrender and a choice you can’t take back. “Okay,” you murmur, your voice barely audible. “Take me back, then.”

You don’t even remember getting into his car, but you do remember the smug look he shot at your date – Carl, you think – when he helped you through the club with a firm hand on your back. The villa Lewis rented for his little getaway is entirely what you expect it to be – modern, grand, and secluded enough so no one uninvited would know he is there and bother him. The couch in the living room looks way too inviting and you make a mental note to avoid it for now. Sitting on it might make this whole situation feel too real, too comfortable, and you’re not ready for that. You glance around the space instead, taking in the clean lines of the modern furniture, the polished wood floors, and the sprawling windows that offer an unobstructed view of the moonlit ocean. You walk towards the windows, eyes taking in the view from inside the villa. The ocean stretches out endlessly before you, its surface shimmering under the moonlight. The soft sound of the waves crashing against the shore is faintly audible even through the glass, a gentle hum that seems to echo the turmoil in your chest.

You wrap your arms around yourself, partly to steady your nerves and partly to shield yourself from the vulnerability creeping up on you. The view is breathtaking, but it does little to quiet the storm of emotions swirling inside you. You faintly hear Lewis calling out your name, but as if you are in a trance, you can’t take your eyes off the view in front of you. His voice calls out to you again, softer this time, closer. “Hey,” he says, and you feel the warmth of his presence before you even see him. Lewis’s reflection appears in the glass, his dark eyes fixed on you as he stands just behind you.

You finally tear your gaze away from the ocean and turn to face him, your arms still wrapped protectively around yourself. “It’s beautiful,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking louder might shatter the fragile moment.

Lewis nods, his expression unreadable as he follows your gaze back to the window. “It is,” he agrees, but there’s a weight to his tone, as if he’s not just talking about the view. His eyes flicker back to you, searching your face. “But it doesn’t seem like it’s helping much.”

You let out a shaky laugh, more to fill the silence than anything else. “It’s not that simple, Lewis.”

“Nothing ever is,” he replies, stepping closer until there’s only a breath of space between you. “But I’m here. You don’t have to deal with whatever this is alone.”

The sincerity in his voice makes your chest tighten, and for a moment, you let yourself lean into it. “I don’t know what to do with you,” you admit, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. “With... us.”

He exhales deeply, his hand lifting as though he wants to touch you but hesitates. “You don’t have to figure that out right now,” he says, his voice steady. “I just want to make sure you’re okay tonight. That’s all that matters to me.”

Something about his words, his presence, eases the knot in your chest, if only slightly. “I don’t even know where to start,” you murmur, more to yourself than him.

“Then don’t,” he says simply, his voice carrying a quiet reassurance. “Just be here. With me.”

You look up at him, your eyes searching his face for any sign of pretense or ulterior motives, but all you see is the same man who’s managed to undo you with a single glance. “Show me your room.”

“We don’t have to do that.” His eyebrows furrow as he reaches for your cheek, “That not why I brought you here.”

“Isn’t it?” You try to joke, but his deep sigh is a sign of his disapproval. “I know that’s not why you brought me here, but it can be one of the reasons you brought me here.”

“Can it?” He drawls, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“For God’s sake, Lewis.” You sigh, turning your body towards the man standing next to you. “Do I need to beg you for you to fuck me?”

Lewis’s smirk falters, his expression shifting into something deeper, darker, but undeniably tender. “Don’t,” he murmurs, his voice low and edged with restraint as he steps closer. His hand comes up to cradle your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “You don’t need to beg me for anything. Not now, not ever.”

The intensity in his gaze makes your breath catch, and for a moment, the air between you feels electric. “Then fuck me,” you whisper, your voice trembling with equal parts frustration and desire. “If you want me, show me.”

He closes his eyes briefly, like he’s steadying himself, and when he opens them again, the resolve in his expression takes your breath away. “You think I don’t want you?” he asks, his tone low but firm. “You don’t know how hard it is to hold back, to stop myself from–” He cuts himself off, his jaw tightening as if even admitting it is too much. He reaches for one of your hands, freeing from your hold and places it on his crotch. “See what you do to me?”

The crude act manages to steal a gasp from you, your eyes widening at how hard he already is. “Lewis,” you mutter, he responds with an affirmative hum, “show me your bedroom.”

He takes your hand, his grip firm but careful, and leads you down a sleek hallway. The sound of your heels clicking against the polished wood floor echoes softly, a counterpoint to the pounding of your heart. When he pushes open the door to his bedroom, you’re momentarily distracted by how much the space reflects him. The massive bed dominates the room, its crisp white sheets and plush pillows inviting. Floor-to-ceiling windows let in the silver glow of the moon, casting the room in a soft, ethereal light. The massive bed dominates the room, its crisp white sheets and plush pillows inviting. Floor-to-ceiling windows let in the silver glow of the moon, casting the room in a soft light.

You walk towards the centre of the room, the corner of your lip trapped between your teeth as you glance at Lewis over your shoulder before you run towards the bed and throw yourself onto the soft bedding. Lewis watches you with an amused smirk as you sprawl across the bed, your carefree motion starkly contrasting the simmering tension in the air. “Comfortable, baby?” he asks, his tone teasing, but the heat in his eyes betrays his calm façade.

You prop yourself up on your elbows, giving him a challenging look. “Very.” Then you narrow your eyes at him, “But don’t call me baby, I am not your baby.”

He chuckles, low and throaty, as he steps closer, loosening the top button of his shirt with a deliberate slowness that sends a shiver down your spine. “No?” he muses, stopping at the edge of the bed. His eyes roam over you, drinking in every detail as if committing you to memory.

Your breath hitches when he leans over, placing a hand on either side of your body, effectively caging you in. His face is so close to yours now that you can feel the warmth of his breath. “I like seeing you like this,” he admits, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. “Relaxed, it suits you.”

A flush creeps up your neck at his words, but you refuse to let him have the upper hand completely. Your fingers trail up his chest, over the defined planes of his torso, and then slide beneath the open collar of his shirt. “I could say the same about you,” you reply, your voice soft but loaded with meaning.

His response is immediate. His lips crash against yours with a fervour that steals your breath, his hands gripping your waist as he pulls you flush against him. The kiss is raw and consuming, years of tension and unspoken words pouring into the connection. When he pulls back, his forehead resting against yours, his breathing ragged, he looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters. “You have no idea what you do to me,” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire.

You smile, your hands slipping down to the waistband of his pants. “Why don’t you show me?”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. In one smooth motion, he lifts you, your legs wrapping instinctively around his waist as he carries you to the centre of the bed. He chuckles at the sound of your giggling, as he carefully lays you back down on the soft bed. His fingers work diligently to get you out of your dress, pulling the linen garment over your head as Lewis lets his eyes hungrily take you in. When your dress finally falls away, leaving you in nothing but lace and skin, Lewis takes a slow breath, his eyes scanning over your body with a mixture of awe and hunger. “You’re incredible,” he murmurs, his voice thick with admiration. His fingers trace the curve of your waist, his touch sending shivers of desire through your body.

You arch slightly into his touch, your breath coming faster, and you meet his gaze with a challenge in your eyes. “Are you going to just gawk at me, or are you going to actually do something?”

He smirks, a flash of cockiness in his eyes. “Patience,” he teases, but there’s no mistaking the hunger in his voice as he lowers himself over you. With one hand bracing himself above you, his other hand slides down between your bodies, his fingers brushing against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. His touch is slow, almost teasing, and you can’t help the soft moan that escapes your lips as his fingers inch closer to where you need him most. “You like this?” he asks, his voice low and gravelly, his lips just inches from yours. His fingers find the lace of your underwear, his touch deliberate as he pulls it aside and slips a finger inside you, making you gasp. “You’re fucking perfect,” he groans, his lips crashing against yours as he deepens the kiss, his finger working inside you with a slow, steady rhythm. You can feel the heat building between you, the tension in the room thickening with every passing second.

“Don- don’t say ‘fuck’, Lewis,” you tease him with a small smirk as your breathing becomes deeper, “it’s unbecoming.”

“You’ll see who will be coming in a few minutes, baby.” He chuckles at the way your expression changes at the mention of the word, his fingers moving in deeper as your let out a disapproving moan, “What? You don’t like it when I call you that?”

With another dissenting hum and a raise of your hips to meet his hand, you let out a long exhale. “I’m not your baby Lewis, stop calling me that.” With the patience that only he can tolerate, he continues the leisurely movements of his fingers. “I want more, please.”

Lewis tuts at your words softly, chuckling as he takes in your reactions. “I think you have a very important decision to make here,” he murmurs, his eyes suddenly painted with something more serious, “because once I fuck you, I’m not letting you go.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” The words come out choppy as your breathing gets more erratic, his fingers stubbornly keeping to the slow rhythm he’s set.

Lewis's gaze sharpens, the challenge in your tone sparking a flame in his dark eyes. “Oh, you’ll see it, alright,” he murmurs, his voice a velvety promise as his hand withdraws briefly, leaving you breathless and aching. Before you can protest, he moves with deliberate precision, tugging his shirt over his head and revealing the expanse of his chest – sculpted, strong, and utterly captivating. “Get on your hands and knees.”

The command leaves no room for debate, his voice firm but laden with heat. Your heart skips a beat as you meet his gaze, a mixture of defiance and curiosity flickering in your expression. “Bold of you to assume I'll listen,” you quip, though the slight tremor in your voice betrays your anticipation.

Lewis smirks, leaning down until his lips brush the shell of your ear. “Oh, you'll listen,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin. “Because you know exactly how patient I can be, but the same can’t be said for you.”

A shiver runs through you at his words, and before you realize it, you’ve complied, shifting onto your hands and knees in the centre of the bed. You can practically feel his gaze on you, then all of a sudden, you can actually feel him behind you, the bed dipping slightly under his weight as he moves closer. “Good girl,” he says softly, his voice rich with approval, and the way your body reacts to the praise is almost embarrassing. “Oh, my beautiful darling.” His hands skim over your back, tracing the curve of your spine before settling on your hips. The grip is firm, possessive, sending a thrill through you.

The sounds of him taking himself out of his trousers and pumping cock in his hand is pure debauchery, yet you find yourself pushing your hips back against his thighs. Lewis's low chuckle reverberates through you, a sound full of confidence and desire. His hand tightens on your hips, steadying you as he leans in, his chest brushing against your back. The heat of his skin against yours makes you arch into him instinctively, earning another throaty laugh from him. “You're eager,” he teases, his voice dark and dripping with amusement. “I like you like this.”

You bite your lip to suppress the needy sound threatening to escape, refusing to give him the satisfaction. “Maybe you're just slow,” you retort breathlessly, glancing back at him over your shoulder, a challenging look in your eyes.

Lewis growls low in his throat, his hands sliding across your back. “Careful,” he warns, though there's a glint of amusement in his dark eyes. “Push me too far, and I won't be nice.” Your breath catches at his words, but before you can form a response, you feel him guiding himself to your entrance, teasingly dragging against you. The deliberate slowness makes your frustration peak, and you push your hips back, a wordless plea for him to stop teasing.

“Patience, darling,” he murmurs, his voice a husky promise. But even as he says it, he shifts forward, entering you with a deliberate motion that steals the breath from your lungs.

The sensation is overwhelming, every nerve in your body alight as he holds still for a moment, letting you adjust. “Lewis,” you breathe, your voice shaky with need.

His hands gently caress over the skin of your back and hips, soothing over the sharp feeling of Lewis easing himself into you in small movements of his hips. “You’re doing so well,” he shushes your whiny moans, his hands tracing your sides, grounding you. “You feel perfect, we’re almost there, darling.”

“A-almost?” Your voice cuts his words off, voice shaky with need, “It’s not going to fit, Lewis, I can’t-”

He leans over you, his lips pressing tender kisses along your spine, each one sending a ripple of warmth through you. His voice is a soothing murmur in your ear. “Relax for me, darling. Let me take care of you.” Your breathing steadies under his touch, the initial sting giving way to a fullness that leaves you breathless as he pushes himself fully into you. You arch your back slightly, pressing into him as his hands continue their gentle exploration of your body. The tenderness in his actions contrasts with the raw desire in his voice, creating a heady mix that leaves you yearning for more. “That's it,” he praises, his tone soft but laced with heat. “You’re incredible. See? We made it fit.”

“I feel so full.” You manage to let out, voice whiny as the moan is ripped from the back of your throat. “It feels so good, Lewis.”

He begins to move, a slow, steady rhythm that builds gradually, allowing you to feel every inch of him. The friction ignites a fire within you, and you can’t help the soft moans that escape your lips, each sound spurring him on. His grip on your hips tightens, his pace increasing as he finds the perfect rhythm, each thrust sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. “You feel so good,” he groans, his voice low and thick with desire. His hand slides up your spine, tangling in your hair as he pulls you back slightly, his lips brushing against your ear. “You’re mine, you know that? Only mine.”

The moan that comes from you is dissenting, causing Lewis to slide his hand down your throat to use the leverage to pull you up on your knees, pressed against his chest. “No,” you say, hands extending backwards to keep holding onto him in an attempt to keep up with the rhythm in which he is fucking you now.

His words send a shiver down your spine, the possessiveness in his tone igniting something primal within you. “Say it,” he commands, his voice rough as his movements grow more urgent. “Say you're mine.”

Your breaths are shallow, punctuated by soft whimpers as you cling to him, trying to keep pace with his movements. The way he pulls you against him, his hand firm on your throat, sends a jolt of heat through your core. His hand is firm around your throat, but not uncomfortable to the point that you can’t breathe.

“I’m not yours,” you gasp defiantly, your voice trembling with every move he makes.

Lewis growls low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your back as his hand tightens slightly around your neck—not enough to hurt, but enough to keep you in place. “We’ll see about that,” he says darkly.

His hips snap against you harder now, his rhythm relentless as if determined to prove you wrong. The overwhelming sensation leaves you gasping, your fingers clutching at his forearm for balance. His free hand slides down your body, gripping your waist to hold you steady as he drives deeper, each thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure through you.

“Still not mine?” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear. His tone is equal parts teasing and commanding, daring you to resist him. “Still think someone else can fuck you better than I can?” You bite your lip, trying to stifle the moans spilling from you, but the way he moves, the way he claims you, has you crumbling. “Say it,” he repeats, his voice a low growl that echoes through your very core.

Torn between defiance and surrender, you meet his challenge with a shaky breath. “I’m-” you begin, but he cuts you off with a particularly deep thrust that has you crying out his name instead.

“Hmm?” Lewis chuckles darkly, clearly enjoying your struggle. His grip on your neck softens slightly as his fingers trace the column of your throat in a soothing gesture. “Come on, baby, just say it.”

“I’m-” The word catches in your throat as he shifts slightly, the angle of his hips hitting a spot that sends a jolt of pleasure through you. A broken moan escapes your lips instead, and Lewis smirks against your ear, clearly revelling in your unravelling.

“Say it,” he demands again, his voice low and demanding. His hand slides from your throat to your jaw, turning your face just enough that his lips can brush against the corner of your mouth. The gentleness of the gesture is at odds with the raw intensity of his movements, leaving you breathless.

“I’m yours,” you finally gasp, the words tumbling out in a mix of desperation and surrender.

Lewis freezes for a heartbeat, his chest heaving against your back as the admission settles between you. Then, with a triumphant growl, he resumes his pace, his grip on you tightening as if he intends to imprint himself into every fibber of your being.

“That’s my girl,” he murmurs, his voice thick with satisfaction. His lips trail along your shoulder, leaving a path of heat in their wake. “Say it again.”

“Yours,” you whisper, the word coming easier this time, though the weight of it still sends a shiver through you.

His rhythm grows more urgent, his body moving with a single-minded purpose as he pushes you both toward the edge. “Never forget it,” he groans, his voice rough and ragged, “now come for me.” You blame the singular cocktail you had three or so hours ago for your compliance to his words, as you feel the wave of pleasure crash over you, obliterating any coherent thought. Your body trembles uncontrollably in his arms, your cries of release echoing in the room as he whispers sweet words of praise in your ear.

There are a million other things Lewis expects you to say, but you surprise him with a, “I wanna taste you.”

Lewis's movements still, his breath catching at your unexpected words. He pulls back slightly, his dark eyes locking with yours, filled with surprise and a flicker of intrigue. A slow, mischievous grin spreads across his face. “Oh, is that so?” he murmurs, his voice tinged with amusement and undeniable heat.

You nod, your cheeks flushing under his intense gaze, but there’s a spark of confidence in your eyes. “I really do,” you say softly, the tremble in your voice betraying both your boldness and your eagerness.

He studies you for a moment longer, his expression shifting to one of reverence laced with desire. "Well," he says, his voice low and gravelly, "who am I to deny you, darling?" With a gentleness that contrasts the fervour of moments ago, Lewis guides you to sit up, his hands warm and steady as they support you. He shifts to the edge of the bed, leaning back slightly, giving you room and letting you take control. His gaze never leaves you, his dark eyes glinting with anticipation. You settle between his thighs, your hands skimming over his skin, marvelling at the way his muscles tense under your touch. There's a sense of power in the way his body responds to you, in the way his breathing hitches when your lips brush against him. You look up at him, meeting his gaze with a small smile before leaning in. The moment your mouth closes around him, Lewis groans low in his throat, his head falling back as his control begins to slip. His hands find their way to your hair, his touch gentle but firm as he guides you, his breaths coming in shallow gasps. “Just like that,” he praises, his voice rough with pleasure. “You’re perfect, baby.”

The sound of his voice, the way he says your name like it’s the only thing that matters, spurs you on, and you lose yourself in the moment, intent on unravelling him the way he did you. Your lips move with deliberate intent, your tongue tracing teasing paths that have him groaning your name like a prayer. His fingers tighten in your hair, a gentle tug that makes you glance up at him through your lashes. The sight of him – head tilted back, his lips parted as he struggles for breath, sends a thrill through you.

“God, you’re incredible,” he murmurs, his voice ragged and filled with awe. His eyes find yours, and the intensity of his gaze makes your pulse quicken. “You have no idea what you do to me.” Encouraged by his reaction, you take him deeper, your hands gripping his thighs to steady yourself. The sound he makes is primal, his control slipping further as his hips jerk involuntarily. He tries to hold himself back, but you can tell he’s close to losing himself completely. “Baby,” Lewis rasps, his voice thick with need, “you keep that up, and I won’t last.” You hum around him in response, the vibration pulling another groan from his lips. His hand slips from your hair to cup your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek in a tender contrast to the raw passion between you. “Look at me,” he whispers, his tone almost pleading.

You meet his gaze, and the connection between you feels electric. His chest heaves as his breaths come in quick, shallow bursts, his control hanging by a thread. “I’m so close,” he warns, his voice a low growl. “Do you want me to stop?” The shake of your head is all the answer he needs. With a curse under his breath, he lets go, his body shuddering as he gives himself over to the waves of pleasure crashing through him. He holds your gaze the entire time, his grip on you tightening as if anchoring himself to the moment.

When he calms down, he collapses back against the bed, his chest rising and falling with deep, uneven breaths. You sit back after swallowing, a triumphant smile playing on your lips as you take in the sight of him, utterly undone. “That was fun,” you rasp as you take in the sight in front of you.

Lewis chuckles softly, the sound low and breathless, as he drapes an arm over his face, trying to regain his composure. “Fun?” he repeats, his voice laced with amusement and lingering satisfaction. He peeks at you from under his arm, his dark eyes glinting with a mixture of adoration and disbelief. “You’ve got no idea what you just did to me.”

You tilt your head, feigning innocence as you crawl up the bed to lie beside him. “I think I’ve got a pretty good idea,” you tease, your voice light but with a hint of pride.

He turns toward you, propping himself up on one elbow, his free hand reaching out to trace lazy circles along your arm. “You’re dangerous,” he murmurs, his tone soft yet filled with a reverence that makes your cheeks flush. “And I’m completely at your mercy.”

You laugh, the sound light and genuine, as you nuzzle into his touch. “I think you like it that way,” you reply, your fingers grazing over his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your touch.

“More than you know,” he admits, leaning in to press a lingering kiss to your temple. The tender gesture contrasts with the raw intensity you’d just shared, and it sends a warm flutter through your chest.

For a moment, silence falls between you, the only sound the soft rustling of the sheets and the slowing rhythm of his breathing. Then Lewis shifts, his arm slipping around your waist to pull you closer. “You know,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your hair, “I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you.”

The weight of his words settles over you, and you glance up at him, your heart skipping a beat at the sincerity in his gaze. “Good,” you whisper, a small smile tugging at your lips.

He smiles back, a look of pure contentment spreading across his face as he tightens his hold on you. “That’s all I get?”

“We’ll see how you feel after we get home,” you mumble as you run a finger along the curve of his jaw, “you might be bored of me by then.”

“Home,” Lewis muses quietly, breaking the silence and ignoring your words. His voice is softer now, contemplative. “I like the sound of that.”

You glance up at him, his face so close that you can see the faintest hint of vulnerability in his expression. It stirs something deep within you – a mix of tenderness and longing that takes you by surprise.

“Yeah,” you murmur, leaning in to brush your lips against his. “Me too.”

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myownwholewildworld · 1 month ago

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DARKEST DESIRES ― a Boston QZ!Joel oneshot

main masterlist | ao3 pairing: Boston QZ!Joel x f!reader. summary: you promised Joel something he's been thirsting after for a while ― your ass. so you decide to make good on said promise. a/n: am i sick? probably. undoubtedly, really. this is a sequel to A Dark Summon, but it can totally be read independently. this was prompted by this kind ask (love you, nonnie). also, do you remember that post about frankie morales saying "big stretch"? WELL, YEAH (sorry, meant to tag it but i lost it!). anyways, please heed the warnings! comments and reblogs appreciated to keep the thots thotting <3 take care! x warnings: 18+, mdni. sexual roleplay (cnc). mind the hefty age gap (reader is 19, joel is 56, oopsie). pet names (kiddo, daddy's girl, little girl, etc). sir/daddy kink. dom!joel, sub!reader (possibly some ddlg dynamics). slut shaming. unprotected piv. squirting. sleepy blowjob (consensual somno). breath play. sex toys (dildo, butt plug). mention of rimming. joel (the birthday boy) fucks your virginal ass, anal sex (faked painal). reader is a blank slate with no backstory, has hair. dual pov. no use of y/n. w/c: ~5.4k. divider by @\cafekitsune

You were so nervous, your hands were shaking with excitement.

Living in Boston’s QZ was not easy, and trading was even worse. Because you were young―just turned nineteen a couple of months ago―dealers tried to take advantage of you, asking for more than they would to other people. But you were smart and the moment you learnt that dropping Joel’s name in conversation would actually give you a discount, you used that tactic frequently.

Most people in Boston were too preoccupied with life to be gossiping about the age difference between Joel and you, but there were some that would scan you from head to toe several times with disdain. Some with jealousy, others with horror.

“She’s too young, could be his daughter.”

“He’s too old, bet he can’t keep up with her.”

“She’s too young, it’s indecent.”

“He’s too old, I’m sure that little girl can’t satisfy him like I would.”

“She’s too young, no wonder why she’s always cheating on him.”

“He’s too old, I don’t know what he’s seen in her.”

You had heard it all. And you couldn’t care less. Joel, on the other hand, was a bit more sensitive when people criticized you ― like a guard dog protecting its prey. The relationship between the two of you was private, except for the times that you would hook up with a random guy in an alley with Joel attentively spying on you from the shadows.

He liked to watch, and you liked being watched. In your eyes, it was a match made in heaven. It never went further than a hand job, and you never let them touch your pussy ― Joel was extremely possessive of her. He enjoyed the look on their stupid faces whenever you pulled away, leaving them dumbfounded in the brink of an orgasm, and you would run to him, all giddy and ready to finish him off right there and then.

It was lewd, obscene, but you loved it. And so did he. Joel had shown you a whole new world when he took your virginity almost a year ago. Since then, you had been insatiable, too eager to be fucked stupid by your old man. Your daddy.

Every day you would sneak out and come over to his place to be pumped full of his cum, to have him drill you until you forgot your name and your legs wouldn’t keep you upright. And then you would go back home, spent yet satisfied, with your pussy full to the brim and your panties drenched with your mixed arousal.

Today though you were planning on spending the night here. It was Joel’s birthday and you had planned a special surprise for him. One that had cost you, but the price was definitely worth it.

You knew how avid Joel was about fucking your ass ― he almost reminded you daily. He had been preparing you for when the time came, some mild anal play to get you going. Last night, as Joel ate your asshole out, you promised to yourself that you wouldn’t postpone it anymore and today would be the day. What better present for Joel than your virginal ass?

So here you were, all naked and squeaky clean for him. You had draped a red ribbon around your waist. A big, scarlet bow laid low on the small of your back, making it obvious what his gift was. You also had a smaller parcel, all wrapped up with some old newspapers.

The moment you heard the front door creak, your heart jolted with anticipation and your stomach flipped. Turning around to face away from him, you dropped to your knees and leaned forward until your forehead rested on the floor and your knees touched your chest ― your ass on full display for him.

“Kiddo?” he called.

Joel’s brows furrowed deeper when he didn’t hear a reply. He knew you were here, your recognisable scent betraying your presence. Confused, he walked the small hallway and entered the living room.

His eyes immediately fell to where you were positioned, and a rush of hot blood coursed through his veins like liquid fire, all the way down to his groin. You had knelt and bent over, your perky ass up in the air for him to admire. A red bow topped your ass cheeks, the meaning of all this becoming instantly clear.

With a sly grin, Joel rubbed his palms together, taking a step forward.

“You’ve not forgotten about my birthday, have you, sugar?” he croaked, raspy and hoarse.

“No, sir, I haven’t,” you murmured, wiggling your ass a bit for him.

Joel groaned, the tension in his pants growing tighter, while he knelt behind you. The offer was irresistible, the way your flesh jiggled commended him to smack both of your buttocks. You whimpered, your back arching some more and your crack pulling further apart.

His fingers twitched with need, grabbing a handful of your meat. Joel was mesmerised by the view ― your puckered entrance so very inviting, and your beautiful seam glistening with slick right below.

Unable to refrain himself, his index dipped in the warmth of your damp pussy, tracing it entirely until the pad caught on your beating clit. You sighed heavily, melting under his digit.

“Why are you all wet already? Have you been playing with yourself?” he questioned, voice laced with lustful anger.

“Yes, sorry, sir. I was thinking about you, about what is gonna happen tonight, and… mhmm…” you hiccupped when he flicked your clit, “I did finger myself, but I didn’t come, I promise.”

Joel’s chest rumbled, frustrated. His orders were clear ― no touching yourself, nothing at all, even if you were horny. He wanted you needy and ready to take his cock when he came home from a rough day of patrol.

“How many fingers?” he barked, pinching your hooded clit between his index and middle fingers. You wailed in mild pain, your hips bucking up and away from his touch, but Joel didn’t release your thudding button.

“Just the one. Just the pinky, I swear. I know you like my pussy tight and unstretched, sir,” your sob transformed into a moan when his thumb found your trapped clit.

“Attagirl,” Joel rasped. “I don’t want your cunt all used and loose, you’re too young to feel like an old hag around my cock.” His thumb pressed tight circles on your pebbled nub before he removed his hand from your pussy. “I will let it slide. This one time.”

The warning in his tone made you nod vehemently, as you looked over your shoulder to him. Your bottom lip was trembling, your doe eyes pleading.

“Do you forgive me, sir?”

Joel gave you a stern look before he slapped your ass cheek, and you winced in response.

“I’ll think about it, kiddo,” he already had, but wouldn’t tell you yet.

“What can I do to help you make up your mind, sir?” a single tear skidded through your cheek, bottom lip still quivering.

Joel loved how easy you would tear up, you were a natural when it came to acting.

“There’s this one thing I have in mind,” Joel muttered, his thumb ghosting your butthole. “So clean, sugar. Can’t fucking wait to dive in.”

“I washed myself really well for you, sir. I used an enema too,” you whispered, averting your eyes shyly.

“So no messy sex?” Joel almost sounded disappointed, but he was just toying with you.

“No, I couldn’t, sir,” you bit down your bottom lip, eyes shut and the apples of your face burning with shame, when the pad of his thumb gently pressed the tight ring in your crack. “Oh…”

“You like that, don’t you? All this time denying me my right to fuck your ass, and now look at ya, begging to have your butthole impaled. Did rimming your tight ass yesterday change your mind?”

You shook your head yes eagerly and pushed your hips backwards until your ass was resting on his lap, thumb still stroking you right where you needed. You rubbed your buttocks against his jeans, your weeping seam sliding on his zipper.

“I-I loved it. I’m s-so ready now, sir,” you stuttered, pouting when he stood up.

“You poor little thing. Let’s break this seal then, shall we? But I need you to work me hard first.”

Joel moved towards the couch, and you followed him, walking on all fours behind him as if you were his little doggy. Next time, he would get you a collar and a leash, he thought as he sat down, and the old cushion gave way under him.

He coaxed his legs apart to make room for you between his thighs. You didn’t need any further instructions: you were already unbuckling his belt, your tiny hand dipping in his underwear to release his flaccid cock. His dick was still soft, just started to harden a few minutes ago.

Leaning forward, you pulled back the skin on his shaft and kissed the reddened tip. Then your tongue twirled around his cockhead, slurping sloppily as you bobbed your head down his length. Joel felt his dick growing harder, bigger in your warm mouth, and he groaned with satisfaction.

You loved how Joel’s soft cock would slowly stiffen between your lips, how his weight would grow heavier on your tongue as you sucked him off. Although you played to be submissive to him, this was a reminder of the actual power you held over him. Not only a reminder to yourself, but also to him. Despite being fifty-six, you were able to work Joel hard in a couple of minutes with the brush of your tongue and the seal of your plump lips. You were proud of it.

“What’s all this?” Joel asked as he leaned over, his chest pushing your throat further down on his now throbbing cock.

Your partner grabbed the box you had wrapped from the coffee table, along with the ashtray and a cigar you almost had to sell your soul for.

“Your other present, sir,” you managed to mumble, mouth full of his hard erection.

Your saliva skidded down his veiny shaft, pooling on the thick, dark curls at the base of his cock.

“I didn’t say stop. Keep sucking, kiddo,” his reproach scolded you, and quickly resumed your job.

You heard him lighting the cigar and then tearing the newspaper apart, while you took in as many inches as you could. Now that you had felt a few cocks on the palm of your hand, Joel’s had no rival. He was so gifted, and you felt lucky you were the one getting it all for yourself.

He’d been training you to swallow him whole, and practice made perfect. So after a couple more dives, your lips reached the base as the underside of his cock dragged easily along your tongue.

Your eyes welled up due to the strain and you suppressed the gag reflex, the fluttering of your throat around his girth making Joel moan. His left hand landed on the back of your head, pushing you down.

“Your mouth was made for me, sugar,” he praised you and you revelled in his compliment, swaying your hips sideways.

He placed the box on your back and opened it. You couldn’t see him but knew his face expression would light up with a sinful smirk.

Joel cackled and smacked one of your round globes, careful of not messing up the cute bow.

“Oh, you dirty slut.”

Joel pulled you off his erection by tugging at your hair. By the way his brown eyes took you in, you had to be a pretty picture ― messy hair and makeup, swollen lips, your skin glistening from your nose down to your chin with his precum and your spit.

One of his hands was holding a small butt plug. It was made of black silicone, pointier and ridged. It had four inches of insertable length, and the diameter was one inch thick.

Joel let out a whistle.

“You traded for this?” you nodded, batting your eyelashes at him. “Good fucking girl.”

He leaned forward to kiss you, his lips demanding and fierce. Your tangled tongues fought with each other, but Joel always won, subduing you quickly.

Both his hands roamed your bare body, rough calloused palms caressing your cold skin, which bristled under his touch. Joel traced your underboob, then suddenly pinched both of your taut nipples and pulled.

You flinched, a thunder of pain radiating from your tits all the way down to your pussy. Wet, sticky heat pooled between your thighs, clit pulsing and hole clenching around nothing. How could pain turn you on so fucking much?

“Move your pretty ass to the bedroom, kiddo,” Joel commanded.

Springing to your feet, you obeyed, leading the way to his bed. The room was dark and bare, with no personal items anywhere to be seen. Joel kept to himself, sharing little snippets of his life when he felt like it. You never pushed for information, knowing that he would open up at his own pace.

Putting on your best innocent gaze, you turned around to face him once you were at the foot of the bed.

“Can we play rough… daddy, please?” the term slipped from your tongue accidentally.

You covered your mouth at the realisation ― you’d never called him daddy, not out loud. In your mind you had done so several times, but you were not able to gauge how Joel would react if you did.

You were about to find out.

Joel growled at you, one broad hand wrapping around your throat ― his fingers dug on the sides of your neck. Tilting your chin up, you gasped, your hips lurching forward until they pressed against his erect dick.

“Who’s your daddy, kiddo?” Joel groaned, grazing your chin with his teeth.

“Y-you, daddy,” you replied, slowly understanding that despite his aggressive reaction, he actually liked it. “Joel Miller is my daddy.”

“Damn right I am,” he snarled like an animal. He hovered the anal plug over your mouth, “Open.” Joel slotted it between your lips. “Suck on it, daddy’s girl needs her pacifier for what’s to come. Don’t want the neighbours coming over to check if I’ve killed someone.”

When he turned you around and pushed you towards the bed, you knew the game was on. Your shins hit the metal bedframe; with another push from Joel on your shoulders, you fell face first on the unkempt bed.

“No, daddy, please, no,” you began whimpering around the plug, squirming as he sank a knee into the mattress.

Joel grabbed both of your wrists with the span of one broad hand and pressed them onto the small of your back. He tilted forward, his weeping glans gliding on your sticky slit a few times. He tapped your clit four times with his cockhead, the last tap harsher than the others, and then he stabbed your clenching hole.

You writhed under him, audibly crying now, when the tip of his cock kissed your cervix. You forced tears to fall down your cheeks and mouthed a scream around the butt plug in your mouth.

“It hurts!” you feigned a painful wail, when in reality your pussy was fluttering around his gifted circumference with delight.

Joel groaned above you, buried down to the hilt, and placed his free hand on the back of your head. Then he pushed your skull down into the mattress, almost smothering you as you tried to gasp for air.

“Shut up, you bitch. Take it,” his hips snapped back, cock almost sliding out of your cunt, and then forced his way into your pussy again.

Your old man picked up a relentless pace, the nasty, sucking sound of your wetness reverberating in the room as Joel fucked you stupid, drilling you into the bed like a man possessed.

Joel freed your wrists for his left thumb to find your empty rimmed hole. He started stroking it slowly again, and you squeezed your sphincter at the touch. Unhurriedly, he worked your butthole until your muscles relaxed, then took the opportunity to ploddingly insert the first phalange in your ass.

Seeing stars behind your eyes, your hips involuntarily jerked up, swallowing the second phalange of his thumb. When Joel began pumping your tight ass with his digit, your pussy palpitated around his cock.

“You like that, don’tcha? Nasty, stupid little girl,” Joel groaned, his thrusts unforgiving whilst his thick finger twirled inside you.

You hummed loudly around the butt plug, feeling lightheaded and dizzy due to the lack of oxygen, but also to the intense pleasure, one you had not felt before.

“Mhm-mm-mhmmm-mhmmmmm,” the crescendo in your mumbling plea peaked, your lungs now burning.

Then Joel released his purchase on your hair, and your neck snapped back as you mouthed for air. Your heartrate spiked, even feeling it in your gums. Joel’s unabating shoves along with his devilish thumb finally sent you over the edge and you jumped off the cliff of your pleasure blindly. Your throbbing pussy clamped around his cock like a vice, the wave of your climax drowning you as Joel fucked you through it.

With toes curling, eyes glassy and drool falling off the corners of your busy mouth, all your muscles went suddenly limp. Your spent cunt still quivered around Joel’s dick, who hadn’t stopped jackhammering into you with renewed vigour.

Hastily, Joel pulled back and out of the heat of your tight pussy, digging up his thumb in the process too. One more second and he would have spilt inside. While he was sure he could have another erection, even at fifty-six, he rather not risk it.

His rough hand wrapped around his cockhead, reining in the need to come.

“Fuck, you almost got me there, sugar,” he cackled, running his hand down his face.

You didn’t reply. You were sprawled across his bedsheets like a fuck toy, your thighs still trembling with the aftershock of your orgasm. Joel was sure that even without the butt plug in your mouth, you would not have been able to string two coherent words together.

His lustful eyes lingered on the red bow crowning the swell of your buttocks. He was dying to untie it, to unwrap his most precious present and make good use of it. But first he needed you ready.

“Gimme that,” he uncurled his hand in front of your mouth, and you spat out the butt plug.

Standing firm behind you, he teased your pursed hole with the silicone tip. You stirred at the touch but were so out of tune with your own body, you didn’t fight him. He twisted the plug around, circling in your orifice. Slowly it went in, and when it bottomed out, your eyes snapped open, and you grizzled.

“Stay put,” he ordered you, stepping back.

Joel admired how the handle stuck out, peeking between your round globes. With a huff, he stroked his length as he walked towards the nightstand. Opened the drawer and pulled out your favourite pink dildo. It was slim and slightly curved ― you loved how the tip always hit the right spot inside your pussy.

He retraced his steps back to the foot of the bed and slid the toy between your clammy flaps, wetting it with your juices. You squirmed at the cold touch but relaxed when you realised what it was.

“Gonna have both holes full to the fucking brim, babydoll,” he mocked you sneeringly, wedging the dildo in your crying pussy until it snugly sat inside. “She’s so greedy.”

“Daddy, please, I can’t. I’m hurting,” you pleaded, sobbed even.

“I don’t fucking care. I’ll fuck your ass through the pain. A gift is a gift, kiddo,” he mumbled darkly.

Joel followed along and would not stop unless you said, “you piece of shit.” That was the agreement, the safe words you would use if you really started feeling insufferable pain. So far, you hadn’t spoken the words, giving him free rein to do with you as he pleased.

Looking at you with your perky ass up with the satin bow on top, a dildo in your weeping cunt and the butt plug poking out of your asshole, he knew himself a lucky bastard. How you fully trusted him, giving in to his darkest desires and coming up with your own. The last year had been a revelation for both of you ― you matched his freak so well.

To hell with what people thought, you were everything he had been looking for.

Fisting the base of his thudding cock, he slowly removed the anal plug, the pop sound enticing. Joel watched your open hole squeezing again until it puckered in your fold. He was mesmerised imagining how your walls would feel around him.

“Fuck,” he muttered, biting down his bottom lip.

Hypnotised, Joel pushed the plug back in your butt, slowly and steadily, watching eagerly how your rimmed entrance swallowed the beads.

“No, daddy, it hurts. Please, take it out,” you begged him with a small, breathless voice.

“Shut the fuck up,” he warned you.

With one hand he pumped the dildo, dragging the pointy tip along your anterior wall to hit the spongy spot of your pleasure, and the other performed similar motions with the butt plug.

You mewled like a kitten, your passion ringing in his ears like he was high on drugs. Seeing you like this, all pliable and surrendered, had him on the brink of coming ― teetering on the edge, precum sliding down his shaft.

When you started humping the bedsheets, causing friction in your unattended clit, Joel knew you were close to another climax. Feeling considerate, he let you chase your own high, both of his hands working the sex toys in your holes.

“I― Good fucking lord, I’m… com… I’m coming, daddy. C-can I…?” you asked for his permission, his chest swelling at your request.

“Yeah, kiddo. Come for daddy,” he rasped, feeling drunk on your ecstasy.

You finally let go again, your whole body quivering like a leaf falling off a tree. He saw your inner labia squeezing the dildo and for a second Joel regretted it wasn’t his cock ― how good it would feel to have your fluttering pussy hug him tight.

But he had to persevere. The gift was worth it.

As your body still adjusted to the aftermath, Joel pulled out the butt plug carefully. The toy slid out easily, and he watched again how your hole stretched back to its normal size.

Throwing the plug to one side on the bed, Joel untied the red, satin bow on your lower back with steady fingers, taking in the moment. He felt like a mayor inaugurating a new building, presenting it to the press. This building was only his to dilapidate. The ribbon fell through his fingers.

Joel slipped one hand between your thighs, caressing around the dildo to gather some of your slick and gently buttering it into your rimmed opening. You said nothing ― eyes shut and mouth agape, it was almost as if you were peacefully sleeping.

He repeated the process a few times, but felt it wasn’t enough. Bending down, he spat in your ass until his mouth was dry. Then positioned his weeping cock right in the fold of your ass and pressed your buttocks together to hump your butt crack. Again, you didn’t react, your drool pooling on the bedsheets.

“What a fucking sight,” he said under his breath, the tip of his girthy dick finally hitching in your asshole.

Slowly he pushed the glans in, then back out, then back in, testing the waters. You squirmed a little, your brows furrowing innocently and your nose scrunching.

“Biiiiig stretch, kiddo,” he managed to groan between gritted teeth, jaw painfully clenched as his cock finally burrowed in your puckered entrance.

That was when your glassy eyes snapped open, and both your hands fisted the bedsheets.

“DADDY!” you screamed at the top of your lungs.

It was hot and tight inside, very soft too, sweat gathering on his brow in concentration. Your sphincter crushed his hard cock and Joel felt like losing control over his own actions.

Another piercing shriek from you brought him back, his hips slowly working your hole with his length. He was only halfway in, you still had a few inches to take.

“You pie― Ohhhh, ah, mhmm…” his hand was quick to find the pebbled nub in your slit, petting it gently, pressing tight circles.

The distraction worked, because soon enough his dick was fully sitting in your ass. Joel pulled back, then back in, guiding your movements by pressing his free hand on your belly, holding your waist up and moving you with him. His right ring and middle fingers stroked your pearly clit relentlessly ― you were melting again.

This was heaven. Fucking heaven, he thought. How the muscles in your ass contracted around him, making him feel woozy. How you keened. How he just knew your pussy was fluttering around your pink dildo. How your clit was extremely wet, his fingers almost slipping on your velvety skin, almost unable to catch on your button.

It wasn’t painful, it was extremely overwhelming. Your mind felt like a spongy cloud, completely blissed out. Your soul had literally left your body, that was how empty your brain was. You were so full ― the dildo cozily inside you, Joel’s girthy cock blasting your entrails without a pause. Having him fully seated in your asshole was the most euphoric experience you had ever lived ― your pulse adjusted to his, two hearts beating as one.

It was too much, but it could be even more. Slithering one hand between your body and the bed, you found the dildo. Slowly you rocked it in and out of your damp pussy ― when Joel pulled out, you pushed in.

Elated, little, pathetic sobs escaped your mouth ― real, blissful tears wetting your cheeks, whimpering as your puffy lips wolfed down the pink toy. Your clit felt on fucking fire, Joel’s fingers fondling it to a point where you thought you might actually die.

You were coming again ― Joel could fucking feel it in his bones. Only this time, you squirted all over him, the warm liquid running down his thighs like a cascade whilst your whole body quaked uncontrollably.

“Oh my! Daddy! DADDY!” you wailed as he fucked you through it, hips almost stuttering now. “I can feel you in my guts! OH, FUCKING HELL!”

That was fucking it. With a guttural groan, Joel finally came, thick, sticky ropes spilling in your ass, painting your walls white. For a minute, he kept on filling you with his cum, cock maddingly twitching inside you. He closed his eyes and heavily sighed, as if the biggest weight had been taken off his shoulders.

By the time he was done, Joel was heaving, his chest rising in quick succession. That had been the best sex he’d ever had, and he was no novice like you. God, even his legs were trembling with effort.

Joel smacked both your ass cheeks as you plummeted onto the bed, a stupid grin curling the corners of your sinful mouth. You rolled to your side to look at him ― a fucked-out expression, your eyes hazy, sweaty hair sticking to your face.

The way you lazily smiled at him made his heart skip a beat.

“That was… something else,” you whispered, half asleep, totally spent.

Joel couldn’t help but chortle.

“I told you, kiddo,” he said, manoeuvring you back onto your belly so he could watch his semen gushing out your ass. “Squeeze your butthole for me, babydoll. Get it all out.”

You obeyed, all his cum slowly trickling out until your ass was empty.

“Good girl,” he praised you.

He admired the view for a hot minute ― you were a dewy mess, tangled in his bedsheets, with the pink dildo still poking out your sweet pussy. So tight, he thought, your slick cunt wouldn’t release it even when he gently tugged at it. Joel didn’t have the heart to take such comfort away from you yet, so he left the dildo in.

Joel disappeared into the bathroom after that to shower quickly. Then grabbed some wet towels and went back to the bedroom, naked as you were, to find you soundly asleep in an odd position.

He cleaned you up ― first your sweaty face, then your upper body. Joel coaxed your legs apart and couldn’t resist the urge to bow down and press a sweet kiss to your clit, slowly extracting the dildo from your pussy.

You hummed in your sleep, jaw slack and snoring lightly.

“The best daddy’s girl one could ask for,” he purred before resuming the task of rubbing your cunt and your ass clean. Joel was extremely diligent with your hygiene and care.

There was a big puddle on his bedsheets, right where your pussy had been leaking all along. He’d deal with that in the morning, didn’t want to wake you up now ― you needed the rest.

Joel sauntered towards the living room, seizing the forgotten cigar and the ashtray. Then returned to bed, and dragged your body up the bed until your head was resting on his lap. You unconsciously nuzzled his soft dick, your hot breath fanning the thick curls at the base.

Joel raked his fingers through your hair as he took a puff, the cigar crackling.

“You’re gonna be the end of me, kiddo.”

In your sleep, you stirred ― your plump, cherry lips caressing his base. Joel’s head slacked back against the headboard as he smoked.

“Fuck,” he cursed himself, feeling his dick harden again.

You were giving him no option ― there was nothing worse than going to bed with a hard-on. Joel knew you wouldn’t want that for him.

His fingers left your scalp, took one more puff and placed the cigar down on the ashtray. Joel cupped your chin, tilting your head up and back, while his other hand guided the slick tip of his cock to your lips. The moment your mouth was in contact with his dick, instinctually you suckled on his pearly glans.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Joel gritted, voice gravelly. “That’s it, be a good little girl for daddy.”

Joel gently rocked his hips under you, only the tip disappearing between your sinful lips ― he didn’t want to wake you, not when you looked like an angel right now.

This was a recurrent dream of yours. Most nights, you found yourself drifting away and thinking about your old man’s beautiful dick. It was soothing when you latched onto his glans, just like you were doing right now ― unbeknownst to you.

In your dream, your tongue pressed against the slit on his throbbing cockhead while your lips would seal around it to suck on it. Then his underside would slide along your tongue, kissing your palate gently. Sometimes you would stop, glans sitting warmly in your mouth, and the hand resting on his thigh would find the soft balls underneath to massage them delicately. Then your tongue would resume its petting.

Heat peaked inside your mouth, and that made you scowled slightly. Smacking your lips together, sleepily, you realised that there was something warm and sticky pooling in your mouth.

Your eyes fluttered open, still drowsy, and found Joel’s darkened ones. Your head was resting on his lap, the palm of his hand caressing your cheek while his thumb stroked your chin. Sluggishly, you smiled at him, rubbing one eye with the back of your hand.

“Sorry to wake you,” he apologised before he took a drag of the cigar. “Swallow daddy’s gift, sugar.”

His words made you realise that what you had in your mouth was his cum. Your grin grew wider as the tasty seed of Joel slid down your throat. You liked it when he took what was his without asking.

“Attagirl. Now back to sleep, kiddo. It’s past your bedtime,” he commended you, and you nodded absentmindedly.

Nudging his dick and tucking your hands under his thigh, you pressed a soft kiss on his cockhead, then closed your eyes.

“Thank you,” you sighed contently, to both Joel and his dick.

415 notes · View notes

beeholyshit · 5 months ago

Text

part 2/3...??

part 1/3?

What can guilt make to you...?

#(🪶) *⁠.⁠✧ — Vermelho #(💽🩷) *⁠.⁠✧ — M3gabyte #cw: body horror...??#SORRY I'M TOO TIRED TO FINISH IT TODAY BUT YEH SOMETHING AT LEAST #ahhh I missed them so much #I made the first 2 pages months ago but never posted them here oopsie #ANYWAYS #YES MEGA HERE YESS!!!#this thing finally here #Vermelho facing the horrors for the (I forgot) time in the month #Mega would do anything to finally be protagonist and scape being just a fucken error no matter what but #even knowing that. I've been thinking that maybe Mega do care at least a little bit about Vermelho #maybe not care about him at least in a friend way. it's more like a #“I know what's like trying and never getting what you want. you are not the only one”#it's more like an “I see you” but yeah. Mega is meant to be a constant menace #too aggresive to actually let Vermelho be it's friend #this thing has a heart believe me. BELIEVE ME #and in Vermelho's side... don't wanna say much but probably show on the FINAL PART #don't think it will be done by tomorrow BUT SOON #🖍️ —⁠ Silly doodles #does this even enter the “silly doodles” tag....

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dark-fics-4-you · 1 year ago

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Heyyy saw ur request were open what about dark!rafe catches you talking shit about him to your friends over text???

How a Girlfriend is Supposed to Act

Warnings: noncon, forced sex, domestic violence, choking, slapping, oral (m!recieving), toxic relationship, gaslighting

Despite being with Rafe for almost a year, you had learned all of the quirks that he had when it came to his possessiveness very early on.

The first time you caught him reading your texts, you were surprised by just how nonchalant he was about the entire situation.

He was sitting on your bed after you returned from grabbing the two of you a snack, scrolling through your phone, not even bothering to look up at you until you asked him what he was doing.

“You’re my girlfriend, Y/N.” He said it slowly, like he was reminding you of something you yourself couldn’t possibly forgot. The accusing fire in his gaze made you squirm. “Of course I have the right to look through your phone.”

At first you were too surprised to react. You had never really had a reason to look through Rafe’s phone, but you imagined he wouldn’t be too happy if you did.

“Why the fuck do you look so nervous, huh?” He was starting to sound annoyed, and his eyes were flicking between meeting yours and scanning your phone. “Got something you’re trying to hide from me?”

“What? No, Rafe! I just didn’t expect to find you going through my phone, that’s all.” You explained breathlessly. You didn’t know why he was accusing you of trying to keep secrets from him.

Unfortunately, the last thing that you should have done in that moment was try to snatch your phone away from Rafe.

His hand shot out, tightly gripping your wrist as he dug his fingers into the bone beneath your skin. You cried out in pain and watched as your phone fell onto the bed, before bouncing to the floor.

Your boyfriend was furious now, easily pulling you onto the bed by your wrist and onto your back at a painful angle before straddling you. You struggled beneath him, trying hopelessly to stop him from putting his hands on you

When Rafe slapped you across the face the first time, your ears rang and you swore that your vision went white for a moment.

Every sound became muffled but you could hear Rafe angrily chastising you from above, “dumb bitch. I mean, I pay for your fucking phone, so yeah, you’re not gonna talk back to me when I go through it.”

That was months ago, and you later learned that that wasn’t even the first time that Rafe had gone through your phone.

You weren’t cheating on Rafe, that much was 100% true. The problem was that Rafe’s definition of cheating included behaviors that you knew were not cheating.

Texting your classmate a question about homework turned into a two hour long fight that culminated in Rafe giving you a black eye.

After Rafe saw you had and Topper had sent each other a couple funny posts in instagram dm’s, he choked you so hard you passed out, leaving you to cover up the extensive bruising on your neck around your friends and family to avoid explaining what had happened.

Ever since then you had learned to be careful about who you texted, and if you ever texted anyone Rafe wouldn’t approve or said something that he wouldn’t like, you made sure to delete the conversations.

You were always so diligent in covering your tracks.

Except for the one time you really needed to.

After another argument with Rafe had become physical, once you finally got some space away from him you had texted a friend, vaguely venting your frustrations with him, without revealing too many details to make her suspicious that Rafe was hurting you.

As you shakily typed out the texts you couldn’t help but think back on the fight you had had. After catching a guy staring at you in the club, the moment you returned home, Rafe had been quick to grab you by the throat, pushing you up against the wall before hurling insults at you.

“I mean you dress like such a fucking slut, no wonder I have to chase these guys off. I bet you wanted his attention, didn’t you?” His eyes narrowed as he looked down at you with disgust.

You were so shocked by his outburst you had barely registered the fingers crushed your throat, and you finally gasped for air against his strong hand. “N-no, Rafe!”

His grip tightened as he regarded your fearful eyes, “nah, you always think you can fool me sweetheart but you never can.” His chuckled, but there was no hint of humor in his eyes, “I saw you looking at him when we first walked in.”

You shook your head against him, tears gathering in your eyes as you begged with him, “I wasn’t baby-”

“Shut the fuck up, Y/N.” He spat at you, squeezing so hard you were sure you would have deep purple bruises on your neck tomorrow.

“I never should have let you outta the house wearing that dress. You were looking for trouble walking around like that.” Rafe growled, his eyes were ice cold. You knew that he was itching for a fight, and you didn’t want to give him what he wanted.

“I’m sorry,” you struggled to force the words out with such little breath and Rafe finally gave you a respite when he loosened his grip on your throat. “You okayed it before we went out, I thought it wouldn’t be a problem.”

“I knew every guy at that bar would be trying to fuck you with their eyes, but I didn’t think you’d be doing the same to them!” The more he spoke, the more pissed off he seemed to be making himself. You knew that he was just convincing himself that his actions were justified.

When he tossed you to the floor, you yelped in pain when your shoulder hit the hard wood. You barely had time to reach for your tender neck before Rafe grabbed a fistful of your hair and forced you to look up at him.

“I mean, do you even love me anymore, Y/N?” His voice sounded hurt, and even though this wasn’t the first time he had used this card on you in the middle of putting his hands on you, you couldn’t deny the tug on your heartstrings you had when you looked into your boyfriend’s eyes.

“Of course I do, Rafe!” You insisted, knowing that your enthusiasm was expected and there would be consequences if you didn’t play along.

You were terrified of your boyfriend, and after being with him for so long, you were aware of the ways to deescalate a tense situation. In moments like these you would have said anything to protect yourself.

“Nah, you don’t mean that. You haven’t been yourself lately baby. Always too busy with work to spend time with me and now you’re talking back to me?” He shook his head, tsk-ing as he glared at you disgustedly. “Not to mention, you haven’t been fulfilling all of your duties as my girlfriend.”

You stared at him, puzzled and not understanding his meaning, “what are you talking about?”

“What are you talking about?” He repeated back to you in a mocking tone, like he couldn’t believe how dumb you were to not get it. “I mean, it’s been, what, five days since you last let me have sex with you? I have needs, Y/N. And when you can’t just lay on your back and spread your legs for me, you’re being a bad girlfriend.”

His words stung, and you couldn’t tell if the tears in your eyes were because of the large hand tangled into your hair, or because your boyfriend was acting like you owed him sex, like you were in the wrong right now.

“Now you’re gonna make it up to me, because you are really pissing me off right now, and I don’t want to hear any fucking complaints, do you understand?”

Your body was screaming in resistance, but you numbly realized that you were nodding your head. Rafe’s hand left your hair, finding your chin and gripping your jaw hard.

“Use your words, sweetheart,” the sick grin that was spread across his lips told you exactly how much Rafe was getting off on your humiliation right now and you wanted to be sick.

“I understand.” You forced the words past your gritted teeth, swallowing down the bile that threatened to come up.

Rafe unbuttoned his pants before sliding the zipper down and pushing them down his legs before pulling off his boxers as well.

His dick was hard, a bead of precum already pearled at the tip of his intimidating length.

You swallowed nervously, already afraid of how rough your boyfriend was going to be. You felt like you weren’t ready at all, but the sharp pain the bloomed on your cheek after Rafe slapped you told you that you must have hesitated for too long.

“Quit your damn procrastinating, Y/N,” he hissed, tangling his fingers into your hair again and pulling you to his dick, forcing the tip past your plump lips.

You didn’t have any time to be surprised, gagging and choking on him as he pushed himself deeper towards your throat. He groaned at the feeling of your throat squeezing his cock, urging himself further into the back of your mouth.

Rafe was in heaven, basking in the sight of your teary eyes and the ruined mascara that now trailed down your cheeks. You had looked so pretty at the club tonight, but now you were a crying mess. The noises of your gagging and the steady sound of Rafe’s cock hitting the back of your throat filled the space. Nothing had ever made Rafe hornier than seeing your beautiful, tear filled eyes begging and pleading with his.

He reached out to your cheek, wiping up a bit of saliva that had been forced past your lips. Your glassy eyes were unfocused now that you had given up any thoughts of resistance, too cock drunk to try protesting against the stronger man.

You were doing all you could not to gag on him and choke, knowing full well that that would only spur him on. Every time you pushed at his thigh to get him to ease up, he would slap your hand away with an annoyed grunt.

His pace was relentless now, one hand was gripping your hair and the other was at your throat, holding you still so he could push himself deeper.

“That’s right baby, fuck,” he bit back his groans, ignoring your gagging and desperate eyes when he forced himself too far down your throat, literally choking you with his cock. “Oh fuck- god Y/N, you’re better than any sex doll, you know why?”

He knew you couldn’t answer him, especially since he had started thrusting faster past your messy lips, but he still paused to drink in the sight before him.

“Because they can’t fight back,” Rafe sneered, picking up his pace again, reaching a punishing fervor.

The blond’s dick was slamming into the back of your throat while the large hand at your throat squeezed in warning anytime you so much tried to pull back.

He sped up on final time, chasing his high by forcing you to take all of his cock. Rafe held you in place and watched you choke on him for a couple seconds before letting out a low groan and spilling his salty seed down your throat, giving you no choice but to swallow every drop of it.

When he pulled his dick out of your mouth, you took a gasping breath, but weren’t allowed much air before Rafe slapped you across the face hard.

“From now on, I expect this and more from you every night we’re together. Because that’s how my girlfriend is supposed to act. And if you think about giving me any lip about that, then I’m gonna make you wish you had just kept your pretty mouth shut, got it?”

That rest of the night was no better than the beginning, after Rafe had helped you clean up, he basically immediately led you to your bed.

He chuckled in satisfaction when you didn’t fight back against his wandering hands, and as held tight to your wrists, plunging his cock into your slick cunt, he didn’t say anything about the tears rolling down your cheeks.

The next morning you had woken up sore, your entire body ached, and you weren’t surprised when you looked in the mirror and saw the red and purple blooming around your throat.

Rafe was still asleep, his deep snores letting you know that he wouldn’t be waking up soon.

You quietly snuck into the bathroom, grabbing your phone off of the bedside table on the way. Once you had shut and locked the door behind you, you exhaled deeply, unlocking your phone to check for messages.

Your friend had texted you asking how your night had gone, and feeling perhaps a little too honest, you told her that the two of you had had an “argument.”

‘he thought i was checking out a guy at the bar and said some really rude things to me last night.’ You laughed to yourself as you stared at your own words through blurry eyes. It was both funny and sad to you how used to covering for Rafe you now were.

The bathroom felt more cramped when you remembered that Rafe was just on the other side of the door, despite being asleep.

A new notification popped up soundlessly and you read your friend’s text. She was joking about gathering all of your mutual friends to gang up on Rafe.

If only she knew the extent of what Rafe had done to you. You were sure she wouldn’t be joking then. In spite of that, you were angry with Rafe and wanted to blow off a little steam with your friend.

Which is why you felt emboldened to continue texting her.

‘he’s such an asshole sometimes. i’ve been thinking about breaking it off with him soon.’

You huffed, putting your phone down before finishing up in the bathroom and opening the door.

To your surprise, Rafe was standing on the other side, waiting for you to get out before he brushed past you without a word.

You noticed he was taking longer than he usually did to just pee, and when he finally stepped out of the bathroom, you realized with a horrible chill why he had been in there for so long.

Clutched in his hand was your cellphone, and you could see that it was open to the messages you had just sent.

“‘He’s such an asshole, I’ve been thinking about breaking it off??’” His voice was cold and you cringed hearing him speak your words. There was no denying he had read your texts.

You shivered, frozen in place as he stared you down, his blue eyes boring so deep into you that you swore you could feel them burning straight through you.

Your mouth was so dry, you had never felt so afraid of your boyfriend before. Even after everything he had put you through, you had never said anything about breaking up with him to his face. “Rafe, I-”

If your instincts hadn’t kicked in, you would have taken the blow right to your nose, however you had been lucky enough to dodge the phone fast enough that it only nicked your forehead before smashing into pieces against the wall behind you.

Unfortunately, while you had been focused on dodging your phone, the taller man had closed the gap between you, easily pushing you up against the wall by your throat and choking you with both hands. Rafe’s fingers pressed down against the bruises that they had left there the previous night.

You wanted to scream, but Rafe had knocked the wind out of you and no matter how hard you shoved him, he wasn’t giving up.

“You’re mine,” he hissed as you struggled against him. “Maybe I’ve been hitting you too much recently, because I don’t remember you being this stupid when we first started dating.”

Before you could comprehend what was happening, Rafe had spun you around and pushed you face first into the bed. One of his hands was forcing your head against the mattress, while the other pawed at your silk pajama shorts, opting to rip away the fabric covering you before freeing his hard cock from his boxers.

“You think I’m an asshole?” He growled, the tip of his cock brushed against your slick cunt and you shuddered at the feel of him beginning to force himself inside of you.

“I’ll show you how much of an asshole I can be.”

#rafe cameron #dark!rafe cameron #outer banks #obx #rafe cameron noncon #dark rafe cameron #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron fanfic #how a girlfriend is supposed to act #rafe cameron x reader

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