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mysteria157 · 5 months ago

Text

Pairing: Nanami Kento x Black Fem Reader

CW: Light Profanity, Light Alcohol Consumption, Explicit Sexual Content, Missionary, Fingering, Mentions of Cunnilingus, Public Sex (Sort of), Office Sex

WC: ~9.8k

Summary:

Nanami may be disconnected from social media trends, but he’s not oblivious. He’s overheard the crass innuendos and seen the tasteless memes on Yuji's phone. He knows the vulgar things some men say—about how excited they get when the summer begins.

It always seemed so stupid and dramatic to Nanami, who has never had a straying eye to actually see if the rumors were true. But now that you’ve come into his life…he gets it.

Oh, he gets it.

Sundress season.

Notes: Hello! Had a random thought this morning and decided to roll with it and practice writing Nanami some more. Anywho, I hope you all enjoy this one-shot.

This is a prime example of me writing smut when I feel like it. Please do not ask me for more related to this story and please do not ask me to write smut, the answer is no lol. This is just a one-shot of a random idea, please enjoy it for what it is lol. Thank you all for understanding!

Reblogs, likes, or comments are always appreciated! Happy reading!

Dividers: @cafekitsune @arminsumi | Header: made by myself

Masterlist | Ao3 | Twitter |

The city summers are a different kind of hell. The humid heat clings to Nanami, making his skin feel instantly tacky as if he hasn’t showered in days. It wreaks havoc on his usual crisp suit and tie, causing the fabric to stubbornly adhere in unflattering ways. He thinks back wistfully to his bachelor days when he could simply escape such misery by holing up inside with the AC blasting, and then wait until the evening for a walk or to run errands. But that was before you came into his life like a vivacious sunbeam, all warmth and carefree laughter.

Now, he wouldn’t dream of depriving you of simple joys like strolling hand-in-hand through the park, watching you bask in nature’s dazzling seasonal shifts. The fragrant flowers blooming, the fireflies flickering to life as dusk settles, the earthy pre-rain smell you adore—he lives for the ease of these tranquil moments.

Throughout your relationship, Nanami has cataloged your ever-changing looks to match the passing seasons. The oversized chunky sweaters and leggings you’d cuddle up in during fall’s crisp breezes. The sleek peacoats and woolen scarves wound around your neck when winter blanketed the city in soft stillness.

But summertime is when your vibrant spirit and personal style shines. And it’s Nanami’s first summer with you when everything changes.

It always seemed so stupid and dramatic to Nanami, who has never had a straying eye to actually see if the rumors were true. But now that you’ve come into his life…he gets it.

Oh, he gets it.

Sundress season.

And it’s a season that has awoken something primal within him. Something in his gut stirs, something in his mind shifts and the more he notices, the more he feels like a lecherous old man instead of the well-mannered one in his late twenties. While his clothes stick uncomfortably to his sweat-slicked skin you get to slip into breezy summer dresses that let every inch of your beautiful body breathe.

As an event planner constantly on the move, you seem to live in the wispy, colorful outfits at all hours of the day. Like the buttercup yellow and candy pink number currently floating around you as you stroll together to the bakery during your shared lunch hour. It’s modest—cotton fabric that doesn’t stick to you, with ruffle short sleeves and a V-neckline that highlights your collarbones and the delicate diamond necklace resting between.

Nanami risks a sidelong glance, instantly regretting it when his gaze gets trapped by the way the bright floral pattern sways and twists with each step you take. The hem brushes the brown skin of your knees and while he can’t see much, Nanami knows the soft curves hidden underneath the airy fabric intimately.

While the caveman part of him can understand the underlying meaning of sundress season, it’s everything else that flares his want for you. It’s the wild curls that brush your cheeks and neck, the diamond earrings that reflect in the sun, the curl of your long lashes that kiss your lower lids when you blink. And yes—the gorgeous dress that you have on enhances everything about you—but in the most basic sense, you are beautiful.

“You’re staring.” It’s a playful accusation that you direct at him even though your eyes are admiring the tulips that you both walk past.

He quickly averts his eyes, sharp cheeks blazing a fiery red. “My apologies I…” Nanami clears his throat, struggling to regain his usual unruffled demeanor. “That dress looks lovely on you.”

You hum in acknowledgment, pausing so he can open the bakery door for you. “You think so? I just picked it up last week. Perfect for this heat, isn’t it?”

Nanami swallows hard at the teasing tilt to your tone, the innocent question feeling anything but. From the very first day he met you—that very first day you knocked back a glass of expensive whiskey and smiled at him as if it was nothing—he’s come to accept that you have no reservations of flustering him. You thrive on it, and for as stiff as Nanami is, you are a breath of fresh air that he never imagined would slide into his lungs.

Umber eyes watch you walk ahead of him and into the welcoming AC of the bakery, tantalizing calves flexing with each step.

“Very much…” is all he can manage, hastily ripping his eyes away again as his equilibrium dangerously shifts.

You laugh lightly at his sudden silence, the warm, rich sound simultaneously soothing his thundering heart and making it trip up all over again. “You act like you’ve never seen me in a dress before.”

“You know that’s not true,” he mutters, switching his gaze to the menu to avoid your entirely too-innocent smile. “I simply…appreciate fine things.”

The rich ring of your answering chuckle sends molten desire licking traitorously down his spine. “Is that so? Then I’ll have to acquire more of these stunning ‘fine things’ for you to appreciate this summer…”

He should have known better than to egg you on. Had he kept his eyes to himself and brushed off your knowing glances, he could have enjoyed you without your playful watch. But for as smart as Nanami is, for as observant and vigilant in his work as he is in his life outside of it, he can never wrap his head around how devious you truly are.

One day, the weather calms down enough for lunch at the park. It’s the perfect day to eat outside. The sun is high in the sky but the canopy of trees gives you both the protection you need from harsh rays.

“Need any help setting up?” You call out, shrugging off the ice denim jacket from your shoulders to reveal this summer’s newest addition—an angelic white sundress adorned with delicate lace trim.

Nanami’s throat tightens and he shakes his head, unfurling a blue blanket onto the thick grass below you both. “I can do it, love. Please just relax.”

He carefully arranges the picnic blanket, spreading the wrinkles free before you plop down on one side. As you dig into the large lunchbox, he admires the crisp white cotton that seems to skim over your frame, covering you but still unable to touch. Thin straps leave your shoulders bare, your skin glowing in the sun from your shimmery sunscreen. No necklace this time, so the square neckline dips just enough to offer a subtle hint of cleavage. The stretchy ribbed material hugs and accentuates every lush curve before gently flaring into an effortless, free-flowing skirt.

You purse your lips and furrow your brow in concentration, leaning more over the lunchbox, your back straightening to steady yourself before he watches free of shame as you arch just so.

When you turn to flash him that achingly fond smile, your curls falling over one shoulder, all traces of decency flee from Nanami’s mind. In that moment, he’s transported back to those dizzying early days of your relationship—entirely captivated, yet utterly terrified of somehow shattering this dazzling, undeserved connection between you.

“Thirsty?” You hold out one of the banana milk boxes that he’s grown to love since your presence, an impish quirk of your brow, clearly aware of his slow descent into hell.

Nanami nods jerkily and takes the milk box, unable to find his voice for a beat. As you settle down gracefully beside him, the skirt drifts up in a gentle billow, shaping to and showcasing skin. He has to tear his eyes away from the wicked flashes of toned thigh with extreme willpower.

Like the devil you are, you toss him a coy smirk, shiny lip gloss clear even though he knows it tastes like strawberry. “We gonna eat or are you just gonna gawk at me like a weirdo?”

He can’t help the scoff that leaves him as he pulls out sandwiches for you both. “I thought you liked when I gawk at you.”

“Not when I’m hungry.”

He shakes his head, smirking softly as he removes the cling wrap before handing you your half, your fingers brushing against his. Warm pleasure blooms in his chest at the radiant sight you make contrasted against the swaying greenery. It’s as if you don’t belong but he couldn’t imagine you anywhere else. You take a generous bite of your sandwich, a smear of mustard in the crease of your lips as you offer him a gentle smile.

As the scorching summer rages, Nanami can’t help but chastise himself. A mundane and childish social meme has become the representation of the hardest test he’s ever taken. Maybe he should have asked for tips from Yuji on how to better prepare himself.

He’s always prided himself on admiring from afar, on controlling his emotions in public and savoring them later in private. He knows your beauty and the unintentional way you drain the air around him. But he’s always been able to offer that soft smile, place a hand on your shoulder or your waist and offer a compliment to whatever you’ve chosen to wear for the day. But recently, in the face of your summertime wardrobe choices, Nanami finds that steely discipline faltering at an alarming rate.

Sinking deeper into the plush living room sofa, Nanami exhales a deep sigh and allows the tension thrumming through his shoulders to bleed away. Here, surrounded by the apartment’s climate-controlled sanctuary, he can savor these increasingly rare moments of solitary peace sprawled out with a good book. It’s a well-deserved shared day off for you both—free of schedules, obligations, or anything more strenuous than lounging around with each other. And more importantly, at home, you’re nothing but comfortable clothes and soft pajamas.

He’s safe.

A wry smirk tugs at the corner of his lips as he imagines the look of feigned innocence you always sport whenever he gets too overt about appreciating your seasonal attire. As if you don’t know the absolutely devastating effect even the simplest hair toss or twirl has on what’s left of his challenging self-restraint these days.

It’s going to be a great day. He’s almost done with this book, just three more chapters and then he can start another in his pile that he wants to tackle this summer. That’s right, Nanami Kento is going to—

The soft pad of your bare feet against the hardwood floors has Nanami glancing up instinctively from behind the novel’s pages. And just like that, the world around him completely whites out as if he’s been hit over the head with a brick.

You’ve emerged from the hallway in a yellow sundress so vibrantly captivating, so deliciously clingy and effortlessly suggestive that he nearly swallows his tongue in surprise. The rich gold hue kisses the deep tone of your skin, as if you’re a sunflower blooming under the artificial lighting of the apartment. The dress accentuates your shape in the most brazenly tantalizing way—the thin ruffle straps on your shoulders, the sweetheart neckline hinting at full cleavage, the dress’ light hem hitting indecently high on your thighs in playful flirty wisps.

But it’s the stretchy knit fabric’s complete inability to disguise any curve or meaty swell that really has Nanami sitting up straighter on the cushions. It’s not layered well enough—almost transparent—and the snug material leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination, from the outline of bright panties that cover the soft spread of your hips to the pert dusky points outlined beneath the bodice.

Absolutely devastating and on full, confident display and this isn’t fair because he has three chapters left.

He barely registers the “What are you reading?” you offer him over one shoulder as you stroll towards the kitchen area in that swaying, uninhibited saunter that never fails to ignite his senses. Nanami simply sits there transfixed—one hand gripping the spine of his book while the other claws restlessly against his own inner thigh. Each roll of your hips has that thin dress swishing and lifting in tiny torturous glimpses that have his imagination veering wildly into unrestrained territory. But he’s at home, that’s okay right?

That’s when you shift your weight onto the tips of your toes, your back turned to him, stretching up towards the top cabinets with one hand braced against the counter…and the entire world seems to judder to a halt all over again. Because from this new vantage point, Nanami can’t tear his eyes away from the call of your legs, the dimples on the backs of your thighs, up, up to the hem and—

A guttural sound wrenches free from low in his diaphragm, a mix of a groan and a growled curse. He looks back down to his book, searching aimlessly for where he left off, flickering back over to you just as quick.

He should look away, tear his eyes off of the gloriously indecent picture you’ve unwittingly created simply by existing. And yet…Nanami finds his stare burning an increasingly blazing trail down the bewitching ‘V’ between your shoulder blades, past the delicious dip of your arched lower back to the toned flare of your thighs and calves below.

At one point, you bend even deeper at the waist, hips tilting up as you struggle to reach a particularly elusive item on the high shelf. The filmy yellow skirt jumps and flirts up with the motion, granting Nanami a shameless eyeful of toned thighs and the flash of his favorite pair of panties—lilac with lace along the edges that squeeze the skin of your ass in the most inviting way. He very nearly drops the book from his suddenly slack fingers at the sight, hissing out a low curse between his teeth.

You huff out an adorable sound of frustration as you fail to reach whatever item you’re going for, and he knows he should step in to assist like the gentleman he is. But his stare remains rooted to spot, ogling and committing it all to memory so he can think about it later—alone.

“Let me get that,” he finally manages to scrape out, voice gone low and gritty with naked yearning despite his best efforts at nonchalance.

You shoot him one of those bright, beaming smiles over your shoulder in response—blissfully unaware of the effect your glowing, ethereal beauty has on him even without your intentional teasing. “Just grabbing the flour for dinner,” you explain sheepishly, leaning into his broad form as he comes up behind you and grabs the ingredient on the top shelf. “I always have trouble reaching.”

And isn’t that just symbolic as all hell? His curvy, tempting beloved constantly hovering just beyond his reach these past few weeks—unattainable without discarding every last vestige of control he has. It isn’t like you both don’t have sex. You do…often. There’s just always been a build up, never anything explosive.

Even in the privacy of your home, he’s never thrown caution to the wind. Nanami has always been one to savor every calculated build of pleasure in its precious sequence. You’ve expressed your satisfaction readily enough, reciprocating his passion with that same rapturous abandon you bring to all aspects of life. But in all the years of his tiring, overworked life, you are the first to show him what it feels like to never walk a predetermined line.

“This is…I’ve never seen you wear it inside,” Nanami manages, his throat feeling increasingly dry as his eyes trace the line of fabric on your shoulders.

You take the flour from him, shooting him a sly, knowing look from beneath your lashes as you turn to face him fully. “It’s a little stuffy in here, don’t you think?”

He can’t stop the reflexive glance that rakes over every inch of you. “It’s sixty-eight degrees.”

You lean in a fractional amount—just enough for the swell of your breasts to brush against his shirt as you crane up towards his face. “Well, I run hot,” you murmur, voice dropping into the pits of hell, a throaty register that bypasses Nanami’s higher cognitive functions entirely.

He’s beyond undone. Frozen in place with desperate, rapturous hunger raging through his very marrow. This close, he can make out the small raised moles on your exposed shoulders, the genetic blemishes that are common for your skin tone. He gets a better view of the rigid peaks of your nipples straining against the thin fabric, practically begging for the heated and dripping touch of his mouth that he’s always more than happy to bestow upon you.

His fingertips clench and relax at his sides, held back only by tremendous reserves of willpower from reaching out to map and relearn every soft, silken plane of feminine heat and temptation currently being dangled in front of him like a prize he still can’t win.

You take in the undisguised wanting and torment written large across his features with a look of utter satisfaction. Then, before he can formulate some slurred plea for relief, you spin on one heel and saunter out of his reach—hips undulating hypnotically beneath that flimsy gauze of material in an alluring farewell.

Only once you finally disappear around the corner does Nanami manage to sag forwards—palms braced on the counter as he attempts to draw steady lungfuls of air back into his oxygen-starved body.

By the time he plops back on the sofa, and opens the spine of his book, the desire to read is gone.

You take pity on him for a few weeks after that searing afternoon in the kitchen. Your outside adventures are marked by breathable athletic leggings paired with loose tank tops that drape and show you off…but in a far tamer, less flagrantly teasing way than before.

Even at home, the soft cotton shorts and tees you lounge around in provide Nanami some solace—the casual fabrics leaving just enough to the imagination rather than putting every mouth-watering curve on display.

Your usual playful flirtations also seem to be dialed back during this oasis period. As if you’re allowing the poor man a chance to realign his senses and regain some semblance of control. It allows him time to resettle back into some of his usual regimented routines. Without you on a mission at the periphery of his awareness constantly, stoking those primal fires, he finds himself able to slip back into the role of polished, tired professional and attentive partner with relative ease.

Perhaps a bit too easily, if he’s being honest with himself. Because before he can even register the transition, that fleeting grace period seems to dissolve back into the heady summer ether as quickly as it had begun.

The warm evening air smells of charcoal and citronella as Nanami moves through the crowd, trying yet failing to focus on anything but you. All around him, friends and coworkers intermingle while indulging in ice-cold drinks and delicious food fresh off the smoker. He loves food, especially Yuki's cooking when she hosts a barbecue.

But none of it registers tonight.

Because every sensory nerve-ending in his body is completely captivated and overwhelmed by the vision you make in that deep red sundress.

The rich crimson chiffon swirls and caresses over your body in sinuous waves of delicious color. You’re bathed in red, as if rose petals have unfurled and stitched themselves together to form the beautiful dress on your body. It’s a maxi dress that sweeps down to your ankles and kisses the straps of your block heels. Scorching flashes of full thighs are visible through the flowing slits on each side. The deep v-neck dips in a daring drop that leaves your sternum and the inner sides of your breasts achingly exposed.

Each step you take has the delicate material clinging and drifting in the most hypnotic dance around your heavenly form. Nanami tracks the rhythmic sway of your hips with a burning stare, his control splintering a little more with every toss of your head that allows the deep brown of your skin to wink at him from the column of your neck.

Yuki is already three wine coolers in—not a lot for most, but more than enough for her to throw decorum to the wind. From across the backyard, Choso watches with an indulgent smile as his partner bobs off-beat to the soft music flowing from the speakers.

Choso's expression of pure adoration mirrors the way Nanami looks at you when he thinks no one else is watching. They share that unspoken understanding, that bone-deep contentment of being completely enraptured by the women they love.

At one point, the music shifts, more alcohol disappears, and Yuki is hauling you to the makeshift dance floor of the backyard. Nanami tries, he really, really does. But everything about you makes him stand at attention. Breathing, walking, laughing, smiling at nothing, and now—with just one rock of your hips to the music—his eyes are locked in.

You’ve never been a good dancer. But you’ve also never cared of the expectation to be a good one either. And Yuki is an extroverted pull that makes you sway more, that makes your shoulders roll and laughter to bubble from your lips as you watch your friend make a fool of herself.

Nanami runs a hand through his thick blonde locks, disrupting the careful part he made before you both left the apartment earlier in the evening. The other hand clutches a glass of scotch a little tighter, the condensation sliding against his fingers before he takes a generous swig, his eyes not once leaving you.

You can feel him before you even look over, and when you do lock with Nanami’s deep brown gaze from across the yard, you throw him a soft look from beneath your lashes as you slowly roll your hips. It’s the same motion of your hips that he got to feel last night with you straddling him, panting against his lips in the middle of the night.

Outwardly sensual in only a way he can recognize amongst everyone around him. But it’s your rapturous, carefree expression of pure bliss that simultaneously enchants and undoes the last tattered remains of his composure. With every movement, you embody the very essence of feminine energy—raw, joyful, and utterly free. You are a vision of untamed beauty, a wild goddess of the summer night come to life in a swirling dreamscape of rich ruby chiffon.

The erotic, carnal urge to chase after your swaying, taunting form and haul you away to some shadowed corner where he can divest you of that sinful dress is overwhelming. Swallowing hard, Nanami averts his burning stare for fear of literally combusting on the spot.

“You alright there, buddy?” Yu's familiar voice cuts through the lusty fog, tinged with the warm charm of a couple beers down. “You look like you’re about to swallow your tongue or something.”

“I…excuse me,” is all Nanami can grate out, the remark feeling like fragments of glass as he speaks. He doesn’t wait for a response, simply stalking off through the open patio door and into the thankfully dim and cool interior of Yuki and Choso's home. Anything to escape your enticing presence for even a single moment.

The music and laughter from outside feels muffled as he sinks down onto the living room sofa in the shadows—rubbing distractedly at his thundering chest. But it does nothing to get rid of the vision of you dancing so wantonly and on unrestrained display in that gorgeous ruby sundress.

Where are you even getting them? Online? Or is there a store that he doesn’t know about? He hasn’t seen other women in the city wearing dresses like you do. But then again…Nanami doesn’t really pay attention unless it’s you.

His fingers grip the plush armrest of the sofa until the knuckles strain white, breath sawing harsh and ragged from his heaving lungs. Nanami squeezes his eyes shut, forcing himself to visualize anything other than the way that lightweight crimson had drifted and kissed over your thighs that peeked between side slits, the growing sheen of sweat between the generous canvas of your chest, the exposed slope of your neck free of curls—a spot of concealer on the side to hide the mark he gave you last night.

A harsh exhale escapes him as he forces his eyes open, only to instantly regret it. The muted sounds of the party filter in from outside—sweet laughter, the low thrum of bass, the periodic high-pitched squeal of your voice crying out at Yuki to get a hold of herself.

Nanami’s stomach clenches raggedly at that sound, arousal stroking down his spine in sweltering waves. Through the clear glass of the patio door, he can see the way your face lights up in pure rapturous joy as you give in to yourself. The subtle shifts and gyrations of your body in time with the beat, each swivel of your hips like a siren’s call.

Against his volition, imagination melds into memory, replaying the countless times he’s buried his face between your thighs and simply drank in the celestial sounds of your pleasure until his name was a breathless gasp on your lips. That shrieking cry at Yuki almost the same towards him when he licks at your sensitive nerves one too many times. He forces his gaze away, leans his head back against the sofa and stares up at the ceiling.

The music fluctuates once more, that instantly recognizable intro to the next funky summer hit you adore cuing up. Despite the walls between you, Nanami can still acutely pick up the subtle cadence of your movements in time with that danceable rhythm. He knows the exact choreography of hips and legs that song inspires in you…and his slacks suddenly feel far too confining.

That’s when your voice cuts through the relative quiet like a bolt of lightning, somehow even closer now as you call out—half-playful chiding, half siren’s promise.

“Oh Kentooo…” The singsong inflection has his eyes squeezing shut even as his cock shamefully twitches against it’s restrictive fabric prison. “Where has my favorite salaryman gone off to hide? You know I can’t dance without my partner watching me.”

Gritting his teeth against the dark, full-bodied groan that tries to escape, Nanami hunches forward until his elbows are digging into his thighs. There you stand framed in the patio door, backlit in a devastating silhouette by the lantern lights emanating through the loud yard behind you.

You walk closer in that torturous dress, the double layers trailing languidly behind in currents of fabric that have his throat struggling to swallow. Your stunning frame is practically dripping in sensual confidence and self-assured power. He knows the power you have over him and would sooner swallow his favorite tie than give that up.

The rich carmine floats around you in sinuous waves as you sashay closer to where Nanami sits transfixed on the sofa. And with each step, all manners and decorum that have been taught to him fizzle away with the increasing ache in his jeans.

“Like what you see?” you murmur huskily once you’ve prowled to stand between his legs, allowing Nanami an unfettered view of your neckline, the long gold necklace between your breasts winking at him with each shallow intake of breath. You lift one leg to press a knee onto his powerful thigh—close enough for your perfume to slide down his nostrils and cloud his mind. The slit over your bent knee flutters open in an obscene gap, granting his hooded gaze a glimpse of skin his teeth ache to bite into.

“I asked,” you breathe out in a seductive timbre, near enough for Nanami to actually taste the addictive warmth of your presence on his tongue. “If you like what you see…”

The inhale that rattles through his powerful frame is involuntary. So is the compulsive way his fingertips suddenly flex against the cushion with the overwhelming urge to finally reacquaint himself with the soft temptation of your skin. Others be damned, mannerisms of being a respectful guest falling to the wayside.

Somewhere through the rapidly thickening haze of pure liquid arousal, Nanami manages a jerky nod—unable to summon even the most basic of syllables in response. He swallows hard, Adam's apple bobbing convulsively as you arch one delicious eyebrow in a silent challenge. With your beautiful curls pulled up into a high ponytail, he can see the slope of your ears that are adorned with the gold hoops he bought you last month.

Then, before he can gather enough of his scattered wits to chastise you for your behavior, you’re boldly reaching out and capturing one of his clenching fists in a firm grip. A soft grunt rattles up from deep in Nanami’s chest at the heated feel of your palm finally making purchase on his overheated skin.

But his breath hitches in a harsh inhale as you purposefully guide his splayed fingers towards your exposed leg—sliding his hand up excruciatingly slow to caress along the landscape of textures and planes laid out in offering. He expects the generous hem of panties he’s seen time and time again. He knows what they look like in his mind when he teases the edges before slipping inside to graze his fingers along your aching clit. But the calloused pads of his fingertips brush the thin string of a thong instead. And it’s just a single touch that has him wide-eyed, reeling—the edges of his vision dizzying into a hazy fog of aching, inexplicable need.

You should have come with a manual. Surely there’s a guide to get through the summer months with you? Some sort of text to explain the steps he needs to take to keep himself in control in public?

The rapturous throb of your saphenous vein leaps against his fingertips as you allow him to slant just a hairsbreadth further—close enough to feel the heat of the place he’s been countless times before—close enough to slide a thick finger along fabric he knows is wet.

Only for you to tear your hand away and drop your knee as the sound of Yuki's voice pierces the heavy sensual tension hanging between your bodies.

“There you are!” She calls out cheerfully from the sliding glass door. “My song is on, come dance with me!”

There’s a gentle tuft of laughter from you then—one tinged with dark satisfaction as you drink in the wrecked, wanton expression flaming across Nanami’s features. As if thoroughly enjoying reducing him to this strung-out state of desperation. You could rule the world if given the right resources.

“Yuki, let’s get you some water. You’ve had a little too much to drink…” your voice trails off as you disappear in a rustle of vermilion and sashaying hips with one last loaded look over your bare shoulder.

He manages a shuddering breath that feels more like sandpaper sliding down his abused lungs. The delicious scent of your perfume still clings to the charged air around him, the phantom-like caress of your dress along his knuckles, the sound of your throaty laugh disappearing back to the party outside. Each ragged exhale has his body subtly canting forward, giving silent chase to your retreating form as if by muscle memory alone.

This game…this deliciously maddening game you delight in playing has Nanami’s entire being teetering on the razor-thin edge of unraveling completely. Each new summer ensemble seems specifically designed to further tempt and destroy the decades of discipline he’s meticulously cultivated since he was a teenager.

Nanami would think after a relationship or two, he would have steeled himself against falling victim to seduction. And yet, not a single woman from his past could have prepared Nanami for the devastating combination of your radiant beauty and barely-restrained hedonism.

Your laughter calls out to him again, his eyes snapping up to see you smiling as Yuki chugs the glass of water Choso has pressed to her lips. Completely innocent and free of devilish qualities, the fact that Nanami knows that dark side of you makes him fold his arms across his chest, sagging against the sofa and glaring at your form as he wills his erection to go down.

It’s two days before summer’s end when Nanami feels the steadily fraying threads of his self-control finally unravel into oblivion. He’s tried every possible tactic these last few months to stave off the relentless fire of desire you’ve been stoking within him—going for runs, ice cold showers, avoiding you when possible. He’s even resorted to having you model your newest sundress purchases at home in a desperate attempt at desensitizing himself. It all seems incredibly dramatic, but Nanami has no idea what else to do. Nothing has worked against the intoxicating mix of your lively beauty and increasingly bold choices designed to torment him until he’s six feet under.

He had known from the moment he accidentally stumbled upon that fateful periwinkle dress sitting in your laptop’s shopping cart that it would be his undoing. He can still picture with perfect clarity the way the model seemed to shimmer and dance on the screen as he clicked through the product imagery—he pictured it with heart throbbing clarity how it would look on you.

And he still has so many more years left of his life to enjoy.

Without conscious thought, Nanami had swiftly removed the item from the cart—an invasion of privacy that left him nauseous, but a necessary decision if only to spare himself.

He was stupid to think it would actually work.

So it comes as little surprise to see you boldly flaunting that silken number tonight at the rooftop gala marking his company’s most prosperous quarter yet. The twinkling strings of lantern bulbs and hot summer breezes swirling all around you only heighten the flagging warning that this night won’t end the way he wants.

As you glide about the rooftop, the pale periwinkle seems to float effortlessly around your body. Like every dress before, this one is no exception, complimenting the deepness of your skin. The whisper-weight fabric lays against your hips and waist, simultaneously shaping and gracefully draping in all the right places.

The thin straps crisscross behind your neck, framing your graceful shoulders and collarbones. As you turn, the silk lifts and drifts around you in a mesmerizing swirl of decadence. It’s another plunging V-neckline, but this dress sits on your body and decolletage with an air of romantic grace. It’s not scandalous like that night at Yuki and Choso's.

But it’s the back—oh it’s the back that makes his gaze heavy, that makes the organ in his chest beat out of rhythm with every inch he uncovers. Try as he might, it’s absolutely impossible for him to look away from the delicate contours and valleys of your body put on full and enthralling display by this backless dress. From the elegant lines of your throat and shoulders left teasingly bare to the soft inward curve of your arched lower back—the dress is a cruel temptation showcasing every salivating inch of you that he’s spent countless nights worshiping.

It’s beautiful on you, truly and unimaginably beautiful, and it’s a terrible twist of fate that such a simple observation is destroying Nanami from the inside. All that discipline—the cold showers, the extra miles added to his runs, the attempts of desensitization—it’s useless. No matter how hard he tries, he will always notice something new each time he looks at you. And it will always wreck him and throw him off axis whether he likes it or not.

Because amidst all the warmth and sociability of this rooftop celebration, all Nanami’s rapidly sharpening focus can zero in on is the subtle glisten of perspiration trailing down the slope of your spine. Every imperceptible turn and cock of your hip amplified tenfold by the silk that gets to touch you while he watches. As if personally daring him to finally surrender every last shred of patience and simply take what he wants.

A soft chuckle escapes your full lips as Nanami’s boss leans in closer, undoubtedly regaling you with some far from amusing anecdote from the office. The charming sound has every thread of Nanami’s control taut like a bowstring. Because that sound means a lot for him nowadays—laughing at his dry humor, the movies you both watch together, the giggling stuttering into whimpers and moans of ecstasy when your back arches from his tongue.

Suddenly, the light summer breeze kicks up in and swirls around you, waving the hem of your dress and the two-day old twistout on your head. Instinctively, you reach up to tuck a lock of those dark silken twists behind one ear.

Time itself seems to slow as he watches those inky tendrils ghost across your bare shoulders and the exposed skin of your upper back. Nanami watches with visceral hunger as those wild strands make playful, meandering paths across the smoothly toned expanse of brown skin. His entire body instantaneously flushes with hot need and arousal at the simple, harmless image. The soft rise of your breasts shake as you offer a fake laugh to whatever drivel your boss has just said. And in that split second—the culmination of tonight, this dress, the entire summer of taunting and coy smiles— Nanami’s restraint finally shatters into so many useless slivers at his feet.

Before conscious thought can override anything else, he’s stalking across the rooftop with rigid, predatory intensity—adjusting the unique glasses on his nose, his mouth set in a grim line of single-minded focus. The gaggle of chattering coworkers and small-talk banter all fade away into muted static and white noise. All that exists in this heated vortex of Nanami’s rapidly narrowing universe is the coiling pull of you.

“Ah, Nanami!” His boss greets heartily, clearly surprised yet pleased to see the company’s best worker at last. “Your partner and I were just discussing a better way to spruce up the quarterly party for next year. Care to weigh in, my friend?”

The question lands on deaf ears. Because at the exact same instant his professional mentor is extending that olive branch of attempted small talk…your eyes are on his, a knowing, small smile pressed to the hem of your champagne glass as you take a sip. The sight of your jewelry, the fabric against your skin, the way you look at him…the desire that rips through his body is staggering.

“I apologize for interrupting, but I need to speak with you,” he grates out in a tone heavy with gravel and masculine focus. His palm finds the smoldering heat of your lower back without conscious thought, marking delirious patterns of desire against your naked skin. Your eyebrows furrow with a silent question at the rough timbre of his command…even though you see that undisguised storm of hunger and frustrated desire raging behind his tinted glasses.

“Of course,” you finally murmur and turn to his coworkers to wish them goodbye, setting down your glass on the table beside you.

He’s burning, raging with a fever that doesn’t even exist and each shallow inhale draws more of your achingly familiar perfume into his senses—only making things worse.

He guides you through the crowded rooftop party and towards the elevators with a molten intensity bordering on feral. Nanami’s palm maps possessive into the searing expanse of your back. Every step jostles his arm flush against the silk on your frame.

“Where exactly are we going in such a hurry?”

The rich, seductive rasp of your voice is designed to torture him further, but Nanami doesn’t rise to it, simply presses fingers more firm to your back, his other punches the elevator button with purpose.

“I said I need to speak with you,” he finally bites out. “That should be more than enough.”

You lean further into his touch and look up at him, your tongue darts out to toy with your plush bottom lip in a show of faux innocence.

“Is that so?” The melodic lilt coupled with the ghost of your warm breath fanning across Nanami’s jaw would have been enough to make a lesser man’s knees buckle entirely. Instead, it simply ratchets the tension coiling through his powerful frame into a downright maddening degree.

The soft chime of the arriving elevator makes you both turn in tandem, the mirror of the elevator doors casting your reflections—allowing Nanami to drink in the smoldering fire already blazing behind your heavy-lidded stare. There’s profound hunger glimmering there that matches his own. An unadulterated wildness reined in by the thinnest veneer of coy indifference. You’ve always been slick—but not tonight.

The mirrored doors slide open with a hushed mechanical shush, you both step inside, and the doors slide closed.

Nanami offers a silent apology for the violation of manners his parents instilled in him before he backs you into the far wall—the breath punching out of your lungs as your back makes shocking contact with the mirrored paneling. Now it’s you breathless, struggling to compose yourself as the masculine power of Nanami consumes you.

A subtle shudder ripples through Nanami’s abdomen as you wantonly tilt your head back, arching your throat in wordless invitation just as your fingertips rise to trail heated lines over his heaving chest. The lapels are black as midnight, the undershirt a crisp white, and he’s the handsome man that’s all yours even as he fights between what’s right and what he wants. One of his palms is cupping the slope of your jawline as the other maps out the silk of your dress. He bends slowly until the heat of his mouth is tracing the full curve of your parted lips—a heavy brush of sculpted male confidence against your teasing softness.

“You’ve pressed against my boundaries to a criminal degree, love,” Nanami warns in a dark rasp scorched with the first cinders of the firestorm yet to come. His palm slides up the bare inward curve of your back until his fingers are tunneling through the wild riot of your twistout at the nape of your neck. Tinted eyes slit in satisfaction as your head tips back farther on a shaky inhale—granting him access to the deliciously vulnerable length of your throat.

“Nothing to say?” he husks out in the open, admiring the flutter of your lashes as his voice hits you. Nanami’s mouth brands a hot trail from the sensitive juncture of your jaw up towards the shell of your ear. You whimper softly at the slow, torturous build—the same sound of rapture he has memorized and pulled from you countless times between the sheets. It’s enough to strip away any lingering reservations entirely.

With the strength he’s never ashamed to show you, hands slide under your thighs and he yanks you up. Your legs wrap around him on instinct, your arms winding around his neck, your head tilting back again to smack on the mirrored glass.

His tongue glides along the buttery curve of your throat, tasting the familiar tang of salt and vanilla on the tip and the smell of him, of pure Nanami clouds your mind enough to finally look down at him, your noses a hairsbreadth from each other. It’s a silent standoff, your eyes as teasing as they are filled with arousal, his eyes dark with something that makes you shiver against him.

And then he’s kissing you, deep and hungry, his hands roaming the bare expanse of your back, dipping lower, pulling you closer. You melt into Nanami’s kiss, your initial surprise giving way to a matching hunger. Your hands slip under his suit jacket, feeling the heat of his skin through his shirt. He groans against your mouth, the sound vibrating through you, igniting your nerves, thrumming in your veins.

You don’t even hear the elevator doors open but you feel him walking, lips hot and demanding groaning into you as you slide your fingers into his golden locks and pull. Nanami knows these floors like the back of his hand, and he’s familiar with the abandoned break room on the thirtieth floor, his hand yanking the door open and shutting it hard, lips never leaving yours.

You gasp into his mouth when your ass lands on the old buttons of a copier, the machine groaning under your weight, the plastic buttons beeping in protest. As Nanami presses you against the copier, he can’t help but marvel at the feel of you beneath his hands. The dress, this damn dress, is like water under his fingers, smooth and cool and entirely too thin. He can feel every curve, every contour, every shuddering breath you take.

He punctuates his actions with a roll of his hips, pressing his hardness that strains against his slacks against your core. You moan, your head falling back, and he takes advantage of your exposed neck, his lips and teeth worrying the sensitive skin, his tongue licking the marks he leaves.

“How many more dresses do you have?” he growls against your throat, his voice rough with need. “How many more ways are you going to torture me?”

You gasp as his teeth graze your pulse point, your fingers threading into his hair. “T-that depends,” you manage, your voice breathy. Nanami’s chuckle is dark, dangerous, his hands trailing higher, dipping into the seam of your panties, his fingers brushing over your clit. He savors the way your jerk against him, a whimper leaving your throat as you pant into the dusty air.

“Is this what you wanted? To reduce me to this? A man so desperate for you he’d take you in a public place?”

“Yes,” you hiss, arching into his touch, your breasts pressing against the thin silk that covers them. “Yesyesyes...”

Nanami’s groan is part frustration, part desire. “You have no idea what you do to me.” There’s a hint of wonder in his voice, a note of awe at the depth of his own need. His fingers press more insistently, circling, gathering your slick to make each stroke more messy and impactful, driving you towards the edge. The buttons of the copier dig into your skin, the machine whirring and beeping beneath you, adding to the crescendo of sensation. He can hear the mechanical shuffle of papers being chucked out from one end, slapping onto the floor.

“Do you like this?” Nanami pants, his breath hot against your ear. “Do you like teasing me, driving me crazy?”

“Yes,” you admit, free of shame, your nails digging into his shoulders. “Please, Kento.”

He slides two fingers into your wet heat, savoring your wanton gasp, increases the pressure, the speed of his fingers, pushing you closer to the precipice. “Have you done this before?” he asks, his voice raw with emotion. “Teased other men like this, made them want you so badly they’d forget themselves?”

“No,” you moan desperately, your head thrashing from side to side, deep locks brushing your cheeks. “Never. It’s only ever been you, Kento. Only you.”

“Say it again,” he demands, his teeth grazing your earlobe.

“Only you,” you pant. “I’m yours, Kento. Completely.”

It doesn’t take long—countless strokes inside of you, a curl of his fingers, a twist of his wrist, and you shatter. Your cry of pleasure mixes with the beeps and groans of the copier, your body shaking, your fingers digging harder into Nanami’s shoulders that he’s sure you’ve broken the barrier.

He holds you through it, his lips on your skin, his murmured praises in your ear, soft litanies of words that has made you fall deeper in love with him each passing day. You don’t get a chance to come down fully because he’s on you again, pressing closer, pushing your panties to the side and digging his fingers into the meat of your hips. But the angle is wrong, you’re too high and the copier digs into his thighs and impedes him from getting to you the way he wants.

With a grunt of frustration, Nanami lifts you off the machine. Your legs wrap around his waist as he carries you to the conference table. He sweeps aside the accumulated debris with one arm, sending sugar and tea packets scattering to the floor. Your back hits the table, the hard surface unyielding beneath you. Plastic cups crunches and snaps under your weight, sugar and coffee creamer powder puffing into the air, settling on your heated skin.

“Do you have any idea,” he murmurs, soaking in the radiance you beam up at him, “how many times I’ve imagined this? Pulling you away from everyone, getting my hands on you…not being able to do it because I’m better than that.”

You moan as he nips at your collarbone, your legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer. “And yet here you are,” you tease, breathless with twinkling eyes that shine right through him.

He captures your lips again, the kiss deep and demanding. You arch into him, your hands throwing off his glasses—they smack against a wall—your fingers deftly undoing his tie, working on the buttons of his shirt. You need to feel his skin against yours, need to be closer, and he shudders at the feel of your warm hands breaching the open buttons, sliding up his bare chest.

As if reading your mind, Nanami reaches for the zipper of your dress, slowly pulling it down. The fabric parts, baring more of your skin to his heated gaze. He takes a moment to admire you, his eyes roaming your body like a physical caress.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, almost to himself. Then his hands are on you, tracing your curves, fingers brushing your nipples before he gives them a pinch. A whimper shakes from you, your fingers pressing into his bare chest.

Dimly, he’s aware that he should stop this, that he’s in a public place, at a work event. But the heat of your body, the insistence of your touch, the mounting pleasure coursing through his veins—it all conspires to drown out reason.

Your hands fumble with his belt, your fingers shaking with need. He helps you, impatiently pushing his pants and boxers down just enough. And then he’s touching you, his fingers digging into your hips, sliding you closer to him until the tip of him presses to the sopping wet heat of your center, wet from your orgasm and still ready.

“Please,” you whimper, hardly recognizing your own voice. “Please, Kento…”pushing your dress further up your hips, trailing over your ribs, cupping your breasts until the skin spills between the gaps. His eyes widen at the sight, the base of his spine heating up. So many times he’s seen you like this in the privacy of your home, and now it’s in an old break room at his workplace, the consequence of you finally taking things too far.

He’s free of any feral energy as he kisses you, sliding into your welcoming heat slowly to acquaint himself again. Your fingers dig into his skin, your chest pressing into him as you adjust, the table creaking under your joined weight as you wrap your legs around his waist and dig your silver heels into his back. Soon he’s moving above you, within you, each thrust pushing you higher, each thrust fanning the fire within himself.

“Please,” you whisper against his lips, begging again for the unspoken demand of more. And even though the roles are reversed right now—you the one being teased—he gives you whatever you ask.

He sets a pace that’s just shy of punishing, each snap of his hips brushing his zipper against the inside of your thighs. The room fills with the sounds of sex—the slap of skin on skin, your gasps and moans, his grunts into the air. He cannot believe he’s in this moment, doing something so scandalous.

“You reduce me to this,” he pants against your lips. “It’s not fair.”

“I know,” you gasp, your hands pulling at open lapels of his shirt, squeezing around the buttons, the fabric groaning. “I’m sorry.”

But you’re not, he can tell. There’s a hint of satisfaction in your voice, a touch of pride. And why shouldn’t there be? You’ve brought him, the ever-controlled Nanami Kento, to his knees. He loves you too much to ever want anything different.

“I’m a good man,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you, curving his next thrust that he knows will brush against that spot you like.

“You’re an amazing man, Ken,” you moan in surprise, your hips lifting to meet his to seek more. “The best. Only the best for me. Only you, Kento.”

The praise makes him shake, the fire in his body raging like an inferno, burning his skin, breaking him into a sweat. He presses a knee into the table, throws one of your legs over his shoulders and savors the ragged way your name leaves his lips as he gives you everything.

“You feel so good,” he pants, his tongue licking the skin of your neck. He tastes the saltiness of your sweat, the sanitizing taste of perfume, the powdered creamer and sugar that sticks to your skin from the table. “So perfect.”

“Come on, Kento” you keen, your nails raking down the suit on his back. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

He doesn’t. Couldn’t, even if he wanted to. He’s lost in you, in the feel of you, in the knowledge that he’s the only one who gets to see you like this. Wanton, needy, completely undone.

Nothing else matters—not the party going on just floors above, not the risk of discovery, not the propriety you’re both abandoning. In this moment, there’s only you and him and the heat that’s consumed you both all summer, finally finding release.

Nanami’s thrusts become erratic, his rhythm faltering as the base of his spine tightens in a delicious way to let him know that he’s close. His hand slips between your bodies, past the silk of your rumpled periwinkle dress, gliding over your clit in well-practiced strokes and the leg over his shoulder tenses up, your head digging into the table, neck arching for him to see the flecks of sugar sticking to your neck.

“Ohhh right there Kento. Right there. Please, please I’m gonna cum—I’m—“ you smack a hand over your mouth to quiet yourself, eyes shutting tight.

“Absolutely not.” Nanami hasn’t suffered for months just to be deprived of anything during this encounter. He yanks the hand from your mouth, pressing it hard into the table, and the shock on your face as you look up at him, the staccato of your breaths, the undeniable seriousness in his gaze even as he pistons into you, admiring the way your dress pools at your waist as he gives you more, harder, deeper until—

“Ohhhh fuck!” you cum with a long dragged out cry, your body clenching around him, walls locking around his cock to the point his orgasm is yanked from him as he falls over the edge with you, pulsing deep inside with a groan muffled against your neck.

He sags against you, both of your chests heaving against each other. He slips a hand behind you, trailing lightly up and down your glistening back as you lie beneath him, spent and satisfied.

As he slowly comes down, he presses a lingering kiss to your sweat-dampened hairline, the roots of your twistout beginning to frizz. There’s a hint of coconut from your leave-in as his nose brushes down to your cheek. So familiar, yet still so intoxicating after almost a year of smelling it. As if he could ever grow numb to the potent lure of your presence.

A ragged chuckle escapes him at that thought, the mirthful rumble making you pull up your head to look at him. Nanami drinks in the utterly debauched vision you make—beautiful brown sweaty skin, hair messy, lips swollen and smirking as per usual.

His arm tightens reflexively around the sensual curves of your waist, pulling you closer in a subconscious gesture of possession and longing. Because for all the delicious torture you’ve inflicted over the past few months with your endless parade of tempting summer dresses…he wouldn’t trade this hard-won moment for anything.

Nanami is many things—disciplined, regimented, a hardworking—albeit tired— professional. But he is also only human at his core. And you, his beautiful free-spirit of a partner, has a simply breathtaking talent for awaking the primal, unrestrained parts of him he usually keeps so rigorously leashed.

“You know,” you murmur in that velvety voice he loves so much. “The minute I realized the dress vanished from my cart was the minute I knew it would be the one.”

A sleepy chuckle breaks free from his lips at your words, the sound causing you to join in as well—a vibrant melody that coats his soul in pure contentment. Nosing closer, he peppers a line of feather light kisses along the line of your jaw. “You’ll never go easy on me, will you?”

“And rob myself of bringing down Nanami Kento piece by piece?” You snort, shooting him a look of pure, playful sin from beneath your lashes. “I might have to make sundress season a year-round thing.”

His answering groan is part growl, part disbelieving laughter as the palm behind your back glides along the elegant curve of your spine down to the bend of your hip. Ever the devilish temptress without even trying, even in the aftermath.

“You’ll be the death of me.”

“That’s a good way to go,” you tease, pulling him down for another kiss, sweet and sticky and full of promise.

His hands slide along the canvas of your body, fingers dipping into the ridges of the open zipper of your dress. He’ll make sure it’s dry cleaned so you can wear it next year. And hopefully he’ll be better prepared.

When you giggle against his lips and dig your heels into his back, he realizes that there will be no amount of preparation when it comes to you.

Thanks for reading!

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idyllic-ghost · 5 months ago

Text

title: Stay in Character! pairing: vernon x gn!reader genre: established relationship, fluff, warnings: reader has a sister with a kid, mentions of childbirth, mentions of stress, anxiety over moving in with a partner synopsis: You're on the verge of panicking - you still have moving boxes to pack and move into your boyfriend's apartment, but you can't leave the fact that your sister is giving birth to her second child while you're babysitting her first. However, your stress slowly dissipates when you walk into your cluttered kitchen and see your boyfriend playing pretend with your niece. wordcount: 5.9k

rating: PG 15

a/n: i keep wanting to write soft fluffy vernon blurbs idk what's happening

Disclaimer: The scenarios and depictions in my works are fictional and do not represent real-life situations. They do not aim to reflect the complexities of any culture, city, or individual. All characters are entirely fictional, regardless of names or descriptions.

Join my taglist // Masterlists

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The bumbling sounds from your tiny kitchen caught your attention as soon as you got out of the phone call with your sister's husband. Once one anxious thought was gone, another one appeared out of the blue - what were they doing in there? They weren't messing with the boxes, were they? You took a deep breath, trying to calm down enough for you to have an interaction without yelling.

Rolling up your sleeves, you walked into your kitchen to deal with the next situation. The walls were covered with stacked boxes, so you almost couldn't see the old wallpaper. The noises were coming from your kitchen table, which still wasn't packed up. Vernon was sitting at the table with your niece, and the two of them had put out a paper plate with whatever snacks they could find, three glasses, and a bottle of water.

Your shoulders relaxed as you watched the two of them play pretend. They had clearly been trying to help you pack but had gotten distracted by your miscellaneous items. Vernon was wearing one of your scarves on his head and an old pair of sunglasses you had forgotten about - your niece wearing a matching pair. However, as soon as he saw you come in, he took off the glasses and sent you a gentle smile.

"Is everything okay?" he asked.

It was all so ridiculous. Your sister was in the middle of an unexpectedly early childbirth, in the middle of you getting ready to move into your boyfriend's apartment, and here he was: playing dress-up with your niece. In some weird way, it was just what you needed - how Vernon could know you had no idea.

"She's fine," you finally replied with a tired smile. "It was a little bit of a surprise, but everything seems to be okay... what are the two of you doing?"

"We're just-"

"Stay in character!" your niece complained.

Vernon mouthed "Sorry," before putting the sunglasses back on and turning back to your niece. With his usual, matter-of-fact voice, he asked her what she thought about the weather. Your niece picked up her glass and took a sip of the water, making an exaggerated "ahh" as she put it back down.

"Too much rain," she responded with a nonchalant wave of her hand.

You could see Vernon have to restrain himself from laughing, his hand flying up to cover his smile. After clearing his throat, he nodded in agreement. You should be packing up the last of your stuff, the moving truck will arrive soon, and you should probably text your sister's husband again to ask him to send you updates. But right now, you could feel how tired you were in your bones. So, you sat down on the third chair and let Vernon pour you a glass of water. Then, he picked up the paper plate and held it out to you.

"Gummy worm?" he asked.

"How old are those?" You chuckled as you inspected the candies on the plate.

"I have no idea," he admitted. "But the cookies are from last week, I think."

You took a cookie and silently thanked him. Vernon and your niece continued their conversation about rain, which took a sharp turn when Vernon mentioned thunder - which was apparently very controversial in your niece's eyes. Any anxious feelings you had over moving in with Vernon were slowly disappearing. For a moment, you could truly let go of everything as Vernon kept your niece busy - and if he acted like this in a moment of crisis, maybe the two of you would do well living together.

"Bathroom break!" your niece suddenly exclaimed, clapping her hands together once to signal that the scene was over.

She hopped off her chair and walked away to your small bathroom. You had already taken all of the boxes out of there, so you knew that she would be okay on her own.

"She's a little director," Vernon said.

"She is," you murmured.

He gave you a long look, a silent "Are you really okay?" to which you responded with a nod. Vernon moved his chair closer to yours, wrapping his arms around you and slowly patting your head.

"You're doing good, babe," he muttered against the top of your head.

"Thank you."

"I'll go back to packing up and you could sit with her for a bit," he suggested. "Or I could do anything else you need."

"Packing sounds good," you hummed. "I just need to make sure she's not feeling neglected or anything, you know? My sister was worried."

Vernon let go of you and grabbed your hand to give it a comforting squeeze. He was still wearing the scarf and the sunglasses, and you could no longer keep a straight face. You snort and turn away from him, trying to shield yourself from breaking out into even more laughter.

"What?" he asked and tried to make you look at him again. "Am I not pretty?"

After taking a deep breath, you look back at him with a contained grin. Vernon cocks his head at you, clearly aware of the way he looks now but also determined to keep you smiling. Your niece eventually came back from the bathroom and climbed back onto her chair. The two of you looked at her expectantly as she cleared her throat.

"Bathroom break's over!" she chimed.

"Honey," you said carefully. "Is it okay if Vernon goes away to pack some more stuff and I stay here with you?"

Your niece glanced back and forth between the two of you before extending her hand to Vernon. He carefully removed his scarf and glasses and placed them into her small, outstretched palm.

"You've been replaced!" your niece exclaimed dramatically as she handed you the items. "I'll give you the roll as long as you stay in character!"

As you and Vernon erupted into laughter, your niece continued to mimic the voice of a director before she eventually joined you in your mirth. Everything that could go wrong today, did go wrong - yet, it felt bearable with Vernon by your side. Observing his banter with your niece might have seemed like a man simply engaging in make-believe with his partner's niece others, but to you, it was a deeply serene and comforting scene. You knew with certainty that your future was in reliable hands.

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pseudowho · 6 months ago

Text

Monster

Your colleague, Higuruma Hiromi, has seemed so tired, for so long. You'd do anything to help him...right?

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, Vampire!Higuruma, blood consumption, male masturbation, female masturbation, thigh fucking, PIV, m!receiving oral, f!receiving oral, sex-pollenish/aphrodisiac effects and vampirism

(dis)honourable mention to @delirious-donna for helping me to decide on the location of this flagrant sluttiness.

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Higuruma Hiromi was driven to skin-clawing distraction by daydreams of the taste of you, in more ways than one.

You never knew this, of course. Late-nights alone in the office invariably turned into debauched scenes of Hiromi, fucking into his fist and wishing it was your pussy instead; teeth piercing his own blood from his hand and being lapped up by his whining mouth, wishing it was your throat instead. Too many times had he needed to wipe droplets of blood and milky cum off his paperwork, shuddering with the remnants of his orgasm, his cock still semi-hard in his fist.

His latest cunning plan to sate this desperate hunger, had been unsuccessful. Sat at your desk, and breathing deeply of one of the scarves you had left in your drawer, had set his cock hardening against his thigh humiliatingly fast. Hiromi had tugged at the roots of his own hair, head thrown back and growling in frustration. Fumbling around in his bag, he had clumsily slopped lube into a pocket-pussy, and withdrawn the unit of packed red blood cells he had managed to steal from the local hospital.

Messy, and sweaty, Hiromi had drunk from this pack, while the slick sounds of his frantic self-pleasuring and fractured, sandy moans filled the empty office. Your scarf, steeped in the smell of you, remained draped over his face and nose the whole time.

With each passing day you grew sweeter, and riper. He could not cope. He could not cope. He would not last.

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One day, you hoped, you might arrive in the office before Hiromi. Whatever the time of year, he arrived before the break of dawn, and left after the sun had set. Vitamin D supplements had entered into your head as the next possible way to help him, and you shook yourself for being so ridiculous-- although...

"I...you don't have to buy me coffee every morning," Hiromi whispered, something tender coiling in his belly when you slipped a large black coffee and a bagged pastry onto his desk, "let alone breakfast."

"Well," you hummed, benign, "would you eat or drink if I didn't feed you?" Hiromi narrowed his eyes, a challenging little smile within them. A scoff.

"If I lied to you, would you believe me?"

"You're a great lawyer, Hiromi. But not smart enough to lie to me."

His laughter, rich and genuine, burst in you, a stunning puff of petals. You couldn't laugh with him, as your heart stalled in place. How could you not help him, when a match struck in his eyes, just from looking at you?

"Not that I ever would." Hiromi assured, low and smooth. His eyes never left yours once. His gravity threatened to pull you straight into his arms. "Lie to you, that is. You're the only thing that..." Hiromi trailed off, clearing his throat. He looked back to his papers, pale. You missed the tremor in his hands. You couldn't feel how he held himself back from taking you, in every way, here on his desk.

If only he knew you would let him.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

How the fuck did he find himself in the driving rain, three floors up, looking through your balcony windows? How the fuck had it gotten this bad? You were a drug. Forbidden fruit. Hiromi had not drunk from a person in so long, instead surviving on a knife's edge, from stolen blood bags and wild deer. He couldn't recall what came first; needing to be inside you, or needing you inside him. It all equated to hunger, anyway. He was starved.

Even a morsel would do. That's how he found himself outside your bedroom, in a storm, watching you fuck yourself in your bedroom when you should have been sleeping. The rainwater seeped through his black suit, doing nothing to cool the hot, velvet throb between his legs. His hair was swept back off his forehead, drenched, squinting against the biting wind as he marvelled at the image of you.

Clearly, you were unable to distract yourself from the ache in your belly, and the little memories of past orgasms that throbbed through your clit. Every time the thought of Hiromi fucking into you had crossed your mind, you reached for something in your drawer that would never satisfy that urge like he would.

You lay on your belly, stretched and stuffed all the way to your cervix with a dildo and rabbit. You had spent your generous paycheck on an expensive toy, one that thrusted. You knew, deep down, humping the dildo inside you with a pillow between your legs, that it would never be able to replicate the real thing. You felt the blunt little punch of the mechanical dildo against your belly, fucking it into you, as if it would soothe your spiritual famine. Your pleasure was dulled, without the accompanying tenderness of the man that you wanted...needed.

You wore an oversized t-shirt, and nothing else, and Hiromi watched how your back arched and undulated, rolling your cunt against the pillow. You gripped another pillow between your arms, biting into it, mewling at the deliciousness of being filled with something, anything. Hiromi's animalistic senses could hear your little cries, and the muffled buzz of your toys. He could smell the silky arousal that spilled out around your dildo. He could taste you on the air, almost.

It took every ounce of self-restraint not to allow his inhuman strength to take over, punch a hole through the glass and step in, silhouetted against the moonlight. Hiromi would allow his own musk, a curious trap in the art of seduction and predation, to seep over you. Hiromi would watch as you became pliable, supple. You wouldn't fight as he shushed you, pulling the dildo from you and licking it clean. You would whimper for him to replace the emptiness he had left behind, and he would, of course, oblige you. He would press you down by the back of your neck, as if you would ever resist him, and promise you that it wouldn't hurt. He would drink down your cries and your blood as he fucked you down against the sheets, his mouth lapping so fervently at your throat.

He hadn't even noticed how close to his own peak he had come, but as you tensed and keened against your pillow, he felt the dangerous tug of his balls tightening against the base of his cock. He wasn't even touching himself, how could he possibly--

"...H-Hiromi...haaaaah please please fuck me please...oooooohhhh 'm cumming--"

Hiromi came with a shout, with next to no warning, to hear you cry out his name. He convulsed, hunched and doubled-over, cursing and feeling thick ropes of his seed pulse through his jerking cock, diluting with rainwater and trickling down his thighs. He was stunned, panting against the glass, and he nearly swallowed his own heart when he heard the rustle of sheets, and a timid little voice pipe through the dark.

"Hello? Who's there?"

By the time you had pulled the dildo from yourself with a shiver, and opened the balcony door, there was nothing left behind but the churning storm. Clinging to the underside of your balcony, still panting and covered in his own cum, Hiromi knew that something deep within him had fractured completely.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

You were astounded to find yourself alone in the office as the sun set. Hiromi had left before you, with a sickly-looking smile, and a languid wave of that long, pale hand. While you were thrilled that he was going home at a normal time, you couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment. He knew you were staying to work late on a case...and had, apparently, chosen this one night to leave before nightfall.

Night had, indeed, fallen fast. The sunset blotted out quickly behind grey rolling clouds. Another storm swept in, dragging the night along with it. You opened a window, seeking the earthy petrichor to balm your weary soul. You sunk your lovesickness into a bitter coffee, as if it was enough to replace the lackadaisical cleverness of the man who haunted your every waking moment.

You tried to distract yourself, awash in case notes. The hours dragged, long and lonely. Rubbing your eyes as the clock struck midnight, you stood to collect the key to lock the office, only to find it missing.

"Shit..." you murmured, sitting back at your desk to rummage in the drawers. You rummaged in all the drawers-- your boss's, your colleagues, Hiromi's...

The lights above you went out with a click. One by one, throughout the length of the office, the lights went out, out, out, and you were plunged into darkness. You felt a lick of ice down the nape of your neck, and every hair stood on end. You were being watched.

"Shit...shit... where's the key... where's the fucking key?" You hissed to yourself, terror crawling across your skin.

Hiromi was barely himself anymore as he stalked you from the shadows. His belly was a cavernous pit. The unholy combination of starvation and desire stirred the monster within. He lay in waiting, allowing you to be drawn in, running to him while you thought you were running away.

You had tried every nook, every pigeon hole, every secret hook throughout the office, but fear made you sloppy. You couldn't go home too late, when the streets were empty. Not with all the tales of hungry beasts hunting for lone prey in the night.

Why, then, as you approached the expansive boardroom at the end of the corridor, did you find yourself becoming so...mellow? You felt light, airy. You floated on an otherworldly, heady musk, so alluring. It reminded you of someone...but who? You couldn't remember, so many drinks deep into this odd botanical tonic. It throbbed through you, intoxicating and warm and your heart was beating between your legs by the time you swayed into the boardroom, undoing your hair, loosening the buttons of your blouse--

"...I'm sorry. I can't let you leave."

You blinked, slow and drunk. Frowning as your vision cleared, you saw Hiromi, illuminated by moonlight. He sat in the executive's chair, at the head of the great boardroom table. A flash of lightning set his features in dramatic clarity, his Roman nose casting deep shadows across his profile. Still, you thought, with your little hum or surprise, he looked pale. Tense. Tortured.

"...Hiromi...Hiro..." you whispered, padding over to him, barefoot. You couldn't remember when you had shed your shoes. Hiromi's skin prickled. The way your voice, sweet and breathy, ran straight to his cock, had him biting one finger between gradually lengthening canines, his other fingertips steepled against his deeply frowning forehead.

"...wouldn't leave anyway...not when I've...finally got you all to myself..." You slurred, grinning, a happy drunk. Hiromi couldn't help but bite one lip, smiling back at you, as you sat with a thud on his lap. His deadly, predatory pheromones increased against his will, to feel your soft, plush curves pressed to his lap. Hiromi trailed one arm around your waist. The part of him that screamed for him to stop, was trapped in a glass box in his mind.

"Yeah?" Hiromi whispered, one pale hand cupping your jaw. "You've been wanting me all alone? Tell me." She wants this it's okay it's not a trap she'll help me she'd always help me god she's so beautiful--

"I have. For months. I dream about you." The words left your mouth unbidden, dragged from you by some irresistible force. Hiromi drank them down, needing to hear you confess your desire for him.

"And what do you do?" Hiromi urged, his voice rough with need. "What do you do, when you dream of me? Tell me. Now."

"I touch myself and...and wish it was you, instead." Hiromi shivered.

"Until you cum? To the thought of my cock inside you? Until you're calling out for me?" You nodded, hurried and floppy. Hiromi cursed under his breath, a thumb brushing over your lips, salivating at the memory of you on your bed, crying out his name.

"Yeah," you promised, almost tearful now with the weight of your confessions, "I do, I cum so hard, but it's not enough, it's not the same as-- as--"

You slid a hand up Hiromi's chest, his sloppy tie and partially unbuttoned shirt, and were surprised by how cool he felt. He groaned beneath your touch, and you shivered, turning and pressing your chest to his. Hiromi panted beneath you, his face contorted, barely restrained. His hands felt so strong, trapping you to him by your waist, and you were sure there would be bruises left behind.

"Let me taste you," Hiromi convinced, his voice low and persuasive, "just once...you're going to help me." His fingers tangled in your hair now, angling your face up, and you blinked slowly, dazed and unquestioning. His teeth were sharp, bared. You could feel the length of his cock, throbbing against your belly. The frantic rise and fall of his chest made you feel like you were on a little boat, rocking over waves.

You had barely begun to nod, before he pulled you in for a kiss so deep, your head swam. Hiromi groaned into your mouth, forcing your lips to part with his own, devouring you with bliss and fervour. You had never felt so alive, your little heart beating like hummingbird wings. The taste of him was sinful. He wanted to carve out your soul and tie it to his, enshrined, fit for worship. By the time his tongue had plunged into your mouth, you were loose and supple on his lap.

Every ounce of uncertainty had left you. Just as Hiromi's mouth began to trail across your jaw, towards your neck, your hand slipped beneath his belt. Hiromi's lips released the lovebite he had just made above your pulse point with a pop, and his head flung back against the executive's chair's headrest. The moan that left his lips was more pornographic than you had ever dreamt. His silky foreskin seared beneath your touch.

"--f-fuck, god, I-- squeeze me harde--- oooohh-ooohhh shit...hnnnn--'

Hiromi's hands gripped the armrests, white-knuckled, and the two monsters inside him fought a bloody fight to see you slip to your knees between his own, batting his thighs aside. Your hand had released his cock, and if he didn't have it back again, or your blood in his mouth, he would break.

"Will you help me, or not?" He hissed at you, imploring you to spill your soul to him. Lost in this curious haze, you found yourself unable to refuse him an answer.

"...always help you, Hiromi." You mumbled, your fingers deftly undoing his belt. Your teeth unzipped his trousers, and the way Hiromi blushed when your eyes shot him such a filthy look, made you giggle. Maybe I'm the one in danger, he thought vaguely. You hummed, rubbing the pre-cum wet tip of his freed cock against your lips, glossing them. Hiromi's teeth bared again in a snarl, and he panted, bucking up into your hand. You teased him, stroking his length slowly, rolling his aching balls in one hand. Hiromi was frayed, furious with so many unfulfilled needs. He snapped.

"Open your mouth and let me fuck it or I swear--" Hiromi's uncharacteristic threats broke off into a strangled moan, when you took him into your mouth, hot and wet and all at once. Sucking at the tip, curling your tongue to cup the underside of his cockhead, you let the bobs of your head, and swirls of your tongue run smooth and sloppy.

The very air around you felt steeped in wildflowers, and the bizarre pseudo-alcoholic rush heightened every sensation. Even though there was clearly something very wrong with the man you had lusted after for so long, his taste his moans his fingers in your hair his trembling thrusts into your mouth, felt so right.

"--more tongue...deeper deeper yesssss...good girl, fuck-- f-fuck, good girl...wanna come in your mouth-- swallow it-- swallow me--"

You obliged him, and your consciousness remained dragged just a millisecond after your movements as you sunk your mouth lower, swallowing around his cockhead until your nose brushed his downy black happy-trail, and your throat constricted around his tip. Hiromi felt a slam of pleasure behind his navel as his orgasm hit, everything in him tightening with his release.

Hiromi's cries, so frantic and needy, crescendoed through the boardroom, and you felt cool ropes of cum spurt against the back of your tongue. Hiromi watched you swallow around his jerking cock, certain he must be dreaming the eroticism of this. By the time your dewy eyes opened again to look up at him, his cock still hard against your white-spattered tongue, Hiromi had lost all composure. Something white-hot and terrifying rolled off him, and you pulled away, spit and semen connecting you in a thread to his twitching cockhead. Your heart clenched, suddenly feeling a flicker of fear.

"...Hiromi? What's wrong?" You asked, cautious as you rose, scooting backwards onto the boardroom table and sliding yourself away from him. Hiromi stood, slow and deliberate. Something had changed within him. Every action of his seemed clipped, hyper-efficient and intentional. You felt your heady drunkenness increase, a thick pulse of desire shooting through your core, and you tried to ignore it with a whimper.

A flash of lightning illuminated you both-- for the briefest moment, you swore you could see the shadow of great wings behind Hiromi's lean, predatory form. A rumble of thunder rattled the boardroom. Drifts of rain swept the glass wall.

"...knew you'd work it out in the end." Hiromi cooed, his words licking at you, coaxing you back. "Clever girl. I told you I couldn't let you leave, didn't I?" He began to crawl along the table towards you, seemingly weightless, his movement so fluid-- so inhuman.

"You won't-- you won't kill me." You stated, as much to convince him as yourself. Hiromi swallowed, his pupils dilated, still crawling to catch up with you. As you darted back, he leapt forwards, dragging you to him by your ankle and caging you against the table beneath him. Only then, did you see the turmoil in him.

"I'd never. I could never. I wouldn't, ever." Hiromi spat, beseeching. You softened. He saw how you squirmed beneath him, knew how his hormones had ensnared you, making you desperate. Seeing you clutch your thighs together for relief, your nipples pebbled and almost freed beneath your blouse, Hiromi gulped again.

"I'm so-- so hungry." Hiromi growled, canines sharp against his lower lip, "And I need-- need-- I can make this good...for both of us. I can make you, if I need to, but I-- I'd rather not. Trust me. Please." He did not need to beg or force, when you were already undressing beneath him, as if you hadn't been waiting for him to take you since the first time your name had fallen from his lips.

"I trust you. Just...just...please." You begged now, and Hiromi shuddered, his eyes black as another flash of lightning flashed on his exquisite profile. He watched you, breasts heaving, now in just your bra and underwear. A burst of pheromones from him left you whimpering, your neck stretched to the side. He raised one strong, fine-boned hand to circle your throat, protecting it from himself as his mouth moved down your body.

"...so close already, aren't you? My beauty...best thing I've ever tasted." Hiromi whispered, his lips ghosting over one freed nipple, pre-cum dripping where his cock dragged against your thighs, "Need you sweeter...before I drink you." You whimpered beneath his mouth, suckling on your nipple until you cried out, your hands tangling in his inky, grey-streaked locks of hair. His hand kneaded at your other breast, relishing the softly yielding squish beneath his fingers.

Your thighs parted for just long enough to clamp Hiromi's cock between them, slick with his dripping pre-cum and your arousal. Hiromi gasped, canines grazing against your nipple, and your thighs clamped harder, Hiromi jerking with a cursing groan above you. He rutted spontaneously, sliding his cock between the plush of your thighs with a shaky, prolonged moan. Hiromi stayed this way for a few minutes, lapping and kneading at your breasts, fucking himself between your thighs. His pleasure threatened to peak again, and he hissed, slipping his cock free of the hot glove your thighs had made for him.

"Don't...don't." Hiromi growled, nipping your belly in warning as he slid himself down, shooting you a look to burn. "I'm not cumming on this fucking table, when I could cum inside you." Your breath hitched with the promise, feeling so weightless as Hiromi stripped your underwear from you. He took a moment to admire the glistening petals around your core, before sinking his tongue and nose between them with a moan.

Hiromi didn't allow you to last. Already so close to your peak, Hiromi's essence pulsed through you with your taste on his tongue. You were washed through with a skin-prickling, burning orgasm, plundering through you like wildfire. Hiromi had gripped you, and would not let you go, and with his mouth desperately lapping at your clit, your orgasm simply did not end.

You were a wreck, writhing and twisting and begging, all frantic cries of his name, alternately trying to shove Hiromi's head away and pull him closer. With one particularly hard push against him, Hiromi drew away, and bit onto the soft inside of your thigh in warning. You squealed as he drew blood.

You almost heard his heartbeat stop, enthralled by the droplets of blood running down your thigh. His tongue darted out, capturing them before they hit the table, your blood and arousal mixing on his tongue. You suddenly felt the danger you were in, in the jaws of a god as Hiromi's eyes turned up to you, settling on your neck. His eyes stayed fixed, his mouth puckering around the bite wound on your thigh, sucking just once before sealing the wound with a trembling tongue.

"...I'm going to fuck you, now." Hiromi stated, blunt, in warning, as he crawled back up your body. His cockhead grazed over your folds, and Hiromi grasped himself, lining his cock up with your fluttering core. "And you'll stay still...or I...I can't...you'll get hurt."

You couldn't possibly have refused at this stage. Hiromi was possessed by something stronger than himself, and you yearned to heal the fractured core of him. Grasping your wrists in one of his hands, and pressing them above your head, Hiromi coiled one hand in your hair, tilting your neck to the side.

You felt the insistent press of his cock filling you, as his teeth punctured your skin. You jolted, crying out, and Hiromi snarled against you, gripping you tighter. Hiromi felt the hot, salty, copper tang of your blood flooding his tongue, and his hips took on a life of their own. He slammed into you, again, and again, tasting your delicious little squeaks, bound beneath him with no means of escape. The human core of him was disgusted; the monster relished every second.

Allowing his otherworldly bliss to roll over you again, Hiromi felt you go languid and supple, your pussy clenching involuntarily around the bullying pace of his cockhead against your belly. Breathless moans muffled into your neck, interspersed with his gulps. Hiromi burst with adoration for you, and how well you were taking him. He had never felt so alive.

Hiromi felt your pulse fluttering in your wrists, and, convinced it was growing weaker, released your throat with a whine and a gasp, pressing his tongue against you again to seal the wounds. Hesitating only briefly, Hiromi fucked into you harder, faster, crimson dripping down his chin, dopey and lovesick. His hand tangled in your hair, pressing a bloody kiss to your cheek, feeling his orgasm creep up his back. His fingers plaited with your own above your head.

You were his, completely, happy to be used. The fervent thrust of his blunt, leaking cockhead against your sweet spot, his sandy whispers and gasps-- "...the best fucking medicine...I swear to god-- keep me forever, please, shit-- cum inside you, gonna cum inside you-- fffuck--" -- and the waves of Hiromi's strange, floral aphrodisiac, sent you tumbling over the edge again. Hiromi cursed, moaning, to feel you clench, writhing and arching beneath him, your cries rising in pitch as Hiromi fucked into you with total abandon, mesmerised by you.

"--more more moremoremore please-- Hiromi-- don't stop--"

Hiromi gritted his teeth, drawing himself out for as long as he could. Feeling the pummel and stretch of his cock inside you, slick and wet, set your eyes rolling back. When you bit into Hiromi's shoulder, he broke, buckling onto his elbows with a roar. His second orgasm blinded him, his balls emptying in violent contractions, thick white seed filling your belly and cunt in long, agonisingly pleasurable spurts. Hiromi swore, cursing and convulsing, crushing your body beneath his.

By the time Hiromi's vision returned, he was more human than he'd felt in months, as if giving into the monster was the only thing keeping him at bay. You floated back down to earth with him, feathersoft, on your bed of meadowsweet. A faint blush spread across Hiromi's nose at the sight of you, fucked-out, messy and spread beneath him.

"...I understand we have some important things to talk about," Hiromi said, bizarrely formal for a man whose cock was still inside you, "and I understand if you don't want to see me again after this, so we can organise a public date and time--"

Hiromi's voice muffled, still trying to talk as you pulled him to you by his tie, shutting him up with a kiss.

803 notes · View notes

007reid · 1 year ago

Note

sub spence returning from prison :( hasn’t been inside for way too long and he’s extra whiny and sensitive </3 and reader is usually more teasing but after being so long she’s just soft and giving to everything he desires

FERAAALLLL!!! enjoy hun🤍

dreams. spencer reid (18+)

spencer reid x fem!reader, 3k (it got a bit out of control...)

summary: exactly what the prompt says😻 tiny bit of angst cuz it’s post prison spencer, cmon

warnings: sub spencer x dom fem!reader, masturbating (fem), unprotected sex, p in v, handjob, fingering, riding, creampie, cum play kinda. just spencer being a pathetic lil boy. tell me if i missed anything!

spencer’s been more closed off, and you get it. you do. you had expected more excitement, more of the banter and things to go back like normal like it was before it happened but you know it’s all wishful thinking. it hurts, to accept that your spencer isn’t really your spencer anymore, it’s that damned prison’s spencer; not your sweet spencer who wears scarves and has christmas lights in his eyes all year long but the prison’s spencer who looks half dead and trudging through everyday miserable.

you know he’s trying his best too, and that part hurts the most. he tries to smile for you, tries to replace all the pieces and put it back but no piece fits. you keep reassuring yourself. baby steps. you’ll make it work. you’ll have to.

today has been your favorite day yet, and the day has barely even started. instead of being on the other side of the bed, curling up into himself and staying as far away from you as possible, you wake up to find his head buried in your neck with his arm thrown over your stomach, curls tickling your jaw.

“im afraid to touch you, y/n,” spencer had admitted, his first week back. he looked guilty and ashamed. “you’re too clean for me to touch. my hands are dirty. they’re always dirty.”

still sleepy, you reach for his hand and intertwine your fingers, tracing the skin of his wrist. at the touch, spencer immediately jolts awake and backs himself up before the sleepiness even clears from his face. your boy used to be able to sleep through turbulence on the plane and your heart breaks at the anxiety in his eyes.

his breathing is rushed as he settles down, unconsciously scooting further away from you as you try latching onto the sleeve of his shirt. "sorry, i'm sorry," you whisper over and over. "i'm sorry honey, i didn't mean to--"

"i know you didn't," spencer snaps and you backtrack. his face crumbles and he hides his head in his hands. the table turns and sorry's falls out his mouth like rain drops during a storm. "i don't mean to snap, i just got scared, in the cell i..." he trails off, frowning at himself. ever since he's got back he refuses to tell you about anything that's happened in there, stopping and cutting himself off whenever he accidentally does and you guess it's for the better. "'m sorry." he brush away the sheets and gets off the bed. "i'll be right back."

you know better than to follow as he heads to the bathroom, door closing shut and locked behind him. you stare at the dent in the mattress that's finally there after sleeping alone for three months and hops off the bed yourself, going to make coffee.

***

spencer starts relaxing as the day goes on, not by much but you notice it. he probably feels bad for what happened in the morning and just wants to make it up to you by being what you want him to be; soft and affectionate like he used to and finally letting himself to touch you, linger his fingers over your arm as he passes you while you make breakfast and sitting close enough to where you both touch.

it's night, and you're in a simple tank, ready for bed. spencer's head is in your lap and the tv plays a random show but your attention is on smoothing out the spencer's curls, tugging and pulling until you get a purring spencer reid in your lap, eyes closed and humming contently to himself.

"you tired yet?" you ask, eyes on the tv. spencer nuzzles his head closer to your stomach.

"mhm. no."

"kay," you dip your head down, sparing a kiss on the pouting boy's lips, aiming for a light, sweet peck because spencer's not really ready for anything else otherwise but you're surprised when he starts to deepen it, teeth nagging at your bottom lip, asking. out of breath, you pull back and he sits up from your lap, crashing into you again and he's insistent, needy as little pants fall from his lips as you press him against the couch, climbing on top of him.

"missed you so much," spencer breathe, hands closing around your hips and tugging you closer. legs positioned outwards from either side of his torso, he moans into your mouth when the heat of your clothed pussy rub gently against his hardening cock and you miss this almost as much as you miss him, spending all three months either too depressed to do anything or cumming from your fingers and then hugging his pillow later.

you run your thumb over the spit on his lip, crooning. "look so pretty," you whisper, rutting against his hips. spencer whines, soft and desperate, a hand hesitantly coming up to grope at your breast, sandwiching your hardening nipple between his fingers. "been so long, spence, you forgot how to touch me?" you tease at the unsureness and awkwardness in the way he moves to touch you. spencer shakes his head frantically.

"dreamt about you," he says eagerly, pressing his lips on the side of your mouth and then all over your face. "every night. missed you so so bad. fuck, y/n," he gasps as you start grinding on him, impatient.

you kiss him hard, pussy clenching and unclenching around nothing as you feel yourself getting wetter and wetter, just having him like this, pliant and here and not away. "what," you say, between kisses, each one messier and rushed than the last. "what did you dream about?" spencer whines. "hm?"

he falters, face getting visibly red under the dim lighting. he mumbles something under his breath, and you sneak a hand between your pressed bodies, palming him through his navy owl pajamas. "speak up, honey," you say, and spencer squirms, bucking his hips forward into your palm.

"i dreamed a lot of dreams," he says in a rush, breathing heavily, cheeks rosy. it's not the answer you're looking for. you tut.

"you know that's not what i asked, spence," you say, hand on his jaw as you push his face up to look at you. his eyes are blown wide, pupils dilated and lips red and parted, looking the spitting image of what you've been fingerfucking yourself to for months.

he whimpers, words stuck to his throat, embarrassed. you press your hand harder against his dick and his head knocks into your shoulder, burying his face in your neck, too humiliated to look at you in the eyes. "i dreamed you touched yourself and rode me and said i couldn't touch and couldn't cum but i did anyway 'cause i'm fucking pathetic," he confesses against your skin. "woke up and couldn't even touch myself cause of my cellmates and i--" your hands slip under his shirt and spencer does a full body shiver, your fingers hot against his skin.

"does that mean you haven't cum since you've been in there baby?" spencer ignores you, too distracted as you sway your hips against his rock hard cock. "spencer,"

he whines, and that's enough of an answer for you. "my poor baby," you coo, digging your fingers into his hair. "so wind up."

"need you," he whimpers, hands frantically clawing at your side, trying to touch as much of you as possible. "needa be in you, please. please,"

"in bed baby," you kiss him sweetly, wrapping your legs around his waist as he stands, supporting you with only one arm. you leave hickies on his neck while you wait for him to reach the bedroom, running your tongue over his skin to soothe them.

he lays you on the bed gently, tall frame towering over you as he sets you down but spencer still cowers under you despite it all. you remove your shirt and shorts as he settles down and when you turn around, he's staring, unabashedly, cock making an obvious dent in his thin pajamas, and the opportunity basically presented itself.

you start to slowly spread your legs, propping yourself up with your elbows and trailing a hand between your legs to rest at your lace panties. a devilish smirk on your face as spencer’s adam’s apple bobs visibly, brown eyes hungry and waiting as you press slight pressure on your clothed clit, knocking your head back.

spencer scrambles up to a sitting position, anxiously looking at you. “y/n,” he says, voice unusually high, flustered. “don’t—“ his voice breaks off as you start moving your fingers in circle-eights, sighing to yourself. “don’t—come here.”

you shoot him a warning look when he starts coming closer. spencer freezes. “thought this was what you wanted, pretty boy,” you purr. there is already a patch of wetness in your panties, and you linger your fingers at the waistband.

“not now,” spencer whines, insistent. “i’m so hard, wanna be in you so bad, please,” and despite how much prison had hardened him up, turned him into an entirely different person, spencer is still luckily the same in bed; easy to wind up and begs to get what he wants. too often it doesn’t work in his favor. tonight it might.

“you know what to do, baby boy,” you tell him, nudging your underwear off and tossing it somewhere in the room. spencer backs off, curling up into himself as his eyes remain pasted on you, watching. staring. you’re soaked, rubbing slowly at your clit, the air cool against your pussy. you keep an eye open, watching spencer for his ticks and reactions and it turns you on even more, seeing how desperate and needy he is, trying to rut against the sheets as you dip a finger inside yourself.

“none of that spence,” you tut. “you know that’s not the rules.”

he sighs frustratedly, stopping in his tracks, ever the good and obedient boy for you. you continue to play with yourself, slowly working up to two fingers and pressing down on your clit with your thumb, hearing spencer’s indiscreet panting from the other side of the bed as he watches, puppy eyes in full effect as he silently begs to have you closer. you whine as you curl your fingers inside yourself, and spencer’s just about had it.

“y/n,” he pleas, sounding like he’s about to cry. “i—it’s hurts, i wanna…”

you take pity on him. you’re all stripped naked and he’s still fully clothed, down to the halloween themed socks. “what do you want honey?”

“i—“ spencer gasps, squirming on the sheets. “uuhhgg…gonna cum i—“

“you gonna cum just from watching me touch myself?” you ask, amused. fair enough, he hasn’t cum in three months and you’re surprised he’s not permanently hard at this point. “gonna cum in your pants like a teenager spence? how pathetic are you?”

“y/n!” his voice trembles and he sounds so sweet, so needy for you and you give in. it’s hard not to, and you keep up at the act but at the end of the day spencer always gets what he wants. the begging strategy does do him some good.

you crawl over to him, placing yourself on his lap and he’s extremely hard beneath you, cock curving up from the thinness of his pajamas, getting a real good look at him. his eyes are rimmed red and tears are threatening to spill out and you lift his shirt over his head. “god youre so fucking beautiful,” you throw his shirt off the bed, tilting his head up to look at you. spencer groans at your words, hands immediately going to touch you, roaming your bare skin and nails digging into your waist.

“missed you,” he whimpers, lips at your neck as you get his bottoms off. “want this everyday, think of you everyday, fuck—“

“so hard for me honey,” you coo, stroking him through his underwear and then getting that off too. his cock, finally naked presses against his stomach, is a raging red, beads of precum leaking at the tip. “prettiest boy,” you whisper in his ear, taking his cock in your hand, smearing the precum over his cock as soft whimpers falls out of his mouth, inching closer to your touch.

“y/n,” he says, and it seems like it’s the only thing he can say. “y/n, y/n—“ you start to grind on him, sliding your pussy against his cock and spencer turns delirious, squeezing at your hips and wanton sounds coming out of his mouth, begging and cursing for nothing at all. the head of his cock rubs against the entrance of your pussy and the both of you moan, hips collapsing into each other.

his fingers finds their way to your entrance and begins prodding, and you whine as his middle finger slides in, thick and just right and it’s the feeling you’ve been trying to replicate but can’t get. “you’re so tight yn, fuck,”

“add another finger, spence,” you demand. spencer does, and the stretch burns only temporarily and you whine, wrapping your arms around his neck and reeling yourself in so you can be as close to him as possible. lifting your hips, you start to fuck yourself on his fingers, impatient and horny and spencer is looking at you with fucking stars in his eyes, awed.

you never get too emotional or whiny during sex, that’s mostly all spencer but you can’t help bury your face in the dip of his shoulder blades and muffle your high moans against his skin, just glad that your spencer is back and this isn’t a cruel dream. spencer pulls his fingers out and you let out a displeased sigh. reaching down, you take spencer’s cock in your hands, smeared all over the tip with his precum and your wetness and spencer’s breath hitches in this throat, nearly jumping away at your touch.

you slowly guide his dick to your entrance, lifting your hips and all spencer does is watch, getting special treatment as you do all the work, slapping his dick against your pussy, eliciting a filthy sound from the both of you before rubbing the head of his cock against your open pussy. before he’s even in, spencer is already making these ridiculous noises, begging and panting and whimpering, hair falling into his eyes and sweat beading on his nose.

you quickly swoop down in a brave motion, bottoming out and it hurts, only temporarily before the stretch eases into pleasure and you miss it, miss him, so damn much and spencer’s already in another fucking world, nails digging at your hips.

“fuck, fuck, y/n—“ he whimpers weakly, chanting your name like a mantra as you start to move your hips, riding yourself on his cock. you know he can’t last any longer and you’re surprised he’s even managed to last this long so far, pulling out until your pussy is clenching at the tip of his cock and slamming yourself into his hips, and everytime time you do this spencer makes the prettiest noises, coughing up the moans struggling to come out of his mouth and tear tracks staining his cheeks, begging to cum.

“please, please yn don’t do that,” you do it again. “i…i—pull off, i’m gonna cum i’m not gonna last!” he cries, cock pulsing inside you and you know he’s not lying. you can read spencer’s body in the dark or light like it’s your own and you can feel your orgasm steadfastly approaching too, the heat building gradually at the pit of your stomach.

you start going faster, dropping yourself down to his cock and bottoming out at every thrust, his cock finding the tip of your spot every time. “yn,” spencer repeats. “gonna cum, stop please i—hnnnggg—“

“cum in me, sweet boy,” you press a kiss on his jaw, locking your fingers on his curls to pull his head back by his hair, making him look at you in the eye. spencer arguably looks the prettiest when he cums, and you never miss the show.

“i…what?” debaunched and fucked-dumb, it takes a second for spencer to understand what you mean. “you sure?”

“shut the hell up spence,” you groan, bringing him closer, chests flat against each other. you keep going at your thrusts, slipping a hand to rub at your soaked, swollen clit as spencer’s moans get higher and higher until his entire body is trembling, his eyes squeezed shut. “fucking—cum in me, honey.”

you know the exact moment when he cums because you did too, his face scrunching up in what almost looks like pain as you start to feel something warm bleed inside you and it feels like fucking heaven. your walls spasm around his cock, milking him as you orgasm, squeezing your intertwined fingers for dear life.

when you’ve both gained back your breaths, spencer lightly stroking the skin of your stomach where he can press and feel himself beneath of and you pressing more hickies on his chest and neck, you speak. “was that as good as your dream?”

your voice comes out more distorted than you thought, raspy and your throat is slightly sore. spencer laughs quietly.

“a hundred times better,” he’s quick to respond, earnest. “no brainer.” when you pull off of him and collapses by his side, he leaks out of you, wetting and trailing down your inner thighs.

spencer slides a hand there and slowly starts to finger his cum back into you lazily and you open up your legs for him, loose and wet from the orgasm. “you’re so full of me,” he says, sounding pleased with himself. his fingers scissors you open wider, patiently fucking you with them. you hold his other hand as spencer kisses you. “mine. all mine.” he presses down on your clit and you shake, your second orgasm hitting you like a soft wave. he keeps the pressure there despite you trying to close your legs, shivering all over, nipples hard and stomach rising. “all mine.”

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